by Jordan Rivet
Peet shook his head and popped a grape into his mouth. “He was off traveling last time I was at the Academy.”
“Traveling where?”
“No one seemed to know.”
Mica stilled. “He hasn’t been back to the Academy since your last visit, and no one knows where he is?”
“I wouldn’t worry about Master Kiev,” Peet said. “That man’s a legend, you know.”
“Has he ever been gone for this long before?”
Peet shrugged. “He has responsibilities all over the empire.”
Mica was almost afraid to voice her suspicions. Whoever was kidnapping Talents wouldn’t go so far as to capture the Head of the Impersonator Academy himself, would they?
“Can you tell me more about Master Kiev’s responsibilities?” she said. “He’s a spymaster, but he hasn’t really explained how it all works.”
“That’s kind of the point,” Peet said. “People don’t take kindly to the idea that Mimics might be spying on them right here in the empire. They know we send spies off to foreign lands, but it’s not a good idea to shout about the ones we keep on the home front.”
“So the spymasters hide in plain sight as Masters of the Impersonator Academy and gather information on what’s happening in the empire?”
“Some of the Masters might be ordinary teachers, mind,” Peet said. “I don’t know who’s involved. Master Kiev is the only person I report to.”
“And he reports to Emperor Styl?”
“And Princess Jessamyn.” Peet grinned. “Her Ladyship is very intelligent, you know. And brave. She’ll make a good empress.”
Mica pictured Jessamyn standing above the Obsidian captain with a bloodied cast-iron teapot.
“I think you may be right.”
Mica wasn’t gone from the palace long, but it looked as though a tornado had ripped through the princess’s chambers in her absence. Dresses and shoes were scattered over the couches, and their cushions tumbled across the floor. Jessamyn was dashing around like mad while Alea tried to do up the ties on her midnight-blue gown.
“There you are, Micathea! My father has called a public audience to address the crisis.” She shoved a slate-gray dress into Mica’s arms. “I’ve just learned Lady Ingrid is too shaken from last night’s events to attend. I need you to come as her and support everything my father and I say.”
“Isn’t that—?”
“I don’t have time for your questions.” Jessamyn crammed a silver diadem onto her own head. She looked as though she was running on pure manic energy despite her long night. Mica spied a bottle of Quinn’s potion on the table.
“You can either redeem yourself for your last mistake or get out of my sight at once.”
In answer, Mica’s hair turned jet black and her features became hawkish and severe. “I’m at your service.”
Jessamyn explained the situation as they hurried up to the throne room accompanied by three other Shield guards in addition to Banner. Word had spread at Blur speed that Obsidian operatives had infiltrated the capital and killed several of the most powerful men and women in the empire. Their home islands wanted justice.
“Our aim is to prevent outright anarchy,” Jessamyn said as they reached the throne room doors. Angry voices rumbled within. “Can you remember that, Micathea?”
Mica dipped into a stiff curtsy, imitating Lady Ingrid’s proud bearing perfectly. “Yes, Princess.”
The Shields heaved open the doors, and Jessamyn stormed into the fray.
Almost every noble in the palace was assembled beneath the silver dome. They had brought along every Shield guard in their employment, and a few had hired extra Muscles too. It was utter pandemonium. The nobles chattered to each other in tight knots or shouted out their opinions, trying to be heard above the crowd. It was impossible to pick out individual words, and almost as difficult to see over the throng.
Jessamyn and Mica pushed their way toward the dais, following the golden carpet stretching up the center of the throne room. Emperor Styl stood tall before his ornate chair, his jaw tensing so hard it looked as if it had been carved from marble. His folded his thick arms over his chest as he listened to two nobles argue themselves hoarse at the front of the room.
Mica recognized one of them as Hector Ivanson, the brother of Lord Hugh, who had died in the fighting. The other was Lady Velvet, Lord Fritz’s mother. She clung to her son’s arm as if for support, but her thin mouth was set in a stubborn line. Lord Fritz himself tugged at the bandage on his face, looking slightly dazed.
“This was an act of war!” Lord Hector shouted, half to the emperor and half to the room at large, as Mica and Jessamyn reached the front of the crowd. “We must march on the Obsidians at once!”
“We do not yet know whether their king ordered the attack,” Emperor Styl said calmly.
“Who else would do it?” The bereaved noble’s chest heaved with emotion. “I must have vengeance!”
“How do you know it was even an Obsidian plot?” said Lady Velvet. “This could have been an inside job. I wouldn’t be surprised if we can trace it back to the highest powers in the land!”
“Honestly,” Jessamyn muttered to Mica. “She thinks my father ordered this? He’d never put me in danger.” She gave Mica a shove. “Say that.”
Mica barely had time to grasp what was happening before she stumbled forward and blurted out, “I hope you’re not seriously accusing His Imperial Majesty of arranging this disaster, Lady Velvet, especially when his own daughter was in danger last night.”
“Lady Ingrid is right,” someone else said. “Emperor Styl would never hurt Princess Jessamyn.”
A few others murmured their agreement. Mica glanced at Jessamyn but didn’t receive so much as an approving nod from the princess. Emperor Styl’s face remained impassive too, neither confirming nor denying the sentiment. Mica couldn’t figure out what she was missing about his relationship with his daughter. He was the least affectionate father she had ever met—and she had grown up on a military base.
Lady Velvet seemed appeased, but Lord Hector looked about wildly. “I demand vengeance!”
Lord Ober stepped out of the crowd and put a hand on his shoulder. “Easy there, my lord.” He looked up at the stone-faced emperor. “I agree with Lady Ingrid that this was not some imperial conspiracy. However, I wish to know what will be done. My nephew went on that harbor cruise in good faith.” He turned so that his voice carried throughout the throne room. “Timbral and the Pebble Islands have always supported the empire, and this is the thanks we get?”
“I hear Lord Caleb was injured and can’t even get out of bed!” someone called out. “Who will answer for that?”
Angry mutters spread through the crowd. Lord Ober raised his hand, and those nearest to him fell silent to listen.
“We of the nobility live in the Silver Palace in order to represent the interests of our individual homelands,” Lord Ober said. “If the people of the islands see their representatives being put in danger, they will question whether they are truly being heard.”
“They’re not just in danger,” shouted Lord Hector. “My brother’s body is even now beginning to rot!”
“This is true,” Lord Ober said. “If these deaths are not avenged by the very empire that exists to protect them, who’s to say what else the Obsidians will be allowed to do?”
“Hear! Hear!”
The conversations around the throne room were dying down as more of the nobles listened to what Lord Ober had to say. He had natural charisma, helped by his distinguished yet approachable face. He drew people in, whereas the emperor’s forbidding alabaster visage held them off.
“The Windfast Empire is only as good as its ability to protect us,” Lord Ober said. “The emperor must show the islands that we will not accept such blatant acts of aggression against us.”
“Lord Ober speaks the truth!” The nobles surged forward, nearly pushing Mica onto the steps of the dais. A space remained clear around Jessamyn, her silv
er diadem shining as bright as a star.
“If the emperor won’t act, we’re better off on our own,” came another voice.
“Maybe we are anyway!”
Emperor Styl gazed at Lord Ober, his grim features unreadable, as the crowd began to turn in the Timbral lord’s favor. Mica didn’t understand why the emperor wasn’t saying anything. Shouldn’t he use that clear, powerful voice of his to calm the crowds?
Mica pushed her way back toward the princess as the angry murmurs gathered momentum. “They’re not suggesting—?”
“Unfortunately, they are.” Jessamyn was studying the nobles around her as carefully as if she were a Mimic preparing to impersonate them. “Lord Ober isn’t wrong. The Windfast is a delicate construct.”
Mica couldn’t believe the nobles were speaking so openly about being better off without the empire in front of Emperor Styl himself. Wasn’t that treasonous? It would be for the likes of her. Every day she spent in the Silver Palace, Mica understood less about how the empire worked at the highest levels. The lords must think themselves powerful indeed to speak so freely before their ruler.
Lord Ober advanced, stopping just short of ascending the steps of Emperor Styl’s dais. The nobles who supported him edged closer too. The Shield guards tensed, as if preparing to throw their bodies in front of their employers. That wasn’t a good sign.
Lord Ober took a deep breath, as if inhaling the support of the crowd, and said, “I call upon the Emperor of Windfast to consider military action against the Obsidian Kingdom.”
Shouts erupted across the hall, both for and against Lord Ober’s proposition. The demand sounded far weightier coming from him than from the distraught Lord Hector, who still called for vengeance.
For one terrible moment, Mica imagined all four of her brothers marching to war.
Then Emperor Styl gave Jessamyn a nod so subtle Mica would have missed it if she hadn’t been watching for his reaction.
The princess stepped forward. “My lords and ladies,” she said. “I understand your concerns about what happened last night. However, I believe this talk of military action should go no further. I have new information I must share.”
Jessamyn climbed up to the dais so everyone could see and hear her. Her winsome features contrasted perfectly with her father’s stark face, her beauty drawing every eye.
“The King of Obsidian did not order the attack,” Jessamyn said. “My own handmaiden, Brin Tarndier, orchestrated the whole thing. I fired her yesterday, you see. The little thing was just too stressful to have around. She became distraught upon losing her job. She threw a screaming tantrum in the middle of my sitting room and broke my very favorite vase from Silverfell.”
Jessamyn gave a petulant sniff, and Mica could almost picture the scene herself, even though she knew it was a fabrication.
“Brin happened to have contacts in the criminal underbelly of this city. She shared the details of our cruise with petty criminals, inviting them to steal our jewels. That some were of Obsidian extract has no bearing on what occurred. I personally saw a few Windfast scoundrels among our assailants.”
Murmurs spread through the crowd at that. Mica knew this was her cue.
“It’s true!” she called in Lady Ingrid’s voice. “I was wearing a precious necklace that was snatched right off me by a Windfast man.”
This time Jessamyn gave a faint nod of approval.
“We all had a scare out on that boat,” the princess continued. “We should focus on the criminals, not on turning this into an international incident. Let us not allow it to provoke us to recklessness.”
Despite having led the charge earlier, Lord Ober didn’t argue with the princess. He put a hand on Lord Hector’s shoulder and spoke soothingly to him, apparently satisfied with her account. Without Lord Ober’s backing, the push for war crumbled fast.
Mica wondered if Caleb would have agreed with his uncle’s position if he’d been here. She hated the Obsidians as much as anyone, but she didn’t want to risk her entire family over a couple of dead nobles. She trusted that the princess was doing the right thing.
When Mica turned back to Jessamyn, she caught her sharing a look of understanding with her father. Their silent communication was subtle, a twitch of thin lips here, an arched eyebrow there, but it had the texture of a secret code. Mica was beginning to suspect that the apparent distance between the two was yet another mask. Styl and Jessamyn must have planned out the ebb and flow of the audience together. Where he was stone, she was velvet. He was a storm cloud, and she was a ray of sunlight. They were playing a game of their own making—and this time they had won.
As the chatter in the hall turned more and more in Jessamyn’s favor, Emperor Styl stepped in to seal the victory.
“We take the official position that a disgruntled former servant was responsible for this tragedy,” he declared in that clear, ringing voice. “We shall be more careful of future hires. Now, let us put aside all talk of retaliation and focus on ridding our city of the criminals who would commit such an act of cowardice for jewels.”
Mica maintained Lady Ingrid’s appearance as she and the princess left the throne room not long after. She caught sight of Lord Ober outside the doors, surrounded by an animated group of lords and ladies.
“Crisis averted for now,” Jessamyn said as soon as she and Mica were out of earshot of the other nobles. The Shield guards kept their distance, giving them space to talk.
“You don’t really think this was about jewelry theft, do you?” Mica asked.
“No, but don’t you lecture me about lying,” Jessamyn said. “If we ever go to war with Obsidian, it must be for the right reasons. We cannot allow them to provoke—”
“I think you did the right thing, Princess,” Mica said. “The lie was necessary.”
Jessamyn looked over at her, fiddling with a strand of dark-red hair. Then she nodded, as if Mica had passed a test. Or maybe Jessamyn was the one who needed to pass.
“I’m surprised Lord Ober was so vehement,” Mica said as they strode down the corridor, their footsteps echoing in time with one another. Although the emperor, with Jessamyn’s help, had shot down Lord Ober’s proposal to immediately strike back at Obsidian, the Timbral lord had gained admirers for advocating a tougher response to the provocation.
“I’m not,” Jessamyn said. “This isn’t the first time he has taken an aggressive position, or an unpopular one. Plenty of people admire him for his willingness to oppose the majority.”
“He’s powerful, isn’t he?”
“He grows more so by the day. Generally, I think he’s quite levelheaded.” Jessamyn quirked an eyebrow. “It’s not bad to encourage the occasional dissenting voice, you know.”
“But does he usually argue for war?” Mica asked. “That’s where striking back at Obsidian would lead.”
“No . . . That was new.”
“Hmm.” Mica had been taught to keep an eye out for sudden changes in a person’s behavior or positions in case they’d been replaced. She had missed it with Brin, and she didn’t intend to make the same mistake twice.
“I can look into Lord Ober more, if you like,” she said. “Maybe he has been—”
“The situation is too delicate right now,” Jessamyn said. “I can’t be seen making overtly political moves after taking a strong stance on this issue. I don’t want you snooping around him right now.”
“What about Caleb?”
“Lord Caleb has a great deal of respect for his uncle,” Jessamyn said. “I’ll discuss it with him, but in the meantime, it’s best if we encourage everyone to calm down.” She adjusted the diadem on her head. “Perhaps it’s time we had another ball.”
They walked in silence as Mica thought over what Jessamyn had told her. She appreciated that the princess was taking the time to answer her questions. Mica and Jessamyn seemed to have turned a corner back in the hold of that barge. Escaping death had brought them closer together. As much as Mica hated to admit it, she was coming t
o respect the princess.
“You called the Windfast a delicate construct earlier,” she said. “What did you mean by that, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“The imperial family walks a careful line with the nobility we invite to live in the Silver Palace,” Jessamyn said. “Many are the sons and daughters of governors who would otherwise be kings and queens of their territory. They send them to us to make sure their loyalty to the empire serves them in the long run.” She looked over at Mica. “They also send their Talents to serve in the Imperial Army with the understanding that their territories will be protected in return. People from the different lands may have unique customs, but they are united as imperial citizens.”
They reached the princess’s quarters, pausing so Banner could unlock the doors.
“Imagine if every island kept every Talent born on their shores,” Jessamyn went on. “They could build their own little armies. The larger islands might try to take over the small ones. They would all look out only for their own interests. Their people would lose the benefits they have come to enjoy under imperial trade agreements. And that’s the best-case scenario.”
Jessamyn crossed her sitting room to the large window. Jewel Harbor spread before her, glittering in the afternoon sunlight.
Mica stepped up beside her. “And what’s the worst-case scenario?”
“Obsidian,” Jessamyn said, still looking down upon her city. “They nearly destroyed us before. We survive only because we have put aside our differences to work together as a single unit. We are stronger together. That is why my father and I must keep the nobles engaged here at court. If the Windfast islands fight amongst themselves or go separate ways, it will only be a matter of time before the King of Obsidian swallows us up one by one.”
Chapter Nineteen
Jessamyn encouraged everyone to return to normal after the harbor cruise disaster. She had explained to Mica that she couldn’t be seen as being too political.
“People want their princesses to be pretty and well dressed and charming. It makes them uncomfortable when princesses have opinions and influence too. Don’t get me wrong. I rather enjoy being enchanting, but I have to wield my diplomatic clout carefully.”
