by Jordan Rivet
“I believe we’ve covered everything,” Lord Ober said. “I’m glad we will be unified on this matter.”
“I am as well, my lord,” Jessamyn said. “The empire is stronger when we work together.”
No, it’s not! Don’t trust him!
“Agreed. I shall take my leave now, Princess.” Heavy footsteps moved toward the outer door. “I look forward to seeing you at the feast.”
Hurry up, you conniving traitor. Mica put her hand on the doorknob, getting ready to rush back in.
Then Caleb’s voice filtered through the door. It sounded as if he was still over by the window. “I wish to visit with the princess a little longer, Uncle Ober.”
“Of course. I’ll leave you young people to it,” Lord Ober said warmly. “May you thrive.”
Mica heard the outer door close. She hesitated for only a second longer as she debated about whether to wait for Caleb to leave. That guard back at the warehouse had said His Lordship’s nephew didn’t know about his schemes. It was time to find out for sure.
She opened the door and flung back the tapestry. Caleb was looking right at it, as if expecting her. A smile broke across his face as she entered. She wondered if he’d stayed behind just to see her. She had no time to untangle that thought as Jessamyn advanced toward her.
The princess was not smiling. “Excuse me, Micathea. I didn’t call—”
“It’s an emergency,” Mica said. “Princess, I found the missing Talents. They’re being tortured and experimented on. I rescued one of them. He’ll tell you more.” She took a deep breath and looked straight at Caleb. “But I think Lord Ober is behind it.”
Both of them stared at her for a moment in shocked silence.
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Jessamyn said at last.
“I followed two members of the City Watch to a warehouse not far from the docks. I heard screaming and saw a young woman with her arms covered in blood. There’s this vile old potioner, and—”
“That does not explain why you would accuse—”
“Excuse me, Jessa.” Caleb held up a hand, interrupting the princess’s rebuke. He fixed Mica with a steady gaze. “Where is this warehouse?”
Mica gave the location and described the two redbrick warehouses side by side, one big and one small—
“Connected by a wooden walkway?” Caleb finished for her.
“That’s right.” Mica could hardly breathe. He couldn’t have known about it, could he? About the blood and the crates and the screams. Her fingers twitched toward the curved knife strapped to her thigh.
“It belongs to my uncle,” Caleb said. “The warehouse. I haven’t been there in years, though. It used to store the wine he imports from Timbral Island.”
“Not anymore,” Mica said. “It’s evil, what he’s doing in there.”
Caleb sat down slowly, as if the truth was settling on him, pressing him down. He truly hadn’t known, hadn’t expected his uncle to be a monster. Mica felt a pang of sympathy for him. She herself was disappointed Lord Ober wasn’t as good to Talents as he pretended. She couldn’t imagine how his nephew must feel.
Suddenly, there was a terrific crash, and glass shattered across the floor. Mica whirled around. Jessamyn had smashed a crystal vase, a new one given to her just last week by one of her suitors.
“The nerve of that man!” The princess stomped across the chamber, looking for more things to throw. “Lord Ober came here tonight to talk about friendship and how we should work together for the good of Windfast. He dared ask me to be his ally while running this abhorrent scheme behind my back?” A porcelain teapot soared through the air, followed by two cups, their saucers, and the sugar bowl. It was a wonder the noise didn’t wake the entire palace.
“That’s why he was here?” Mica asked, staying well back from the flying crockery.
“He is about to propose that my father mobilize our armies for a series of war games,” Jessamyn said. “He only wants such a grand move to shore up his influence, of course, but he had just about convinced me that a show of force would remind Obsidian we won’t be intimidated. He thought he could neutralize me as an opposing voice.” She reached for a decorative iron bowl, which looked heavy enough to crack open her floor.
“Princess!” Mica said. “Perhaps you should stop throwing things until—”
“I’ll throw whatever I please!” Jessamyn snapped, but she put the iron bowl back where it belonged. “Fine, fine.”
“Can you send in soldiers to free the Talents?” Mica said. “They might move them after tonight, and then we’ll never catch them. And we have to arrest Lord Ober.”
“Hold on, I’m thinking.” Jessamyn paced, the shards on the floor crunching with every step.
Mica looked over at Caleb again. His hands were clasped before him, and he sat as still as if he were meditating. Though he was clearly troubled by the revelation of his uncle’s schemes, Mica felt weak-kneed with relief that he hadn’t known about them. She’d wanted him to be as good and kind as he seemed.
As though he sensed her watching, he looked up to meet her eyes, his gaze steady despite the turmoil within.
They watched each other, caught in a moment of pure stillness as Jessamyn raged nearby. Mica’s heart beat a painful rhythm in her chest. And in that still moment, she knew with crystalline certainty that her feelings for Caleb went far beyond physical attraction. You’re in trouble now, Mica.
The princess stopped trampling glass into her floor and put her hands on her hips.
“Lord Ober is too powerful,” she announced. “I cannot simply arrest him.”
“What?” Mica tore her eyes away from Caleb to stare at the princess. “I don’t understand.”
“Yes, well, that’s why you’re not in charge here, Micathea. Our relationships with the nobility of the islands are more tenuous than you may realize. Those who live here and participate in palace life with all its trappings remain invested in the politics of the empire.” She waved her hand at the window. The lights of Jewel Harbor below them appeared faint through the veil of rain. “As long as the rulers of the islands have a chance to influence the emperor and perhaps marry a princess or the scion of a more powerful island, they are willing to play this game. If we start sending in imperial soldiers and arresting lords after they disagree with me publicly, they’ll move out faster than you can say harbor cruise.” The princess looked at Caleb now, and the fire in her eyes softened. “We can’t expect the ruling families of the islands to send us their sons and daughters and uncles if we might throw them in a cell at the slightest provocation.”
Mica hardly thought that warehouse counted as a slight provocation. “But what he’s doing—”
“Is despicable,” Jessamyn said. “But he must be dealt with carefully. Lord Ober is smart enough to cover his tracks. He can always claim he had no idea what was happening on his property. I think we need to dismantle this warehouse project quietly. We can’t afford the tension among the nobles right now.”
“Why not?”
“Because we are on the verge of war, Micathea.”
“What?”
“War,” Jessamyn repeated. “Haven’t you been paying attention? Impersonator spies in Obsidian have picked up on increased military activity. We fear the Obsidian King may make another bid for the islands. We cannot be divided if and when he does.”
Mica didn’t know what to say to that. A tiny part of her wondered which Impersonator had successfully brought the threat to light. She felt an irrational certainty that it had been Tiber Warson. But war was far more serious than her petty rivalry with her old schoolmate. War meant her brothers on the front lines. War meant people dying, Talents and ordinary folk alike. War meant bigger enemies than even Lord Ober.
“Is that why we were attacked on the boat?”
“As far as I can determine, that was an act of terrorism designed to provoke us to act prematurely,” Jessamyn said. “We didn’t fall for it, but Lord Ober took advantage of the incident
to establish himself as the warning voice against Obsidian. It has certainly won him additional friends. No doubt he seeks to usurp my influence with my father too.” She frowned at the broken crystal and porcelain all over her floor as if she had no idea where it came from. “No matter. Take me to the Talent you rescued. We must discuss how best to liberate the rest without drawing the wrong kind of attention.”
“I’ll do it,” Caleb said quietly.
“Pardon?”
He stood. “I will lead the action against this warehouse operation. That way you’ll keep your hands clean, Jessa. It will be seen as a family affair, not an imperial one, if I put an end to his . . . experimentation.”
Jessamyn tapped a finger against her red lips for moment. “Are you sure? I know you and your uncle are close.”
“Not as close as I thought.” Caleb glanced over at Mica and then back at the princess. “But you are right: the empire is stronger when the governing families of the islands are united.”
Pity shone in Jessamyn’s eyes as she looked at her friend. But she gave a sharp nod. “Very well. Micathea will help you. Go now, and don’t tell me too many details.”
“What about Lord Ober?” Mica said.
Jessamyn smiled and patted her hair. “After we cut his little scheme out from under him, I think he’ll find I’m less of an ally than he thought. I believe I shall pay a visit to my father.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
As they walked back to Peet’s flat, Caleb asked Mica to describe what she had seen in detail, especially the boarded-up windows of the warehouse, the old potioner, and the guards. He looked up when she described how she had jumped onto Benson and clawed her knives deep into his body.
“Are you hurt?” he asked gently.
She looked away. “My rib is cracked, but I’m fine.”
Caleb made a sudden movement, as if he was about to take her hand. But he pulled back, a shadow falling over his eyes.
It occurred to her as they were climbing the rickety staircase to Peet’s flat that she was leading Caleb straight to the only proof of his uncle’s treachery. She had been taught to suspect everyone at the Academy, and he could still be in cahoots with Lord Ober. But Mica trusted Caleb out of an instinct that went far deeper than any classroom lesson, one she couldn’t begin to explain.
Peet flung open the door at the first knock. He inspected the stairwell carefully, looking for eavesdroppers or perhaps checking to see if anyone else was with them before ushering them in to see Danil.
“He was asleep before the door closed behind you,” Peet said. “I went out to get some food and a potion for the pain. I know a fellow who knows a fellow.” Mica noticed he had picked up a wider array of food than usual in the few minutes he had been out, completely filling the small table. Peet blushed when she asked about it. “I thought Her Highness might be with you.”
“Well, Danil looks like he needs the sustenance,” Mica said. “Thanks for looking after him.”
“Anything for a fellow Talent.”
Mica touched Danil’s shoulder, which was thinner than it used to be, thinking of all those happy afternoons he had spent trying to make her and Sapphire laugh. It was painful to see him so frail. She wished she could let him sleep, but they had work to do. She shook him gently.
Danil came awake at once, bolting upright, his hands reaching for Mica’s throat. Caleb and Peet were there so fast they knocked into other as they each tried to stop him from choking her.
“It’s fine,” Mica said. “Danil, it’s me. You’re safe, remember?”
“Sorry.” Danil sat back, and the aggression and tension, which were so unlike him, faded away. He rubbed his eyes with his large fists, and Mica glimpsed a shadow of her old friend.
She motioned to the other two men that it was safe to stand back. Peet was looking curiously at Caleb. He must have seen how fast the young nobleman moved. Mica asked the Blur to fix them all some tea before he could start asking too many questions.
She pulled up a chair beside Danil while Caleb watched from a respectful distance.
“We need to talk to you about the warehouse,” she began.
Danil grabbed her hand, his skin feeling slightly feverish. “Is Sapphire with you?”
“She had to go to Winnow Island, but she has been worried sick about you.”
“I hope she doesn’t think I took off because of what we . . .”
“Don’t be silly. She just wants you to be safe,” Mica said firmly. “Now, why don’t you tell us what happened, and then we can see about getting you two back together.”
Danil hesitated. His gaze was haunted, and Mica feared he’d never again be the gentle giant she remembered. He looked past her, suspicion in his pallid features.
“Who’s he?”
“This is Lord Caleb. He’s here to help us.”
“Is he a Talent?”
“Even better.” Mica gestured for Caleb to pull up a chair. “He’s a friend.”
Peet handed around strong cups of tea, and Danil recounted what he had been through over the past few months, ever since he got knocked on the head by someone whose face he hadn’t seen and woke up tied to the back of a horse halfway to Jewel Harbor. He had been thrown into a crate in the warehouse and pulled out every few days for the potioner with the scarred face to poke and prod. The old man had taken blood, hair, saliva, even toe nails. He had forced Danil to perform impersonation after impersonation, sometimes under the influence of different potions.
“What was he trying to do?”
“I think he wanted me to be stronger,” Danil said. “It was almost as if he was trying to turn me into a Muscle.”
Mica and Caleb exchanged tense glances.
“Did it work?”
“Not on me,” Danil said. “I think he had some successes, if what I heard from the other prisoners is true.”
“You talked to them?”
“We could speak to each other through the crates, but we had to be careful that the guards didn’t catch us. Anytime one of us appeared to manifest a second Talent, they got shipped away. But when I didn’t get any stronger than a normal fellow my size, the potioner started using me for parts.”
He pointed at his leg, which now ended midway down his calf. Peet had cleaned and bandaged it for him while Mica was at the palace. It made her feel sick that this had been done to her friend—and most likely to others.
“Do you know why he did . . . that?”
Danil shook his head. “I heard him say once that bones are the new blood. Does that make any sense to you?”
“Some Potioners use Talent blood in their concoctions,” Mica said. “Maybe he has figured out that bones work better.”
Peet shuddered, wrapping his arms tight around his gangly frame. “I doubt many people want to sell their bones, no matter how hungry they get.”
“I agree,” Mica said. “That would explain why he abducted the Talents instead of paying them like the other potioners do.” The scheme was slowly coming into focus.
“No matter what his reasoning was,” Caleb said, speaking up for the first time, “we can’t let this continue. Tell me more about the warehouse, sir.”
Danil obliged, describing the building and its defenses in great detail. Like all good Academy-trained Impersonators, Danil had paid close attention to his surroundings, and he was able to provide a fairly complete picture of the secretive operation. He knew how many guards there were, which ones were Talents themselves—not many apart from Benson—and how some of the other Talents had been lured in.
“It was never the same way twice,” Danil said. “I was nabbed from the Academy in the middle of the night. Someone else responded to a notice offering to pay Talents for their blood. Another went home with a beautiful woman. One was stolen from a boat in the middle of the harbor and delivered to the warehouse wrapped in a carpet.”
“Ober is intelligent,” Caleb said. “It’s like him to cover his tracks, avoid patterns.”
“So
that’s who’s responsible?” Danil asked. “They never once said his name. I listened, asked everyone. Not a whisper of it.”
“He wouldn’t want it connected to him,” Caleb said. “Or to his family.” He rolled his shoulders as if shrugging off the association and leaned forward.
“Did you hear any hints of what their end goal could be?”
“We had plenty of time to think it over,” Danil said. “The prevailing theory was that they were trying to create superior soldiers.”
Caleb nodded. “Multiple Talents in a single individual would be formidable.”
“A fifth Talent,” Mica said quietly.
“So this mad potioner tortures a bunch of Talents until they’re both extra fast and extra strong in order to make his own army?” Peet said. “I don’t buy it.”
The others looked up, surprised.
“Why is that?” Caleb asked.
“If someone did to me what he did to this poor bastard,” Peet grimaced apologetically at Danil, “there isn’t a chance in all the Windfast Empire I’d ever fight for him.”
“Can’t argue with that,” Danil said.
“Maybe the Talents are just the first step,” Mica said. “What if he’s using them to figure out some sort of potion he can give to his own loyal men?” She looked at Caleb. “Maybe without their knowledge.”
Caleb went very still. Peet and Danil talked over Mica’s suggestion, their voices seeming to fade away as she watched the young lord process what had been done to him—and what could well have been done to others. This must be the closest he had ever come to uncovering the source of his strange, erratic Talents.
“Let us put an end to this,” Caleb said at last. “I have a dozen fighting men in my employment. We must keep this as clean as possible. Peet, if you know any Muscles and Shields who’d like work tonight, I’d be grateful if you could rouse them. I will pay them well.”
“I reckon they’d do it for free,” Peet said fiercely. “That vile cretin can’t come after Talents and expect us not to do something about it.”
“It’s all right,” Caleb said. “The Pebble Islands are good for it.”
