by Jordan Rivet
“Lady Maren’s people will look into it.”
“I’ve learned a lot from the spy network, but I can do more good out there. I can find Ober’s fortress. I’m sure of it.”
“Your place is here.” Jessamyn put her hands on her hips and squared her shoulders, a stance she only adopted when she was feeling particularly stubborn. But her face was as damaged as it had ever been. It might never heal.
Mica met her eyes. “I think we have to discuss the possibility that your face—”
“I don’t have to do anything,” Jessamyn said. “Honestly, I may be in seclusion, but I am still the princess here.”
“Then you should actually be the princess,” Mica blurted out.
Way to be subtle, Mica. But she didn’t care. She was fed up with Jessamyn always thinking her way was the best way. She stood.
“I have to leave. Can’t you get a different Mimic?”
“The Academy assigned you to me, Micathea. It’s your duty.”
“But you’re just wasting time hiding in here.”
“Excuse me?”
Mica knew she’d gone too far by the tension in Jessamyn’s arched brow. “I only meant—”
“That’s enough.” Jessamyn’s voice was as sharp as a slap. “Continue with your report, if you please.”
Mica sighed. “Yes, Princess.”
She slumped back onto the couch and resumed her recitation of overheard conversations and carefully worded greetings, feeling frustrated and trapped. While the princess persisted in believing that her appearance would return to normal, Mica couldn’t leave her side to capture the man who had hurt her. She would never abandon Jessamyn outright. The princess’s condition was partially Mica’s fault, and Mica had sworn to atone for her failure.
If only she could convince Jessamyn to rejoin the world in her new face. It wasn’t right for such a vibrant and energetic person to stay cooped up for so long. Appearance was important in the Silver Palace, but it wasn’t everything.
Hints of dawn had begun to appear at the window by the time Mica drew to the end of her report.
“I’ve been saving the good news for last: Lady Lorna and Lord Fritz got engaged.”
She described how the young lovers had missed the incident with the mad Talent because Fritz had finally gathered the courage to whisk Lorna off to a quiet corner of the winter-bare garden to propose. They’d burst back into the ballroom to announce their betrothal, utterly oblivious to what had happened.
“Was there any talk of where the wedding would take place?” Jessamyn asked.
“Lorna said she wants to do it at home in Silverfell.”
“And did you encourage her on that front?” A light had appeared in Jessamyn’s eyes, a familiar look that meant her mind was churning like a summer storm.
“I didn’t encourage her one way or another,” Mica said. “Does it matter where she has the wedding?”
Jessamyn gave a shrill laugh. “Micathea, Micathea. Of course it matters! Weddings are a massive occasion, and they provide positively limitless social opportunities. We must orchestrate this carefully.”
“But it’s Lorna’s—”
“Oh, she’ll have a nice wedding no matter what. She’s madly in love with that boy.”
Mica covered a yawn with her hand, hoping to wrap this up soon. “So you want me to encourage Lorna and Fritz to have the wedding here in Jewel Harbor?”
“Not necessarily.” Jessamyn strode over to her window and stared out at the city spreading below her. The early-morning rays were beginning to peek above the horizon across the harbor, where the city of Old Kings sprawled across the hills of nearby Amber Island. Mica sighed. She wouldn’t have time to sleep before going out to ride with the emperor after all. Funny how casual she was about such things now. Mica Graydier, soldiers’ daughter and working Talent, horseback riding with the Emperor of Windfast himself.
Apparently Jessamyn intended to keep whatever she was mulling over to herself. After frowning at the landscape for a few minutes, she spun around and snapped her fingers at Mica.
“Are you still here? Get moving. My father will be waiting.”
“Are you going to reveal your poisoning and let me go?”
“Don’t be silly,” Jessamyn said. “We will continue our current arrangement until I say otherwise.”
“But what if the—”
“I shall do it when the time is right. I’m very intelligent, you know. Now go put on my riding clothes.”
Chapter Four
Mica and Emperor Styl met in the stable yard, both wearing cloaks, their frosted breath puffing out from beneath fur-lined hoods. Extra carriages crowded the grounds this morning, evidence of the many guests staying in the Silver Palace’s luxurious guest rooms. Sleepy stable boys tended the horses, though no other nobles were likely to call for their mounts before midday. In the quiet of dawn, the emperor and his daughter passed almost unnoticed.
Shields guards surrounded them at respectful distances in case of trouble. Most of the people Mica and the emperor passed as they left the palace gates on matching black mares would have no idea their ruler was among them. The people went about their routines, Muscles hauling deliveries, Blurs speeding by with messages, and heavy-lidded tradesmen hastening to work. The two could talk privately, lost amidst the hubbub of Jewel Harbor.
Riding with Jessamyn’s father always felt surreal to Mica. Though grim and forbidding in front of others, he seemed almost cheery on these early-morning jaunts. Their excursions were like private classes in how to manage the complicated relationships of the Windfast Empire. Styl had recognized his daughter’s political instincts early on, and he used her as both a sounding board and a foil for his courtly machinations.
On this particular morning, Mica expected a lecture about her actions following the appearance of the mysterious Talent. But the emperor had a different issue in mind. He leapt right to it as soon as they were out of sight of the palace gates.
“Did you speak with Lady Maren?”
“Briefly,” Mica said. “She told me there have been rumors of unrest in the Twins.”
“It is more than rumor,” Emperor Styl said. “Maren and I spoke for several hours after the ball. The agitators for secession are more organized than ever, and they have the support of the local nobility.”
Mica was surprised at the apprehension in his crystalline voice. She tried to catch a glimpse of his face hidden in the shadows of his cowl.
“Are you saying there might be a rebellion?”
“Conceivably. We must restore order before the unrest spreads.”
“Will you send the army?”
“I don’t want to resort to force so soon.” The emperor lowered his voice so the Shields shadowing them would have no hope of overhearing. “Our spies in Obsidian have warned me about increased troop movements on the Stone Coast. We cannot afford to deplete our eastern defenses right now.”
Mica shifted uneasily in her saddle. “The border should be our priority.” Her brothers and parents served in the Imperial Army on the eastern edge of the empire. She wanted them to have all the reinforcements they needed if their enemies in the Obsidian Kingdom tried anything.
“It’s a dangerous time for us to be divided regardless,” the emperor said. He tugged back his cowl and eyed her steadily. Passersby by didn’t even glance at him, focused on their early-morning tasks.
“Tell me,” he said. “How would you resolve this if you were already the empress?”
Mica chewed on her lip as she considered the question, stopping just short of contorting her features. Emperor Styl often tested her—his daughter—like this. Mica had grown up among soldiers, but that didn’t mean she was particularly adept at suggesting strategies to prevent wars and uprisings. Still, she wouldn’t waste these moments when she had the emperor’s ear. He spent too much time listening to his noble advisors rather than the people he was supposed to serve.
That gave her an idea.
“What
if you sailed to the Twins yourself?” Mica said. “It would do the people good to see you paying attention to the outer islands. You could listen to the rebels’ concerns and try to settle things peaceably.”
“Hmm.” The emperor fiddled with the silver-and-emerald signet ring he wore on his bone-white finger. “That idea has potential. It would send a better message than dispatching soldiers to deal with them. My presence would require a military escort, but it would only take one or two ships. We could use the soldiers to contain the rebels if the rumors prove true.”
“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” Mica said.
“I’m afraid Lady Maren was less hopeful than you.”
Mica thought of the sharp old spymistress’s warnings that the violence would escalate. An uprising was worrying, but there were greater threats brewing in the West if the mad Talent was to be believed.
They reached a bend in the road, where two carriage drivers were shouting at each other over a collision. One horse had become tangled in the other’s harness, and the bellowing of their masters agitated them so much that they were becoming even more intertwined. A mob had gathered to watch the commotion, pressing close and shoving each other for a better view.
At a signal from the emperor’s Shield, Mica and the emperor altered their route to avoid the fuss. As they cleared the worst of the crowds, Mica reined in closer to Jessamyn’s father.
“Let me go with you when you sail.” She tried not to let the urgency show in her voice. “I’d like to get to know the western islands too.”
“I don’t wish to disrupt your work in Jewel Harbor,” the emperor said. “I am pleased with the way you cleaned up the City Watch, and you are more popular than ever with the nobility.”
Mica grimaced. The emperor still prioritized the nobility in the capital and large islands like Amber and Winnow far too much. That could be part of why the people of the Twins were upset. But sailing west would get her much nearer to Timbral Island and the barren fortress. Besides, Jessamyn would be forced to reveal her true face when traveling in close quarters with her father. The emperor couldn’t help but destroy Ober then.
I just need an excuse to go along . . .
Then her eyes fell on a curly-haired young woman bobbing up and down on her toes, trying to get a look at the carriage accident—and she remembered.
“There is to be a wedding in Silverfell for Lord Bont’s daughter!” Mica said. “Lorna is marrying Lady Velvet’s son, Fritz. Many of the nobles will travel to Silverfell for the celebration. We could visit the Twins after the festivities to address the people’s concerns.”
And find the barren fortress where the mad Talent’s suffering began.
Mica could still hear the sickening crunch of the truncheon against the man’s head. He hadn’t truly been a threat. All she could do for him now was discover the source of his suffering—and see that there were no further victims.
Emperor Styl considered the suggestion in silence, the cowl falling forward to hide his expression. He had to let her sail west. Jessamyn certainly hadn’t sounded as if she was planning to give in to Mica’s request to leave anytime soon.
Mica fidgeted with her reins, wishing the emperor would think a little faster. She was ready to get moving—and it sounded as if he was needed in the West too.
At last, the emperor nodded. “Very well. It’ll be beneficial to acquaint the outer islands with their future ruler. If you play your role there as well as you have here, they are sure to love you.”
Mica couldn’t help noticing that the emperor spoke of Jessamyn’s role as if she were a Mimic herself.
“It’s settled then?”
“We shall prepare to sail west. And if things go poorly, we will be well positioned to put a swift end to the rebellion.”
“Of course, Father.” Mica smiled with Jessamyn’s mouth. “The empire must remain strong.”
* * *
The plan took shape quickly in the weeks after the two-hundredth-anniversary ball. The emperor, the princess, and a select entourage of nobles would sail to Silverfell for Fritz and Lorna’s wedding, visiting other Windfast islands on the way. After the festivities, they would journey through the Twins, where the crucial diplomacy would take place. They’d finish their voyage in Winnow Bay, where many nobles kept holiday villas. Thanks to a warm current to the west, the weather was always pleasant, and they could swim in the sparkling, temperate waters and lounge in the sunshine away from the pressures of Jewel Harbor.
Officially, the voyage would be an excuse to enjoy a diverting vacation. In reality, Styl and Jessamyn would remind their subjects—rebels or not—that their rulers weren’t so far away after all. A warship would accompany them too, ready to put a stop to any violence that might arise in the waters around Dwindlemire and Cray.
Jessamyn was proud of Mica for suggesting they use the wedding as a cover for the voyage to the Twins.
“I can see you are learning,” she said. “Though I’d have gotten my father to think the whole thing was his idea.”
“I’ll remember that next time.”
Mica would sail with Jessamyn at first and launch her own mission to find the barren fortress when they got closer to Lord Ober’s territory. She fully expected the princess to tell her father about her poisoning on their journey—she would no doubt insist it had been her intention all along—and take back her crown. The two of them would realize the dangers Lord Ober posed to all of them were even more perilous than a potential rebellion. They would have to let Mica go. Until then, their disparate goals would carry all of them west.
Or so she thought.
The arrangements progressed smoothly until mere days before they were scheduled to depart Jewel Harbor, when Jessamyn’s father summoned her for another early-morning ride.
This time, the Silver Palace nobles were sleeping in to recover from a late-night performance by Jewel Harbor’s premier theatre troupe. The cast, made up entirely of Academy-trained Mimics, had transformed themselves into elves and sea sprites with pointed ears and iridescent hair. The night had involved more drinking, revelry, and drama than the actual play. Mica was bleary-eyed with exhaustion, but she dutifully assumed the princess’s appearance and met her father at dawn.
As soon as they left the palace gates, the emperor once again got straight to business.
“I have just received word that small parties of Obsidian raiders have crossed our borders twice in the past week.”
Mica’s head cleared in an instant. “Where?”
“They struck settlements on the northern coast of Pegasus Island both times.”
Mica released a breath. Not Stonefoss. My family is okay.
“Were there many losses?”
“More than a dozen non-Talents were killed. Two Blurs managed to escape to give the report, but a few Muscle builders and their Shield escorts were captured from a worksite.”
Mica tightened her grip on her reins. The Obsidians enslaved Talents, and their work camps were infamous for their brutal conditions. She had spent most of her life wanting to work against the shadowy kingdom to the east because of the way they treated people like her and her family.
“It has never been more important for the empire to be united,” Emperor Styl said. “Yet every report I’ve received from the West this week has mentioned restlessness in Dwindlemire and violence in Cray. People are speaking out against us on both islands. A rumor that they have noble support is spreading. But we must be ready to meet the Obsidians if their aggressions escalate.”
“Do you think we’ll go to war?”
The emperor grimaced. “I have tried to resist the provocation, but I fear we may have no choice.”
They had been on the verge of a conflict with the Obsidian Kingdom only a few months ago, when a group of Obsidian terrorists attacked the princess and her guests in the middle of the harbor. Lord Ober had advocated an aggressive response, and Jessamyn and the emperor had resorted to deceiving the imperial court to avoid rushing in
to a war they might not win. Such methods might not work this time.
A familiar mix of smells announced that they were nearing Potioners Alley. The scented steam issuing from the doors of the apothecaries made the place feel eerie, like a cursed land in a story. Mica rubbed her nose, feeling slightly nauseous after the night’s obligations. Or perhaps it was the prospect of war that made her sick.
“You should know that I have decided not to sail west,” Emperor Styl said.
“What?”
“I cannot be far from the capital if the Obsidians invade.”
“But what about everything happening in the Twins?” And everything Ober is doing.
“Alas, the timing is unfortunate. I may need to forgo diplomacy after all.”
Mica stole a glance at Quinn’s shop as they passed. An eviction notice had been nailed to the door. Mica had told Lord Ober about the skilled young potioner. If the pair were continuing to use Talents for the despicable work Ober had begun with Haddell, Mica could see no higher priority than stopping them, war or no war. They couldn’t call off the trip.
“What if we—I go on the voyage as your representative, and you remain here in case the Obsidians strike?”
The emperor pursed his thin lips. “I don’t wish to send you into danger.”
“I’ll have Talent protectors with me,” Mica said. “Besides, maybe I can still settle things diplomatically.”
“Perhaps.” The emperor rode in silence for a moment. “It would only be natural for me to send a warship manned by my best men to escort my daughter. You would have the resources to put down the rebellion.”
Mica summoned her most confident voice. “I can handle the Twins.” It occurred to her that she might be getting in over her head by offering to put down a revolution. But that was Jessamyn’s job. “It will leave you free to confront the Obsidian problem.”
The emperor didn’t speak, a stone gargoyle in the middle of the bustling street. Despite his formidable appearance and stiff countenance, Mica couldn’t help wondering if he was feeling overwhelmed by the threats growing on all sides.
