An Imposter with a Crown

by Jordan Rivet

  “Father! I wanted to ask—”

  The emperor’s thin lips twisted faintly, and Mica broke off at once, aware she wasn’t acting entirely regal.

  “You needn’t fear,” the emperor said smoothly. “I shall question this man when he awakens.”

  “Yes, Father.” Mica dipped into a curtsy, blushing slightly. Emperor Styl and his daughter shared a subtle code of expressions that Jessamyn had taught Mica over the past few months. With that slight twist of the lips, he had communicated extreme disapproval of the way she’d handled the situation. This wasn’t the sort of thing the princess should concern herself with openly.

  On the other hand, Jessamyn had a temper. Mica hoped the onlookers would attribute her involvement to that well-known trait. Maybe she shouldn’t have rushed into the fray, but Mica couldn’t stand to see the poor man mistreated. She could only imagine how difficult it would be to suddenly discover the Impersonator Talent later in life or, as was more likely, have the Talent foisted upon him.

  Could this be another victim of Lord Ober’s experimental potions? Mica had always known Caleb couldn’t be the only one. The madman had mentioned a “barren fortress” where his suffering began. Could Lord Ober have moved his operation there after she and Caleb cleared out the warehouse? Hope surged within her. This mysterious Talent could solve the mystery that had consumed her for months!

  I’ll talk to him as soon as—

  A palace guard stood up from examining the bound figure. “I beg your pardon, Emperor Styl,” he said gruffly. “It looks as though we hit him too hard. He’s dead.”

  Anger quickly replaced Mica’s hope. The man hadn’t deserved to die. He had been trying to warn them! She rounded on the guard.

  “You killed—”

  “Remove him at once,” Emperor Styl interrupted, snapping his long, pale fingers. “We will have words about this later.”

  The guards bowed deeply and dragged the poor Talent away. Mica wanted to follow, but the emperor’s severe look warned her not to do more damage than she had already.

  The chatter began the instant the body disappeared through the ballroom doors.

  “Can you believe he dared disrupt the anniversary ball?”

  “How scandalous!”

  “And did you see Princess Jessamyn darting in as if she were a common guard?”

  “Yes, so shocking!”

  Emperor Styl gave Mica another dark look and marched off to begin containing the situation. She winced, wondering if she could avoid reporting that part of the evening to Jessamyn. But she had bigger concerns than the princess’s disapproval.

  “I came to warn you . . . a danger growing in the West.”

  She tried to replay the man’s words in her mind, but lords and ladies kept coming up to see if she was all right, even though she hadn’t been anywhere near the Talent until he was unconscious. Why couldn’t they have shown him the same human decency? That man shouldn’t have been killed—and now his warning would be wasted if she couldn’t figure out what he’d meant.

  Mica’s own thoughts mixed with the madman’s words. They treat us commoners like we’re nothing, like we’re animals. She fought to contain her rage, to hold onto the words he’d said before he died.

  “A barren fortress,” he’d said. “Torment. Misery. Corruption.”

  She felt sick. She couldn’t let her mask slip, not in front of all these people.

  The nobles had resumed their revelry as if nothing had happened, as if a man hadn’t been killed right in front of them.

  “A reckoning is coming.”

  His pained cries echoed in her memory, far louder than the music that once again filled the ballroom.

  Ober is to blame. I’m sure of it.

  Lady Maren had said Talents were behaving erratically, complaining of illness and fatigue. And now the mad Talent had appeared. It was too soon after Lord Ober’s exodus to be a coincidence.

  Caleb approached cautiously, as if he sensed the storm of fury raging inside her. “Did you see what I saw, Jessa?”

  Mica nodded grimly. “He was a Muscle and a Mimic.”

  “Do you think my uncle gave him his double abilities?”

  “He’s the only person I know of who’s tampering with Talents,” Mica said. She searched for something Jessamyn-like to add, but the words wouldn’t come.

  Caleb didn’t seem to notice that she didn’t sound much like Jessamyn right now, too absorbed in this new mystery. He stood over her as if they were about to dance so no one would interrupt their conversation, keeping his voice low.

  “Why would he send one of his ‘experiments’ here after working so hard to keep his project secret?”

  “Even if Ober gave the poor man the two Talents—two that we know of—” Mica said, “he didn’t necessarily send him here.” And if the guards had been gentler, he would be alive to tell us himself. She struggled to master her anger over the Talent’s treatment, to regain control of her voice.

  “He warned of a danger in the West,” Caleb said. “And he mentioned a barren fortress too.”

  “Doesn’t Ober have a fortress on Timbral Island?”

  “I’m not sure I’d call Timbral Castle barren, though it is quite far west,” Caleb said. “Maybe I should visit him there, see what I can find out.”

  Mica raised an eyebrow. “You want to turn spy?”

  “We need to find out what he’s doing somehow.”

  “After what you did to his warehouse?” Mica gave a humorless laugh. “He’ll never let you in, darling.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Caleb said. “Ober is not stupid, but he knows I’ve been trying to figure out why I am this way for years. He misled me intentionally, steering me away from the idea that my special skills came from a potion. But he knows I want to control my erratic Talents—or even get rid of them.”

  Mica ran her fingers through her hair, weighing the risks. Lady Maren’s Impersonator spies had reported no sign of nefarious activity on Timbral so far, but Caleb might be able to access places her spies could not. She was worried Ober would figure out how to give someone multiple Talents without the side effects that hampered Caleb.

  “It started in the barren fortress, festering in the abominable cesspit. But it will end in the silver halls of Jewel Harbor itself.”

  All these revelers dancing in the candlelight and drinking wine in the shadows wouldn’t stand a chance against multi-Talented attackers without limitations. The threat of such an attack was why Jessamyn had been afraid to openly arrest Lord Ober in the first place. But they had to take risks, or the danger would grow.

  “Let’s say he invites you in,” Mica said. “Would you let him try another potion on you if he claimed he could cure you?”

  Caleb hesitated. “I can’t ignore the way he does his research, Jessa. If he has to chop people up in order to fix me, it’s not worth it.”

  Mica shuddered. She’d had countless nightmares about the warehouse filled with mutilated Talents over the past few months. That and the princess’s face melting as poison spread through her body. Lord Ober had a lot to answer for.

  “He’s an evil bastard, isn’t he?” she said.

  Caleb raised his eyebrows, and Mica realized that “evil bastard” wasn’t an especially ladylike turn of phrase. She had also been leaning toward him, drawn in by the prospect of tackling this puzzle together. She pulled back and began fussing with her hair and silver tiara in the most Jessamyn way possible.

  “It sounds dreadfully dangerous, darling.”

  “He has to be stopped.” Caleb looked at her with his particular sort of certainty. “It’s worth any risk if I can prevent him from hurting anyone else.”

  Mica couldn’t argue with that, even though she didn’t want Caleb to put himself in peril. In truth, nowhere was safe. The princess had been poisoned in her own sitting room, and Talents found dangers wherever they turned.

  She looked around the ballroom, where the dancers once again waltzed in circles
of colorful silks. Emperor Styl stood by the entrance to the gardens, still soothing the guests after the excitement with the mad Talent. Mica wished he would take a stronger stance sometimes. The biggest lesson she’d learned in the Silver Palace was that the Windfast Empire wasn’t as stable and easy to rule as she had once believed. Jessamyn and her father worked hard to keep the islands in line, but Mica couldn’t help wondering if they were going about it the wrong way.

  “Maybe it’s time my father sent the army to deal with this directly,” she said. “The subtle approach is giving Ober too much space to scheme. He hardly seems to fear the emperor’s justice.”

  “Perhaps.” Caleb hesitated. “I’m not sure sending the army to the western islands would go over well. We need better intelligence first.”

  You’ve got that right, Mica thought. But you’re not the one who’s qualified to gather it.

  “You mustn’t go gallivanting about the empire just yet, darling,” she said in her very best Jessamyn voice. “Lady Maren gave me some interesting gems of information tonight. Let us see what comes of them first.”

  She would leave the politics to the emperor and his daughter. Investigating Lord Ober’s fortress, on the other hand, was a job for an Imperial Impersonator. Mica had spent years training to be a spy, and she’d had enough of dances and silk dresses. If Caleb went off to spy on his uncle, Mica intended to go with him. Princess Jessamyn would just have to tell everyone the truth.

  Chapter Three

  Mica was so tired she could barely maintain her impersonation as she trudged back to the princess’s chambers. Midnight had struck long ago, and the guests had dispersed to their beds gradually, fading like stars. Mica lost track of how many times she twirled around the dance floor with a different lord or complimented a different lady’s dress, hair, or jewels. She’d renewed her efforts to be charming, but the incident with the strange Talent would overshadow all the gossip from the ball anyway. Jessamyn wasn’t going to be happy about that.

  At the princess’s doors, Mica dismissed the Shield guard who had escorted her from the ballroom, a young fellow called Rider (bald, with crooked teeth and blue eyes). Banner was waiting to take over from the younger man. The princess’s loyal Shield was one of the only people in the palace who knew what had happened to her—the other being a healer—and he always insisted on guarding the real thing.

  “Good evening.” The middle-aged guard had a drooping mustache and a melodious voice. “I am glad to see you unharmed.”

  “Thank you, Banner,” Mica said wearily as he pulled open the large door for her. “You heard what happened?”

  “News travels fast in these halls.”

  “I’m sorry you missed the excitement.”

  “I cannot say I mind, though she may say otherwise. She is in a rather excitable mood.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” Mica bid him good night and entered the candlelit sitting room, bracing herself for a tempest.

  “Finally!” Jessamyn bounded toward her and grabbed her arm. “I have been going crazy in here, waiting for you to return.”

  The princess pulled Mica over to a couch by a low mahogany table, where it looked as though she’d been drinking tea and stress-eating ginger biscuits all evening. She wore a thick woolen dressing gown and had applied a sticky brown ointment to her scarred face, some of it smearing in her dark-red hair.

  “You must tell me every word that was said to you tonight. Don’t leave out a single detail.”

  Mica slumped back against the cushions. “Do you think I could rest before—”

  “Remember what happened the last time I let you sleep before giving your report? I swear the details drained right out of your head in the night. Quickly now. What was everyone wearing?”

  Mica sighed and began relaying the details of the evening for the princess. While she spoke, she pulled off her crystal-trimmed dancing shoes and undid the ties on her velvet dress. She helped herself to some of the princess’s tea and biscuits, stealing bites between Jessamyn’s follow-up questions. They had acted more casual around each other since Mica became a full-time imposter, mostly out of necessity. Mica had precious little time to actually rest, and she had to be permitted to sit and eat around the princess, or she might drop dead. She imagined what Jessamyn would say if that happened.

  “This is terribly inconvenient for me. Honestly, Micathea, it’s not as if I ask for much.”

  Mica understood now why the princess had relied so heavily on expensive energy tonics and health potions before her poisoning. She lived her life at a furious pace that Mica found difficult to replicate. But they couldn’t trust any potioners after Quinn had betrayed them, so Mica had to grit her teeth and soldier on. In truth, her soldier brothers probably got a lot more sleep than she did these days.

  Mica considered the dramatic appearance of the mad Talent the leading news of the evening, but the princess was more concerned about the report from the Twins.

  “Are you certain Lady Maren said secession?” Jessamyn demanded for the third time.

  “That’s the word she used.” Mica thought back to the conversation with the elderly spymistress. “But she said the Twins are always making trouble.”

  “Of course they are.” Jessamyn put her hands on her hips. “Have you even read a history book? Dwindlemire and Cray have been unusually quiet over the past year or so. I had half a mind to look into it myself. If they’ve kept the secession talk from reaching me for this long, either they are more organized and careful than they have been in the past, or the spy network is not as effective as it once was.”

  “Master Kiev is still focused on the Obsidian threat, as far as I know.”

  “I daresay he is, but defending ourselves from Obsidian requires keeping the rest of the empire strong.”

  Jessamyn paced around the sitting room, tapping her finger on the less damaged part of her lips. The princess was often in pain, but she tried hard not to show it. She had presented herself as a superhuman force of nature for so long that she found it difficult to reveal any weakness. She would have to get over that now that Mica intended to depart in search of the barren fortress.

  Timbral Castle might not be the fortress of suffering the madman mentioned, but that seemed like the best place to start. She didn’t want Caleb to go in alone. He was a good fighter, but any use of his Talents rendered him borderline comatose. She would have tried to impersonate him herself if they were close enough in size to fool his uncle.

  We’ll have to go in together.

  She tried to ignore the anticipation—excitement even—that flared like tinder in her chest.

  It will be strictly professional, of course.

  The question was how to present the idea to the princess. All Mica’s previous efforts to convince her to end this imposter charade had failed. Perhaps she could sway Jessamyn to her way of thinking more subtly. She had spent a lot of time around diplomats by now.

  “What do you think about what’s happening to the Talents, Princess?” she began.

  Jessamyn blinked her large brown eyes. “What about them?”

  “Well, that strange man definitely had two abilities. And Lady Maren said other Talents have been acting strange. She attributed it to laziness, but if they’re showing signs of madness or getting ill like Caleb—”

  “Lord Caleb.”

  “Yes, him.” Mica hurried on. “If Talents are getting ill so close to Timbral Island, I think we can conclude that Lord Ober is involved.”

  “I do not jump to conclusions, Micathea,” the princess said. “We should certainly monitor the situation, but we can’t assume he’s going around poisoning everyone in the empire.”

  “Maybe not,” Mica said, “but we have to deal with him. What if—”

  “I will deal with Lord Ober in my own time. You will follow orders. I believe the unrest in the Twins is a more immediate problem. You must speak to my father about it when you go riding tomorrow morning.”

  “About that—”
>
  “Don’t you dare suggest pushing back the time,” Jessamyn said severely. “My father and I always go riding the morning after a ball while everyone else is sleeping in. He will be suspicious if you cancel.”

  Mica reached for a leftover ginger biscuit to cover a grumble. She had spent months believing the princess wasn’t that close to her father. The forbidding, stone-faced man didn’t seem to have a fatherly bone in his body. Since becoming the princess’s imposter, Mica had discovered that the distance between Styl and his daughter was yet another layer of subterfuge in the elaborate political game they played to maintain control over their empire. They were incredibly careful about how they spent time together, stealing moments to meet in secret so no one would suspect how aligned they truly were.

  “Don’t you think it’s time you told your father what happened?”

  Jessamyn hesitated. “My skin feels a little tighter today. I’d rather not worry him until it isn’t so bad.”

  Mica glanced at the left side of Jessamyn’s face, where the poison had made her skin melt like candlewax. It didn’t look any different now than it had two months ago, and the right side, where she had smeared the ointment, was still a mess of burn-like patches.

  “Princess,” Mica said gently, “what if it never gets better?”

  “I will not have that kind of talk.” Jessamyn waved her hand dismissively then paused, as if noticing the patches on the skin of that hand.

  Mica felt a twinge of sympathy, but she stamped down on it. Jessamyn’s aversion to being pitied was exactly why she was so determined to maintain this illusion. But she couldn’t keep it up forever.

  Mica took a deep breath. “I’d like to leave Jewel Harbor to spy on Lord Ober.”

  Jessamyn paused for a beat. “You are not the only spy in the empire, Micathea.”

  “But—”

  “You have work to do here.”

  “But you should have heard that Talent.” Mica wished she could mute the memory of his screams in her mind. She might not be the only spy in the empire, but she had seen the concerns of Talents pushed aside before. She wouldn’t stand by and let it happen again. “He was asking for help, and he made it sound like there are others like him.”