by Jordan Rivet
He blinked and cleared his throat. “How . . . how do you like Jewel Harbor so far, my lady?”
“It’s lovely,” Mica said, enjoying the effect the dazzling smile had. “I miss my estate on the South Bay, of course.”
“Oh?”
“It has a wonderful view of the beach. The black sand stretches for miles, and it feels like sugar under your toes.”
“I’d like to see that one day.”
“Have you never been to Obsidian before?”
“No, my lady.”
As she told him more about her “homeland,” Mica couldn’t help admiring the details of Caleb’s square face, the way the breeze stirred his hair around his slightly pointed ears, the way he looked at her as if he was really listening. She knew this dance wouldn’t have been proper between them in her normal, non-noble body. Did he find her current ethereal form as alluring as some of the other lords did? She felt an unpleasant twinge at the thought, almost as if she were jealous of Lady Rowena for this dance.
That’s a ridiculous thing to feel.
Against her better judgment, Mica tightened her grip on Caleb’s hand and moved a little closer, as if proving to herself that her feelings wouldn’t get in the way of her mission. She could dance close to him without getting flustered.
You’re a professional, she told herself, even as her heart beat like a drum against her ribs. And don’t forget he’s keeping secrets too.
“Tell me, Lord Caleb,” she said huskily, gazing up at him through her enhanced lashes. “What’s your favorite thing about Jewel Harbor?”
Caleb’s eyes widened, as if he was surprised at the question, or maybe at the intimacy of her tone.
“It’s like the Windfast Empire in miniature,” he said after a long pause. “People from every island with their different traditions and experiences live in one chaotic city. You get a hint of what every part of the empire is like.”
“Except the parts that aren’t chaotic,” Mica said.
Caleb chuckled. “That’s true. You don’t get the same sense of space as in the rolling countryside or on the windswept cliff tops.” His arm curled a little tighter around her waist, tangling in her hair again, and he looked down at her blandly. “Like in Gullton, for example.”
Mica’s eyes flew up to meet his, just in time to catch a triumphant twinkle in their depths. He knew! How did the bastard keep figuring out her disguises?
“Gullton.”
“Yes, Lady Rowena. Gullton.”
Mica scowled at him, an expression she definitely hadn’t planned on using with this face. His shoulders began to shake with silent laughter beneath her arm, and she abandoned any remaining pretense.
“How do you always know?” she hissed.
“You called me by name.”
“Someone could have told it to me.”
“I know,” Caleb said, “but you’re also a complete stranger who appeared out of nowhere at Jessamyn’s side. The others were too captivated by your beauty to notice anything odd about that.”
Mica raised an eyebrow. “You’re not captivated by my beauty?”
“I didn’t say that.”
They were still dancing in a little circle by the portside rail. His arms were warm around her body, holding back the night air. Mica knew she should excuse herself. He was a lord, and now he knew she was just the Impersonator. Hadn’t Jessamyn told her the nobles would be offended if they realized they were dancing with her? But Caleb obviously didn’t care. If anything, his expression softened as he looked down at her.
“Show me your real eyes,” he said, so quietly the words were almost carried away on the wind.
Nerves stirred in Mica’s stomach, her breathing becoming shallow. So much for not getting flustered. She shifted her irises slowly, allowing golden brown to permeate the unnatural green until they were her own hazel. Caleb watched her, and she swore his pulse quickened beneath her hand.
“You . . . you didn’t answer my question,” she said.
Caleb cleared his throat, as if mastering himself. “It’s possible I’ve mentioned Gullton to a number of strangers who could be Impersonators,” he said. “This is the first time it actually worked.”
Mica burst out laughing, dipping her head to his shoulder to muffle the sound.
“There are several new palace employees who think I’m obsessed with the town of Gullton.”
Mica giggled, imagining him dropping hints at random cooks and guards in an effort to catch her out. She squeezed his hand a little tighter.
“Ahem,” came a polite cough.
Mica pulled back from Caleb, suddenly aware that they had been chuckling in each other’s arms as if they were the only two people on deck. Jessamyn was waiting beside them, eyes flashing angrily.
“You lost this, Lady Rowena.” The princess held out the royal-blue mantle with a pointed look at Mica’s bare shoulders. “I wouldn’t want you to be cold.”
“You are too kind, Princess Jessamyn.”
Mica changed her eyes back to the appropriate color for the impersonation as she stepped away from her dance partner and slung the mantle over her shoulders.
Jessamyn leaned in, as if to kiss Lady Rowena on the cheek. “Don’t you have work to do?” she hissed.
Mica was confused at the reproach in her tone. Wasn’t this exactly what Jessamyn had told her to do? Make the ladies jealous by taking up the lords’ attention? On the other hand, Bellina wasn’t even watching her dance with Caleb, too busy chatting animatedly with Lord Nobu over by the bar.
“Excuse me, my lord. My lady.” Mica dipped into a quick curtsy, not daring to meet Caleb’s eyes, and hurried away from him and Jessamyn. She made her way to the less crowded stern and leaned on the railing, head spinning slightly.
The breeze cooled her cheeks and helped to clear her mind. What had she been doing? That would have been the perfect time to probe Caleb for information about his mysterious illness and his Blur speed. Instead, she had clutched his hand and pressed against his body, unable to keep from getting closer to him.
And it had upset the princess. Mica winced. She didn’t want to get in the way if there was more between Jessamyn and Caleb than she let on. Still, if the princess wanted to use her as a pawn in her games, it would help if she told her the rules.
“You’re quite popular this evening, Lady Rowena. I wasn’t sure I’d get a turn to talk with you.”
Mica checked to make sure all her features were in the correct shapes as Lady Wendel strode up beside her. She’d been drinking tea with Lord Fritz and Lady Lorna at the low tables, but they were so absorbed in conversation that they didn’t seem to notice her departure.
The noblewoman towered over Mica as she offered her hand. “I’m Lady Wendel of Pegasus Island.”
“A pleasure.”
“I love your dress,” Lady Wendel said, examining it closely. “Wherever did you get the silk? It’s practically transparent.”
Mica couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or not. “It was a gift from a friend at court.”
“What else are the ladies wearing at the Obsidian Court this season?” Lady Wendel leaned on the railing beside her, just a little too close. “And how do they feel about wool?”
Mica and Wendel discussed materials for winter gowns as they sailed through the night. The coast alongside them was darker here, where the busy districts of the city gave way to quieter residences. They were almost to the southernmost tip of the crescent. Soon they’d turn around and cruise back along the Amber Coast. Mica contemplated how to sneak away to investigate the warehouse district when they returned. She wasn’t especially excited about sharing the carriage back to the palace with Jessamyn.
She was about to return to the busier part of the ship to continue with her task when she noticed something moving in the water. She leaned over the railing, squinting at what appeared to be a small rowboat. There were people inside, but they didn’t have a single light among them. Strange. Why would someone be out here w
ithout so much as a torch? Mica looked around for their escorts, but the boats full of Shields seemed to have fallen behind. She felt a jolt of alarm.
Then a spark flared to life on the little rowboat, followed by a sputtering flame. The flame lifted, illuminating the shaft of an arrow and a bow clutched in a ghostly pale hand.
“Look out!” Mica shouted as the flaming arrow shot through the air and landed in the center of the barge.
Chapter Seventeen
Mica hit the deck, pulling Lady Wendel down with her. She smelled a whiff of smoke, a hint of sulfur. Then an explosion erupted atop the cabin.
Burning wood flew across the barge, one piece smashing directly into Lord Fritz’s face as he jumped up to shield Lady Lorna. Screams split the night air. A blazing fire raged across the center of the boat, and flames crept up the mast.
The smoke spreading across the deck wasn’t enough to obscure the figures scaling the side of the barge and climbing aboard, figures with pale hair and paler skin. The knives in their fists caught the light from the inferno.
“It’s an Obsidian attack!” someone screeched as the first lord fell with a blade in his belly. It was Hugh, the shy lord Mica had danced with earlier. The attackers swarmed among the revelers, cutting down any who stood in their way.
Mica knew she had to get to Jessamyn. Her duty first and foremost was to defend the empire and its future ruler. She scrambled to her knees, gathering up her silk skirts and tying a quick knot to keep them out of her way. Suddenly, an iron grip closed around her wrist.
“You!” Lady Wendel shrieked. “You planned this, you Obsidian witch!”
“I’m not—let go of me.” Mica tried to pull out of the larger woman’s grasp. People were running around them. Lord Dolan waved his fists drunkenly, not discriminating between friend and foe.
“I knew there was something strange about you!” Lady Wendel tried to grab Mica by her long hair, remarkably ferocious in the face of danger.
“I don’t have time for this.” Mica delivered a swift jab to Lady Wendel’s nose, knocking her back. She twisted out of the noblewoman’s grip and landed a second strike to her face. It didn’t knock the larger woman out, but she closed her eyes long enough for Mica to squeeze her own features back onto her face and escape. This wasn’t a good time to look Obsidian.
She discarded her mantle again, her pearly-white dress quickly becoming smudged beyond recognition, and looked around for a weapon. Why hadn’t she thought to wear an ankle knife? There was no sign of the Shield guards who were supposed to be sailing alongside them in smaller boats. A few injured noblemen and servants crawled across the stern deck, none of them armed either. Mica snatched up a discarded wine glass and cracked it on the deck to create a jagged edge. It would have to do.
The bulk of the fighting raged on the narrow decks bordering the burning cabin. The Obsidian attackers were attempting to charge the foredeck, where most of the nobles were gathered. The nobility seemed to be making a decent stand against the surprise attack. Someone had to be armed up there.
Mica couldn’t see the brilliant carmine of Jessamyn’s gown from here. She approached the burning cabin, hoping to find a way through—or over—the flames while the attackers were busy on the side decks. Heat scorched her cheeks, the thickening smoke making her eyes water. The mast groaned ominously, flames reaching all the way to the crow’s nest now.
Suddenly, Mica remembered the oarsmen below. The Muscles had been confined in that cramped hold while the nobles drank and danced above them. They should be able to break out without any trouble, but she couldn’t see any of them in the chaos on deck. Were they still down there?
Mica didn’t hesitate. She kicked open the cabin door, nearly breaking a toe through her flimsy dancing slippers, and released a billow of smoke. The trapdoor to the hold was closed, not a Muscle in sight. Knowing she only had a few minutes before the cabin collapsed, she held her breath, rushed to the trapdoor, and climbed into the bowels of the boat.
The hold was lit with a dim red glare. Mica reached the bottom of the ladder just in time to see the pale-haired barge captain standing up from the writhing form of a Muscle oarsman, a vial of potion clutched in his hand. The rest of the Talents in the hold were already dead.
As the final oarsman shuddered and breathed his last, the Obsidian captain saw Mica. Their eyes met over the bodies of his victims. Then he hurled the vial across the hold.
Mica dodged, and the vial shattered against the ladder. The wood smoked and hissed as the potion spread down it, eating straight through the rungs. The captain was already moving, scrambling over the fallen Muscles toward Mica, who leapt back and crashed into the bulkhead.
The man was on her a second later. His blue-veined hands closed around her throat.
“I got you, Windfast scum.” He sneered with bloodless lips, his breath hot on her face.
Mica struggled against him, trying to pry his fingers away from her windpipe with her left hand, wishing for the strength of a Muscle. She still had the broken glass in her right hand, but if she killed this man, they’d never know how the Obsidians had managed this attack. She was a spy first and foremost, and she needed information. She felt remarkably calm as she identified a spot where she could jab her shard of glass without severing the man’s jugular.
One . . . two . . . She attacked—or tried to.
But her hands felt heavy, and her limbs refused to obey. She fumbled with the shard of glass. Why was it so hard to get a good grip? The hold was growing dark, hazy. She had waited too long. She couldn’t lose consciousness yet!
She tried to stab with the makeshift weapon again, no longer caring whether she killed the man or not, but her actions were clumsy, her strength fleeting.
Movement danced across her vision, pale-white hair, sneering lips, the eyes of death. Then a flash of carmine.
Suddenly, there was a terrific crack, and the captain released his grip on her throat. Mica slumped against the bulkhead. Smoky air rushed into her lungs. She gasped, struggling to raise her shard of glass before her assailant could grab her again.
Then a second crack sounded through the hold, and the captain’s eyes went utterly blank. Crimson lines trickled down his forehead, and he collapsed in front of her, blood matting the back of his skull.
Princess Jessamyn stood above him, a cast-iron teapot in her hands.
“Princess!” Mica choked out.
“Well, get up,” she said calmly. “We have to go.”
Mica scrambled after Jessamyn, pausing long enough to ascertain that the Obsidian captain was dead. They would get no information from him.
They scaled the half-ruined ladder and ran out of the burning cabin, eyes watering from the smoke. Chaos reigned on deck. The nobles had broken through the Obsidian attackers on the starboard side, and they were fighting across the stern now, using whatever weapons they could find. Few had come to the harbor cruise with so much as a belt knife or decorative sword.
Lord Caleb led the noblemen’s defense, armed with a stringed instrument from the quartet. He swung it like a club, making a musical crunch every time it connected with an Obsidian skull. Lord Fritz fought at his side with a jeweled dagger, a nasty cut marring his youthful good looks. Lord Dolan was still flailing about with his fists, bellowing curses.
“Best stay out of their way,” Jessamyn said, crouching by the low drinks tables in the stern, the teapot still clutched in her hand. Her eyes blazed in the light from the burning cabin.
“Where are the Shields?” Mica said. “They should be here by now.”
Shouts were coming from the water beyond the barge, as if the boats full of Shield bodyguards had also been attacked. They were much farther away than they were supposed to be, leaving the party barge vulnerable.
The nobles were fighting back now, though. The Obsidian attackers didn’t fare as well after losing the element of surprise. They were outnumbered, and as far as Mica could tell, none of them were Talents. Other ships in the harbor had h
eard the commotion and seen the flames roaring into the sky, and they were speeding to their aid, powered by Muscle and Blur oarsmen.
A sharp whistle cut through the shouts, and the Obsidians began to slip away, leaping off the sides of the barge and swimming for the dark shore of Amber Island. The noblemen cheered as their attackers began to disappear into the night.
Caleb used the tattered string instrument to knock the last of the Obsidians off the barge. He turned and caught sight of Mica and Jessamyn crouching behind the tables. A look of pure relief crossed his face, echoing Mica’s own feelings. He had a rip in his silk waistcoat, but he appeared to be uninjured. He beckoned for them to join him by the railing.
But as Mica stood up, there was a horrific screeching sound. The burning crow’s nest snapped off the top of the mast and fell. As it slammed through the blazing roof of the cabin, the mast splintered. People screamed as sharp pieces of wood hurtled across the deck like javelins.
Mica watched in horror as a jagged beam shot straight for Caleb at the railing.
He’ll move. He’s fast. He’ll Blur out of the way.
The thoughts came in an instant. He was fast. He would be okay.
But Caleb didn’t move fast enough. He barely had time to take a step before the beam thudded straight into his body.
And stopped.
Mica stared. The wood had struck the dead center of his sternum, where it should have punched into his heart. But instead the end had splintered from the force of hitting Caleb’s skin.
Caleb’s impervious skin.
What in the Windfast?
The noise continued around them, cries of distress, of confusion. Caleb blinked at the heavy piece of wood that should have speared straight through his body, looking almost as surprised as Mica felt. Almost.
Caleb looked up and met Mica’s eyes for one blazing moment. Pandemonium raged around them as the people on the boat called out to each other, not realizing what had happened. Or what hadn’t happened.
He should be dead. I don’t understand.
Caleb was still pinned to the side of the boat. The weight of half the mast pressed the thick beam against his chest. He wrapped both hands around it and shoved. It didn’t budge. He looked around, slightly panicked, as if afraid the others would see. He pushed harder, the wood groaning.
