by Jordan Rivet
“I am not some lady,” Mica snapped. “Honestly, I must speak to Lord Caleb about your training. Let me pass at once.”
Stievson ducked his head apologetically, long hair swaying. “Yes, Princess Jessamyn.”
Mica put her hands on her hips, continuing to glare at him. “Well?”
Stievson winced, jumping forward to open the door for her. “Forgive me, Princess Jessamyn. Allow me, Princess Jessamyn.”
Mica sauntered past him without another look. She didn’t pay attention to the austere décor in Caleb’s antechamber, which was unoccupied, or even check to see if he was awake in the inner room. She went straight to a side table where numerous vials and bottles were arranged beside a water pitcher. Caleb was the only person in the palace she knew for certain had powerful health tonics on hand at all times. Her hands shook badly as she dumped all the vials into a sack and carried them out again. Stievson looked surprised to see her leave so soon, but she didn’t pause to explain.
She wished for Blur speed as she raced headlong through the opulent corridors toward the princess’s rooms. She might have a potion in her bag that would grant it temporarily, but she didn’t have time to find out. She hoped Lord Ober hadn’t tainted Caleb’s potion supply. He must be angry with his nephew for dismantling the warehouse, but Mica didn’t think he’d poison him outright. No, Ober had laid the blame squarely at Jessamyn’s feet.
Please don’t let her be dead.
Mica hadn’t realized how much she had come to care for the princess. Jessamyn could be frustrating, but Mica admired her too. She was daring in the face of the powerful, deftly walking the tightrope of imperial politics for the good of the empire. And she had saved Mica’s life, delivering a deadly blow without hesitation to rescue her hired Talent. That was the kind of princess Mica could stand behind.
Please, please don’t let her be dead.
She kicked the door open and rushed over to Banner, who still sat on the carpet where she’d left him, holding Jessamyn in his arms.
“Is she—?”
“We don’t have much time,” Banner said.
The princess had gone quiet, no longer screaming or whimpering. Her breath was a low rattle. Mica couldn’t bear to look at her face.
She dumped the potion bottles onto the plush carpet and set aside anything with a label mentioning healing or energy. It looked as though Caleb had been trying all kinds of treatments to manage his condition. She wished she could trust a potioner to tell her which to use, but Quinn was the only one she knew, and she had delivered the poison in the first place.
Mica pulled open Jessamyn’s cracked lips to pour the first draught down her throat. The princess coughed up half of it before Mica could get her to swallow a few drops. She unstopped another bottle and hesitated.
“Use them all,” Banner said.
“This one is for Shield—”
“Just do it.”
Mica poured the healthful doses into Jessamyn’s mouth one by one.
After she administered the potions, Mica steeled herself to really look at Jessamyn’s face. The skin on the left side had bubbled and slid, rendering her features completely unrecognizable. On the right, Jessamyn’s delicate complexion was marred with burn-like patches of rough red skin. It looked as if a similar pattern continued down her body. Her neck, her hands, her ankles. Wherever skin was visible, it was either patchy and burned or waxy and misshapen.
Neither Mica nor Banner spoke as they waited for some sign that the potions were taking effect. The Shield cradled the princess’s head tenderly, smoothing back her sweat-damp hair. Mica wondered if, while Brin had been pining after Banner, he had been pining after someone else.
The seconds ticked past. Mica couldn’t tell if the healing potions were helping, but the damage didn’t seem to be getting any worse.
Come on, Princess. You can fight this.
Swallowing a lump in her throat, Mica took Jessamyn’s less-damaged hand, which was covered with raised red marks, as if it had been splashed with acid. The princess’s eyes remained closed, but the poison no longer seemed to be spreading.
You have to pull through.
Jessamyn was too vivacious to die. She couldn’t be defeated by the likes of Lord Ober.
A picture formed in Mica’s mind of Lady Euphia marching out of the ballroom after Lord Ober whispered in her ear. It had happened right in front of her. She had missed the danger, dismissing Euphia as quickly as everyone else did.
Aren’t you supposed to see through people’s masks?
Mica wondered if Quinn had betrayed them too, or if Euphia had sent an Impersonator to the princess’s door with the potion. No matter who carried out the orders, Mica had been the one who told Lord Ober the identity of Jessamyn’s trusted potion supplier. This was her fault.
The princess’s breathing seemed to ease a little, but every breath Mica took felt rougher and more ragged. She pressed her forehead to the princess’s hand, fighting back tears.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not caring that Banner could hear. “I’m so sorry.”
Were the marks on Jessamyn’s hands smaller? A few of the welts on her face looked a little less angry than they had moments ago, less red and inflamed.
Mica swore to herself that she’d never let the princess down again if she’d only wake up. She held her breath, clutching Jessamyn’s mottled hand, begging for another chance.
The princess’s eyelids twitched.
“Princess?”
Another twitch.
“Princess, can you hear me?”
Her lids stopped fluttering.
“Jessamyn?” Mica raised her voice, afraid she’d imagined the tiny spark of life. “Jessa!”
Then the princess opened her eyes. “Honestly, Micathea. Where are your manners?” she rasped. “I expect to be addressed by my formal title at all times.”
Mica sat back, relief flooding through her. Banner burst into tears.
Jessamyn turned her head from side to side, wincing as the movement pulled at her damaged skin. She looked between her Mimic and her Shield.
“Well? Who is going to tell me why I am not dead?”
Jessamyn forbade Mica and Banner from leaving her chambers until they knew how bad her condition was. She didn’t want so much as a whisper to get out that she had been poisoned—or that she had survived.
“He is more powerful than I thought if he dared an assassination attempt,” she said as they settled her in her grand canopy bed. “We must wait for him to show his hand.”
Mica wasn’t sure what that meant, but she was too relieved Jessamyn had survived to argue. She thought for sure Lord Ober would be arrested now. If he wasn’t, Mica had half a mind deal with him herself.
“Ober has a plan,” Jessamyn insisted. “We will see what it is soon enough.”
Mica wondered if she was in too much pain to think straight. The health potions had stopped the progress of the poison and reduced the worst of the burn marks, but they didn’t seem to be healing any more than that. Jessamyn was unrecognizable as the beauty who had spoken up at the feast in a golden gown and pearls.
Mica paced around the antechamber, exercising her impersonations and impatiently waiting for—whatever the princess expected to happen. She wanted to know what was going on in the rest of the Silver Palace. She wanted to check on Caleb, Danil, and Quinn. She wanted to kill the man who had tried to murder her princess. Most of all, Mica wanted to avoid thinking about how she had enabled it. She had given away the princess’s secret potioner and then left her potions at the warehouse for Ober to find.
Banner seemed almost as anxious as Mica. He fretted over the bedridden princess, ordered sugary treats from the kitchens (not allowing Alea, the maid who delivered the food, so much as a glimpse inside the bedroom), and even offered to spoon-feed her. Jessamyn thanked him graciously for every bite, her bearing positively regal as she lay back on her pillows.
Mica was too nervous to eat. She fought against her guilt,
pacing and pacing as the sun rose above Amber Island in the distance.
She watched the slow progress of daylight through the vast window, itching to take action. But Jessamyn told her to wait a little longer. Lord Ober would grow impatient. He would make his move. Mica didn’t know how they’d know what it was when they were cloistered here, but the princess could display the patience of a gargoyle when she wanted to.
What is she waiting for?
Lord Ober couldn’t show his hand any clearer than he already had. He was a traitor to the Windfast Empire. He had mutilated scores of Talents and poisoned the princess. If nothing else, that ought to be enough to have his head removed from his shoulders and every inch of his island buried in salt.
But still, Jessamyn waited.
When the sun was a full, golden ball above the harbor, about to tip past its zenith, a knock sounded on the door.
“Ah,” Jessamyn said. “I suspect we are about to learn something very interesting.”
Mica hurried to the door and found Peet bouncing on his toes in the corridor.
“I have an urgent message for the princess!”
“Stay out there!” Jessamyn shouted. There was a low murmur of voices and a rustle of fabric, then she said, “I will receive you now, good sir.”
Mica escorted Peet through the sitting room to the bedchamber, where Banner had pulled the curtains around the canopy bed to hide the princess from view.
Peet looked slightly confused as he spoke through the curtains to the unseen princess.
“A threat has been made against your life by agents of the Obsidian King, Your Highness.” Peet bowed, even though Jessamyn couldn’t see him. “Half a dozen spies heard the whispers overnight and reported them to their noble employers. Rumors are spreading that the Obsidians plan to assassinate you.”
“Interesting,” Jessamyn said. “That’s even bolder than I anticipated.”
“There’s more, my princess,” Peet said. “The nobles are already spreading this assassination rumor, but I heard from a reliable source that the story was planted for their informants to pick up. As far as the spies around the Obsidian King know, there are no plans to murder Your Imperial Ladyship.”
“Ha!” Jessamyn said. “I bet Ober is pacing around his chambers right now, waiting for someone to discover my body. By the time they do, the nobles will already be convinced Obsidian is responsible. They won’t even pause to investigate.”
Peet gaped at the curtains. “Your . . . your body?”
“Quickly, Micathea,” Jessamyn called. “You must make an appearance. Wear my favorite black dress, the one with the silver details. You’re going to put a stop to this nonsense once and for all.”
“Won’t everyone suspect an Impersonator if the rumor of your death is already out there?”
“You will just have to convince them all, including my father, that you’re really me. Quickly now. Get to the throne room. I am certain Lord Ober is planning a big show. You must be there to interrupt him. And Micathea?”
“Yes, Princess?”
“Your performance must be utterly flawless.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Mica strode toward the throne room, her dark skirt swishing around her ankles. The night-black gown had a wide silver belt and epaulets, creating the impression of armor. Jessamyn’s dark-red hair floated around her shoulders, and a silver crown rested atop her head. She looked like a princess on her way to war. Mica wasn’t surprised this was Jessamyn’s favorite dress.
Banner had refused to leave Jessamyn’s side, so a different palace Shield escorted Mica, a new fellow with a shaved head and large eyes who had no idea she wasn’t really the princess. Peet had raced off to fetch his source, one of Master Kiev’s spies, who could corroborate the story of the planted assassination rumor. But the evidence wouldn’t matter if any of the nobles in the throne room realized Mica wasn’t really Jessamyn. They would figure out the princess had been poisoned, and the damage would be done. There’d be no convincing them that Lord Ober rather than the Obsidian King was responsible then. The end result would be Mica’s brothers marching to a war they probably wouldn’t win.
She could not fail.
The Shield pulled open the door, and Mica burst into the throne room.
Emperor Styl looked up at her from the dais and smiled. The expression transformed his normally grave face, and for a brief moment he looked almost doting. So far, so good. Jessamyn had clued Mica in on the secret code she shared with her father. Only she wore silver crowns. She’d sent Mica to do her bidding wearing gold and jewels and pearls atop her head, but whenever the emperor saw a silver shine, he knew a Mimic wasn’t replacing his daughter.
“This is the only time I’ve ever broken his trust,” Jessamyn had said as she set the silver diadem on Mica’s head. “Do not let me down.”
Now, as Mica strode down the golden carpet, every eye turned to follow her progress, and gasps rippled through the assembly. The rumors that the princess had been murdered must have preceded her.
Also, she looked utterly devastating.
Mica had taken the princess’s regal beauty and enhanced it as much as she could while staying within the realm of believability. Bright eyes. Shiny hair. Glowing skin. Perfect lips turned up in a knowing smile. All who saw her couldn’t help but feel bewitched. Every little touch Mica had added made them more likely to want to please her, more likely to take her side. Beauty was a tool, as she had long been taught, and today she would make it into a weapon.
Lord Ober stood near the dais, not ten feet from the throne. Blatant shock crossed his face at the sight of her, but it disappeared quickly, replaced by suspicion.
“Daughter.” Emperor Styl’s clear voice called attention back to the front of the room. “Lord Ober was just telling me that threats have been made against your life by the King of Obsidian. Some think your murder is looming.”
“I’m afraid reports of my imminent demise are much exaggerated,” Mica said.
“Princess Jessamyn.” Lord Ober offered her a smooth bow. “I am pleased to see you, of course, but I believe we should take these threats seriously. The last thing any of us wants is to see you come to harm.”
“I appreciate your concern for my health, my lord.”
“We all wish to see you thrive. In fact,” Lord Ober turned back to address the emperor, “I believe we can do more to see that the princess is protected. Perhaps she should retire to the imperial villa over in Winnow Bay until we can determine who’s trying to harm her. We must protect the heir to the throne at all costs.”
“How kind of you, Lord Ober,” Mica said dryly. She couldn’t help being impressed at how quickly he tried to turn the situation to his advantage. Mere seconds after his assassination attempt had been thwarted, he was already cooking up a new way to get rid of her. “However, I am afraid you are still mistaken, my lord.”
“About what, my princess?”
“Haven’t you heard?” Mica gave her best imitation of Princess Jessamyn’s longsuffering sigh. “Why am I always the most informed person in this court? You must get better spies.”
“I beg your pardon,” Lord Ober said, his voice flat.
“I learned straight from a trusted Imperial Impersonator that the Obsidian threat against my life was fabricated. It is nothing but a rumor.”
Murmurs spread through the throne room. The lords and ladies whispered furiously to each other, some summoning members of their entourages, as if to confirm their spies’ reports.
Mica raised a hand, waiting for the crowds to quiet before continuing. She wanted them all to hear this. “Once again, you have exaggerated the danger posed by the Obsidian King, my lord. You’re becoming quite paranoid about him.” She glanced at Lord Ober’s distinguished features and prominent nose, and hatred bubbled up within her. He had come far too close to killing her princess. She wasn’t going to let him get away with it. Her voice rang loud and clear across the assembly. “One might almost think, Lord Ober, that
you are trying to provoke my father into a war.”
A hush fell over the crowd.
The emperor certainly wasn’t smiling now.
“Are you certain the rumors are fabricated?”
“Yes.” Mica met his gaze. The emperor’s eyes were exactly the same shade of brown as his daughter’s. “I am having my informants double-check the information thoroughly, but there seems to be no Obsidian threat. I suspect they will find the source of the rumors quite close to home.”
She looked straight at Lord Ober, and she knew no one in the throne room missed the implication. They were hanging on her every word, ready to believe whatever she said. Hatred churned like potion in a cauldron within her. She wanted Ober’s head—and with this face, she could make them give it to her.
Then a voice rose broke the expectant silence.
“How do we know you’re really the princess and not an Impersonator?”
Mica had anticipated the challenge, but it was not Lord Ober who voiced it.
She turned. Lord Caleb stood at the front of the crowd, his face pale, as if he hadn’t fully recovered from his latest illness. Dread ripped through her as he stared at the mask she had assumed. Somehow, he always knew when it was really Mica. He couldn’t have picked a worse time to point it out.
“I wish for proof that this is really Princess Jessamyn.” Caleb met her eyes, and Mica fought against the urge to shake her head, to warn him not to push it. He was supposed to be on their side. Why was he helping his uncle now, especially after what he’d done to the Talents in that warehouse?
Apparently, her brief hesitation confirmed his suspicion. Worry and a hint of betrayal showed in his eyes. He opened his mouth. But before he could give her away, a loud voice interrupted him.
“You think I don’t know my own daughter?” Emperor Styl boomed. “She is no Impersonator. Jessamyn, please continue what you were saying before you were so rudely interrupted.”
Mica started in surprise, not missing the shock on Caleb’s face at the emperor’s words. Mercifully, he kept quiet as Mica spoke once more.
