by Jordan Rivet
“Thank you, Father. As I was saying, Lord Ober’s actions may be a provocation, or paranoia, or they could be a clumsy attempt at political posturing.” She gave a very Jessamyn-like sigh of pity, making her eyes a little bigger and more luminous, reeling her audience back in. “Perhaps it’s best if Lord Ober retreats to his own Winnow Bay villa for a season of rest while we investigate. It will be good for him. Life in the Silver Palace can be stressful at times.”
A few of the nobles chuckled, and Lord Ober’s face darkened.
“You may be right,” Emperor Styl said. “I do hope you’ll take my daughter’s advice seriously, Lord Ober. I’m sure she only has your best interests at heart.”
Lord Ober looked as though he were swallowing glass as he said, “I’m sure she does. Thank you, Princess.”
He bowed and marched stiffly out of the throne room, whispers chasing after him. Mica watched him go, hoping she was doing the right thing. She had pulled back from calling for Ober’s head only because she couldn’t be certain what Caleb would do. If he’d question her legitimacy, he must still have mixed feelings about his uncle. He may try to stop an execution. Lopping off heads wasn’t Jessamyn’s style anyway.
As the nobles whispered about Lord Ober with a certain wry amusement, Mica began to see why Jessamyn wanted to do it this way. By calling him out on a clumsy conspiracy, she’d made the once-powerful Ober lose the nobles’ respect. His influence had been hamstrung, and it would be easier to arrest him without creating chaos among his allies. In the long run, embarrassing him was far more effective than calling him a traitor or making him a martyr.
Even so, Mica knew Lord Ober was still dangerous. And he wouldn’t forget this.
Caleb, too, strode out of the throne room without looking at her again.
“Let us put to rest this notion that the Obsidian King is out to do us harm,” Emperor Styl said. “As my daughter says, this is mere paranoia. We have a strong army and intelligence network. The Windfast will not cower before baseless rumors.”
And he leaned back upon his throne, his face marble-carved once more.
Mica returned to the princess’s chambers as soon as she could, eager to see how Jessamyn was faring. Banner admitted her to the inner room as a woman she didn’t recognize emerged, carrying a basket full of potions. She had pure-white hair, rheumy blue eyes, and hands as wrinkled as walnuts.
“She’s a healer,” Banner said by way of explanation. “The princess trusts her not to tell.”
Mica nodded at the old woman and hurried to the princess’s bedside, hoping the healer had managed to do some good.
Jessamyn’s face didn’t look as though it had improved much at all. Her skin still sagged like melted wax on one side. Sticky brown ointment covered the burn-like patches, and her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. But she smiled triumphantly when Mica described what had happened in the throne room.
“Well! You didn’t mess that one up.”
Mica bowed, figuring that was as close as she’d get to praise.
“How are you feeling, Princess?”
“I wish I could say I’ve felt worse.” Jessamyn touched the sagging skin on the left side of her face and winced. “I’ve certainly never looked worse. The healer doesn’t think this damage can be fixed, at least not with any potion she knows of. I . . . I am afraid this may be the new me.” She blinked rapidly, holding back tears.
Mica shuffled her feet beside the bed, unsure how to act. She had never seen the princess cry before. Jessamyn always seemed so vibrant and strong, hiding her vulnerabilities so well that Mica had no idea what they actually were. But the princess had relied heavily on her looks. What must it be like not to have them anymore?
“I’m so sorry this happened to you.” Mica needed to confess that she had been the one who told Lord Ober about Magic Q, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it now, when Jessamyn looked so sad. Instead, she said, “I never really thanked you for saving my life back on the harbor cruise.”
“Yes, that was rude of you.” Jessamyn smiled a bit. “I was rather brave, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, Princess.”
“I still dream about that man sometimes.” Jessamyn lowered her voice, seeming frailer and smaller in her sick bed. “I wake up sweating, feeling the blow ringing in my bones.”
“I understand,” Mica whispered, thinking of Benson’s death in the warehouse.
“No matter,” Jessamyn said. “It was worth it, in defense of a friend.”
“Thank you, Princess.”
They looked steadily at each other for one heartbeat. Two.
Then Jessamyn cleared her throat. “On to business then. Now that you have finally mastered your impersonation of me, I will need you to do it full-time.”
Mica’s jaw went slack. “I beg your pardon?”
“That’s right. The situation is much too delicate right now to announce my poisoning. We must make sure Ober is under control, and as soon as he is, I need to shore up every alliance I have ever made. There’s also the matter of corruption in the City Watch. Really, there is far too much on my plate to deal with the fallout of what has happened right now.”
“You want to keep the poisoning a secret?”
“Keep up, Micathea. Hmm, maybe you aren’t up to the task. I need you to attend all my appearances in my face until I find a way to heal this mess or it is convenient to reveal the truth.”
“You’re asking me to be you all the time?”
“Isn’t that what you’re here for?”
Mica didn’t answer. This task felt different from what she had been doing so far. She had played scores of different roles in the Silver Palace, impersonating whomever Jessamyn demanded. But she had still been herself. She had still been Mica. Jessamyn was asking her to give up her entire identity to become not an impersonator, but a full-time imposter.
“I do not ask this lightly,” Jessamyn said. “The empire is in crisis, and it will remain so until we dig Lord Ober’s influence out by the roots. I cannot do that looking like a victim. The nobles much worship me, not pity me.”
Mica squeezed her own features back onto her face, needing to make this decision in her own skin. She glanced at the mirror on the princess’s wall, at her snub nose, hazel eyes, nut-brown hair. Then she looked down at the disfigured lady.
This was it, the moment to choose how much she really wanted to serve the empire. When she had entered the Academy, Mica had talked about serving her homeland, but she had imagined the adventure and even the glory—not the kind that would get her recognized on the streets of Jewel Harbor, but the kind where history would remember her for accomplishing something significant. When Master Kiev had said this assignment was her way to serve, even though it didn’t involve adventures in far-off lands, she had resisted the idea. She had complained. She had pushed back against Jessamyn’s orders. But when she finally cooperated with the princess, they had saved the captive Talents and broken the dominance of the most powerful lord in the empire.
But now? Now she was being asked to give up her very self, the only thing she always had, no matter what people could see. If Jessamyn’s face never recovered, she could wind up pretending to be the princess for the rest of her life. Was she willing to take it that far?
“I need to think about it,” Mica said.
Jessamyn opened her mouth to respond, when someone pounded a fist on the outer door.
“Jessa! It’s Caleb,” called a muffled voice. “Are you all right? Don’t make me break down this door!”
Jessamyn raised an eyebrow at Mica. “You’d better think fast.”
“I’ll take care of this.” Mica quickly resumed her Jessamyn impersonation, closed the door between the bedroom and the antechamber, and instructed Banner to admit Caleb to the sitting room.
He marched in looking murderous.
“Where is the princess?”
“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Mica said in her very best Jessamyn voice. She was getting quit
e good at it.
“That wasn’t her in the throne room,” Caleb said. “Are the rumors true? Has someone hurt her?”
“Of course that was me in the throne room,” Mica said. “Really, I’d expect my dearest friend to know better.”
Caleb hesitated, as if doubting himself for the first time. He looked closely at her, and Mica paid extra attention to the exact turn of her lips. She had been working on this impersonation since he pointed out the flaw, and she was pretty sure she had it perfect this time.
He brushed a hand through his hair, making it messier than ever, and narrowed his eyes. Mica gave one of Jessamyn’s signature sighs, as if she were terribly put-upon and no one else was as sensible as her.
“Are you satisfied yet?”
“I suppose,” he said slowly. “After all that talk about Obsidian, I thought . . . I’m glad to see you’re all right.”
Mica suddenly understood why Caleb had doubted her enough to call attention to a possible imposter in the throne room. He believed the rumors about the threat. He thought Jessamyn had been murdered and replaced. It stung that he suspected her of being a traitor after all they had been through, but she had to admire him for being loyal enough to challenge her in front of the court. That was the kind of dedication Jessamyn inspired in her friends.
Mica knew what she had to do.
“Is there anything else?” she asked Caleb. “I must prepare for my dancing lesson. I have a new dress that will make Lady Elana curl up in a corner and weep.”
Caleb grinned, and the remaining tension went out of his shoulders. “I’m sure you do. Sorry to trouble you.” He started to go, then paused. “Will your Impersonator be hiding in the balcony again?”
“Why do you ask?” Mica said as nonchalantly as she could manage.
“I’m chasing new leads to understand my . . . condition after what Haddell told me. I thought she might like to help.” A faint smile crossed his lips. “Besides, she’s good company.”
Mica’s heart thudded painfully at his words. Why did he have to say this now? She never should have let her feelings for him grow. He was a weakness, one she wouldn’t be able to afford in the days to come. If she was going to commit to this imposter assignment, she had to become the princess. Which meant she could no longer be Mica—at least for now.
She took a deep breath. “Micathea doesn’t work for me anymore.”
Caleb’s smile faded. “What do you mean?”
“She decided palace life wasn’t for her.” Mica waved her hand vaguely at the window. “I’m sure she’s off on some daring spy mission by now.”
“Did she leave any way to reach her?”
Mica’s chest squeezed like a fist, and it took all her willpower not to morph back into herself and throw her arms around Caleb’s neck. But she said, “I can’t be expected to bother with that kind of information.”
“So she just . . . left?” He looked so disappointed. Why did he have to make this harder?
“I don’t know why you care,” Mica said, her voice brittle. “It’s not as if she’s a member of the nobility anyway.”
“I guess not.” For a moment, suspicion flickered in Caleb’s eyes. Then it was gone.
“It was nice to have known her.” He bowed. “I’ll see you at the dancing lesson, Jessa. May you thrive.”
Mica waited until the door closed behind him before she whispered back in her own voice. “May you thrive, Caleb.”
Then she drew herself up and went to inform the princess of her decision.
Epilogue
Mica wore her own face when she went to see Quinn. She had spent all day as Jessamyn at an autumn garden party at the palace, preening in an orange dress and sipping spiced cider with the ladies. But she put on a brown Mimic’s skirt to walk to Potioners Alley. She had unfinished business with Magic Q.
The gossip at the garden party had centered on Lord Ober’s departure from Jewel Harbor. He and Lady Euphia had set sail within hours of the showdown in the throne room the previous week, before he could be quietly arrested. Rumor had it he was sailing to his holdfast on Timbral Island. He may have left in disgrace, but the scandalized court would eventually forget his disastrous attempt to stir up trouble with Obsidian. He would return. They could only hope he hadn’t yet perfected his sinister concoction, or he might bring a multi-Talented army with him.
Potioners Alley had a sleepy quality this evening. Darkness was falling, softening the shadows on the cobblestones. The usual odors seemed muted, as if the entire place were holding its breath as Mica walked into Quinn’s shop.
The door was unlocked, but the shop was empty. Mica had never seen any other customers there, come to think of it. The place was too eerie to make people want to linger, with its potions glistening a hundred shades of red.
“Magic Q?” Mica called in her own voice. “Is anyone here?”
There was no answer. Mica hesitated at the door to the workshop, wondering whether she should don an impersonation. But Quinn had never seen her real face anyway. She pushed open the rough wooden door.
The high windows illuminated the workshop with hazy, golden light. The table was still as cluttered as it had been the last time Mica was here, but the vials and instruments had a thin layer of dust now, hinting at disuse. Only a few carefully labeled potion bottles lined the shelves. The stacks of parchment, notes, and diagrams that had once covered the desk were gone. Those papers, more than anything else, had given the workshop an industrious, lived-in appearance. Now, it was just an empty apothecary.
Mica sighed, stirring the dust in the workshop. There were no signs of struggle, no broken bottles or overturned tables. The person who had packed up the papers had done it deliberately. Perhaps Quinn would use them to create even more elaborate concoctions. Or perhaps she was dead, and someone knew her notes would be useful.
Though Mica had half expected to find Quinn’s body, she feared it was worse for the empire that she had gone willingly. Was she working for Lord Ober now, picking up where Haddell left off? How had he persuaded her to betray the princess? Promises of money? Threats? Opportunities for career advancement? The potioner who had made a name for herself in Jewel Harbor might find a whole new kind of notoriety in Lord Ober’s employ.
Mica wouldn’t let them get far. She’d do whatever it took to stop Lord Ober and his infernal potioners before they hurt more Talents or inflicted Caleb’s curse on other innocents. It would be easier this time. She had all the resources of the Windfast Empire at her fingertips, now that she was a princess.
Author’s Note
Thank you for reading The Spy in the Silver Palace. Mica’s adventures will continue in the second book in the Empire of Talents series. Sign up for Jordan Rivet’s mailing list to get an email when the book launches.
In the meantime, you may want to check out the Steel & Fire series, a swashbuckling fantasy adventure full of fire magic, swordplay, and romance. Here’s the blurb for the first book, Duel of Fire:
Dara Ruminor is a competitive duelist about to take the kingdom of Vertigon by storm. In a world where swords are used for sport and athletes live like kings as long as the crowds love them, all she needs is a wealthy patron to help her achieve dueling glory.
Instead, she gets Prince Siv, the heir to the throne.
She’s supposed to train with him, but it isn’t as easy as it seems. Handsome, charming, and utterly infuriating, he refuses to take the sport—or her—seriously.
But Prince Siv might not be learning the sword just for fun. As threats emerge from the shadows, with the careless prince as their target, Dara will have to raise her sword to protect him—but even her skill might not be enough to keep them both alive.
Read Duel of Fire now
Acknowledgments
This book would not be possible without the support of my family and my writing community. I am grateful to Willow, Amanda, Mandy, Jen, Betsy, Debra, MaryAnna, Vishal, Sarah, Brooke, Michele, and Rachel for your feedback, encouragement, and
good company. You make Hong Kong a great place to be a writer.
Thank you to my online writing community, especially my friends from the Author’s Corner. I’ve learned so much from you guys, and I can’t wait to meet more of you in real life.
I’d like to thank the teams at Red Adept Editing and Deranged Doctor Design and my agent Sarah Hershman for agreeing to embark on this new series with me. I couldn’t have asked for a better group of professionals to help me turn this story into a book.
My parents and siblings continue to be my biggest cheerleaders. Thanks especially to my youngest sister, Kylie, for keeping me company while I wrote my outlines, and to my oldest sister, Chelsea, for giving me such detailed notes. Also, thank you for making me change Mica’s name. You were right.
No acknowledgments section would be complete without thanking my husband. He’s funny and wise and inquisitive, and I’m lucky I get to hang out with him.
And finally, thank you for reading, especially if you’ve been with me for a few books now. You make it possible for me to keep doing what I love, and I’m so grateful for your support. I’m excited to start this new adventure with you!
Jordan Rivet
Hong Kong, 2017
About the Author
Jordan Rivet is an American author of young adult fantasy and post-apocalyptic adventures. Originally from Arizona, she lives in Hong Kong with her husband. A full-time writer, Jordan can usually be found making faces at her computer in the local Starbucks. She hasn’t been kicked out yet.
www.JordanRivet.com
[email protected]
Also by Jordan Rivet
STEEL AND FIRE
Duel of Fire
King of Mist
Dance of Steel
City of Wind
Night of Flame
THE SEABOUND CHRONICLES
