An Imposter with a Crown

by Jordan Rivet

  As for Lord Dolan, he held court as if he’d already been named the princess’s consort. If he was the imposter, he had captured Dolan’s creepiness perfectly. After the meal, he moved over to sit close beside Mica, pressing her hand and regularly refilling her wine—which she spilled on the deck whenever he wasn’t looking.

  “May I say your gown sets off your exquisite features in the most . . . inviting way.”

  “You are too kind.”

  “I have always said you would be a great beauty.” He smiled, revealing wine-stained teeth. “Even when you were little.”

  “That’s very . . . uh . . . perceptive.”

  Dolan’s every word made Mica’s skin crawl, but she had her orders to accept his courtship, and she tolerated his compliments as much as possible.

  Then the real Jessamyn caught her eye and jerked her head toward the prow.

  “Excuse me, my lord.” Mica extracted herself gratefully from Dolan’s clutches. “I must speak with my cultural advisor.”

  “Of course, my princess,” Dolan slurred. “Unfortunate thing, isn’t she, with a face like that? Wherever did you find her?”

  Mica ignored the comment and stepped out of the circle of lantern light, summoning “Myn Irondier” with a wave of her hand. They strolled to the prow, the rushing wind and creaking timber hiding their words.

  “You don’t need to put up with Lord Dolan like that,” Jessamyn said. Her voice was heated, and her eyes were bright with anger.

  “Isn’t he one of the top choices for your consort?”

  “I’ve been letting him think so, but seeing the way he keeps pawing at you . . .” Jessamyn shuddered. “It looks different from the outside. Do you honestly think I should marry him?”

  Mica was surprised to realize the question wasn’t rhetorical. Jessamyn didn’t often ask for her counsel.

  “No, I think he would be the wrong choice,” Mica said, “and not just because he’s a creepy bastard. He has power over the merchants’ guild, but he wouldn’t tie you strongly enough to one of the major ruling families.”

  “And do you think the empire will suffer if I refuse the head of the merchants’ guild?”

  Mica thought for a moment. “No,” she said. “They will continue about their business, because it’s in their self-interest for the empire to prosper.”

  “I agree.” Jessamyn gave a satisfied nod. “Lord Dolan has served his purpose. It will be nice not to endure his cloying attentions anymore.”

  Mica resisted the urge to point out that she had been the one actually enduring Dolan’s cloying attentions lately. Sometimes it was as if Jessamyn no longer saw the difference between them. But if she had finally rejected Dolan’s suit, did that mean she was taking her father’s ultimatum seriously?

  The lords and ladies began calling for her to join them for dessert. Mica pretended to examine the gilded figurehead and quickly filled Jessamyn in on what she had learned from Peet’s note.

  “And you trust the Blur?”

  “I do.”

  “We’ll have to be extra careful then.” Jessamyn glanced at the nobles eating frosted cakes in the ring of light. “Perhaps I can spy out inconsistencies in their behavior. You know they have not once looked me in the eye? It’s almost insulting.”

  Mica grinned. It would be good for the princess to see what it was like to be a commoner for a few weeks.

  “I’d better get back to them,” Mica said. “Is there anything else?”

  “Yes.” Jessamyn adjusted her veil primly over her mottled features. “You mustn’t tell that Blur Elite who you really are. I know you’re thinking about it.”

  Mica’s jaw went slack, growing an inch in the process. “How on earth did you—?”

  “Emir Grayson. Need I remind you that I have an excellent memory, Micathea Graydier? And I know how patronymics work, thank you very much. Your fathers are both named Gray, and you have the same wide-eyed stare when you look at fancy people.”

  Mica sighed. “Okay, he’s my brother. I wasn’t planning to tell him who I am, though.”

  “You had better not. I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to help you get this impersonation right. It would be terribly inconsiderate of you to ruin it after everything I’ve done for you.”

  “Yes, Princess.”

  “Good. Now, I am going to bed. It doesn’t look as if our friends have drunk their fill yet. Make sure you’re the last person up. No one outlasts me.”

  “Of course not.”

  Jessamyn headed below deck, where she would sleep on a cot in the nicest cabin on the ship—which had been commandeered from Captain Pol for the princess’s use. Actually, Mica would probably end up sleeping on the cot, and Jessamyn would take the bed piled high with cushions.

  At least she’s resting. The princess had pushed herself too hard for far too long.

  Mica rejoined the party, which showed no signs of winding down despite the chill in the sea air. Caleb and Fritz—who had both indulged heartily in the wine—decided to entertain the ladies with a dramatic rendition of a courtly epic called The Lords of Heart Sea. They convinced Lord Riven to play a role, and he gave a passable performance as a villainous pirate, whom they fought with spoons and shields made of oyster shells. As the young lords dueled across the deck, Mica looked for any change in Fritz’s scar, or Riven’s height, or Caleb’s stocky build, but she could see no flaws. She listened for unfamiliar tones in the ladies’ voices but detected no false notes as their laughter drowned out the sighing of the wind.

  Their escort, the HIMS Arrow, remained comparatively quiet as they sailed through the night, the soldiers ever vigilant. Mica’s brother took up a post by the starboard railing, keeping watch on the darkened coast. He glanced over occasionally as the nobles giggled and drank, lolling about late into the night. Mica was aware how frivolous they must look, especially to someone used to the stark way of life at Stonefoss. She felt a little embarrassed, even though Emir didn’t know it was her.

  The gentle lull of the sea made her sleepy, and she was relieved when her noble guests began to bid each other farewell and depart for their own quarters. Dolan had moved his attentions to Ingrid when Mica withdrew from him, but the hawk-faced woman told him to leave her be in no uncertain terms. She paused at the ladder on her way to bed, though, casting a look back at Lord Riven. The proud, cold lord made no move to follow her below, and it was a while yet before he retired.

  At last, only Mica, Fritz, and Caleb remained on deck. The Shields on duty, including Rider and Caleb’s retainer, Stievson, gave the princess and the young lords a wide berth. Emir kept guard at a respectful distance, watching over the night-dark sea. Mica wished she could call him over to join them for a little while. She would love to know what he thought of Caleb.

  It doesn’t matter what your brother thinks of Lord Caleb. You’re not going to court him, unless you do it as Jessamyn. There was no point in entertaining that thought.

  Fritz had been drinking merrily all evening, and he babbled about Lady Lorna as the candles burned low.

  “She has such a sweet heart. And she is wonderful with children. Her hair is as soft as a lamb’s wool, and her eyes are like . . . are like . . .”

  His head dropped onto his chest, and he began to snore. His features remained unchanged.

  Caleb looked over at Mica.

  “You can go to bed, if you like, Jessa,” he said. “You don’t need to prove how robust you are to me.”

  Mica stifled a yawn. “What are you going to do?”

  “I think I’ll walk on deck. My last episode was a few weeks ago, and I’m feeling more awake than usual.”

  Mica thought about the imposter lurking somewhere on the Silk Goddess. She had to narrow down her suspects—starting with Caleb. She felt as if she could meet any threat as long as he was still himself.

  “Do you mind if I join you for a stroll?”

  He shrugged. “It’s your ship. Well, Dolan’s ship, but your empire.”

  Sh
e touched the knife strapped beneath her skirt. She hoped Caleb wasn’t the imposter, but she was ready if he was.

  Caleb was still a little tipsy, and he hummed tunelessly as they meandered over to watch the uneven coastline drift by. Mica observed him closely for signs that he was an Impersonator.

  “Watch your step.” Caleb offered her his hand. “It’s a bit slick here.”

  “I’m quite all right.” Mica stepped nimbly over a puddle of wine—which she had spilled to keep from getting tipsy herself.

  “Of course you are. What did Dolan call you? Effervescent.” Caleb chuckled. “I thought that was a good one.”

  Mica grinned. “I am delightful, thank you very much.”

  “Yes, but is your hair as soft as a lamb’s wool?”

  “Softer.”

  Caleb’s movements were a bit looser than usual, and he’d unbuttoned his deep-blue waistcoat, but he seemed like exactly the same person. He had always been considerate and good-humored, regardless of how ill or tired or inebriated he might be. He also didn’t pose and scheme the way the other lords did. He had been too busy managing his mysterious ailment, never knowing when he would suddenly be as strong as ten men or when he might turn around a dance floor so fast he blurred. His condition made him refreshingly unpretentious—and Mica hoped it would provide the clue she needed to verify his identity.

  They reached the starboard side, and Caleb rested his square hands on the railing, looking across the water at a cluster of lights on the shore. He seemed to be searching for something.

  “What is it?” Mica asked.

  “See those lights? I think that’s the town of Gullton. I stayed there once, with Ober and Euphia.”

  Mica moved closer to him. She could just make out the dark shadow of the cliff on which Gullton sat. The lights were muted, half hidden in fog. That was where she and Caleb had met on a night much like this one. But Ober’s Mimic would know Caleb had been there.

  “What’s Gullton like?” she asked.

  “Busy,” Caleb said. “It’s the last stop on the main road before you reach Old Kings and Jewel Harbor. It’s mostly inns and taverns.” He glanced down at her. “Haven’t you been there before?”

  Mica studiously avoided his gaze. She wanted to tell him the truth, to let him know she thought about that night too. Instead, she released one of Jessamyn’s longsuffering sighs and said, “I can’t be expected to remember every little country town in my empire.”

  “Some would say you can.”

  “Can what?”

  “Be expected to remember every little town. People need their leaders to care about their homes, even the ones in wayside places like Gullton.”

  Mica arched one of Jessamyn’s thick, expressive eyebrows. “You’re implying I don’t care?”

  Caleb drummed his fingers on the railing for a moment. The wind ruffled the sleeves of his linen shirt, making it billow like sea fog.

  “May I speak plainly?”

  “Please do.”

  “We’ve all heard the rumors of rebellion in the Twins. I don’t know if they’ll truly secede from the empire, but the message I’ve heard over and over is that the leaders of the empire care more for politics and clever schemes than for the people’s needs.”

  Mica couldn’t argue with that. Jessamyn schemed enough for three people, and she refused to show any authenticity lest it be confused with weakness. Hiding behind Mica’s face was exactly the sort of deception the common people hated, exactly the sort of thing Mica hated.

  But she wasn’t here to question the princess’s decisions, even if a lord she thought of as an ally was doing it.

  “Tell me, Lord Caleb. Do the Pebble Islands hold similar views?”

  Caleb turned to face her, moving so fast he blurred. He seemed surprised by the quick motion, as if the burst of Talent had given away more of his true feelings than he intended. And possibly his true identity.

  “Are you asking me if my people would join a revolt in the Twins?”

  “That’s precisely what I’m asking.”

  Caleb paused, a thoughtful stillness replacing the Blur speed. Mica had never known anyone who, despite the erraticism of his other movements, could achieve such meditative stillness.

  “The honest truth is that I don’t know,” he said at last. “But there are cracks in this empire, Princess, and people like my uncle are more than capable of exploiting them.”

  “With the help of people like you?”

  “I am loyal, Jessa.” Caleb sighed, brushing a hand through his wind-tousled hair. He sounded completely sober now. “You shouldn’t even have to ask. But yes, if he ever perfects his potion, he could do an awful lot of damage with people who have my abilities without my side effects.”

  “We’ll just have to find him before then.” Mica paused, meeting his eyes steadily. Would Ober’s Mimic talk about Caleb’s multiple Talents like that? He would need to be a Mimic and a Blur—and he would need to have an impressive level of control. Based on the madman at the ball and Caleb’s own limitations, the potion was very far from perfect. She dreaded to think what would happen if Ober got it right. This had to be the real Caleb.

  But she needed more proof, something only the two of them would know.

  “Do you have any more ideas for where this barren fortress might be?” she said.

  “I’ve been thinking about that and about something Haddell said to me in the warehouse.”

  Mica pictured the moment, when the old potioner had feigned madness while fumbling for a bottle of poison to throw at Caleb. She barely had time to knock the deadly vial aside.

  “He said I’d find the rest of Ober’s operation—”

  “—where you least wish it to be.”

  Caleb blinked. “Did I tell you that?”

  “Of course you did, darling.” Mica waved a hand quickly before he could work out whether or not he’d told Jessamyn this part. Mica and Caleb had been the only two people within earshot of Haddell. This was the real Caleb. Relief crashed over her like a summer rainstorm. “Go on.”

  “I would least wish Ober to be working in the Pebble Islands themselves. There’s a lighthouse on the westernmost Pebble that could be described as barren.”

  “More barren than Timbral Castle?”

  “Definitely.”

  She remembered the mad Talent’s words: a barren fortress, an abominable cesspit.

  “So we have two possible locations for Ober’s headquarters in the West. Good thing we’re sailing that way with a warship full of Talent soldiers for an escort.”

  Caleb raised an eyebrow. “I thought we were on vacation.”

  “So do a lot of people.” She didn’t dare look at him, afraid he would see the very Mica-like determination burning through her Jessamyn mask.

  “You know, sometimes I pity people who think they can outmaneuver you,” Caleb said.

  Mica grinned. “So do I.”

  If Mica had her way, she and Caleb would be fighting Ober side by side soon. She wished she could tell him the truth. Caleb had gone into the fray at the warehouse to save a group of Talents, even though it put him at odds with his uncle. He was a good man who would choose the right course of action over the convenient one. He wouldn’t betray the princess. In fact, he might be the only person she could trust right now.

  Emperor Styl had said Caleb would be a good choice for his daughter’s consort, despite his family’s lack of influence. Mica would rather see the princess with someone like Caleb than with Dolan or Riven. Or an imposter in their place. She wondered how Caleb felt about Jessamyn. They were good friends, but could his fondness for the princess run deeper than she thought?

  They fell silent as the lights of Gullton slipped away in the distance. It was a beautiful night, if a bit chilly, and the fog had begun to clear. Mica leaned into Caleb as if for warmth, curious how he would react. He didn’t pull away, his eyes remaining fixed on the dark horizon.

  She shifted closer, so her side was pressed against
his arm, her arm hooked loosely around his elbow.

  You’re just seeing what he’ll do, she told herself. Her pulse quickened, her blood running hot beneath her skin. Your feelings aren’t important here.

  Caleb’s breath caught as he became aware of the way she was leaning into him, different from the way he and Jessamyn normally exchanged affection. Was there a chance he suspected the truth? Mica couldn’t be sure she was hearing his altered breathing right because her own heart was pounding in her ears.

  She felt lightheaded, effervescent even. She leaned closer.

  You’re just looking for clues.

  Her control was slipping, as if her body—the part of her body that was really Mica—couldn’t bear to be separated from him.

  Caleb used to be able to tell when it was really Mica instead of whoever she was impersonating. She wanted that back, wanted to believe that it had meant more than just a flaw in her performance. She could barely contain the thunder in her chest. She wanted to hear her name on his lips again.

  He spoke at last, his voice low. “Jess—”

  Mica pulled away abruptly, as if a dose of energy potion had been forced down her throat. She couldn’t do this, couldn’t snuggle into him wearing this face in a body that wasn’t really hers, not when her feelings for him were only growing stronger.

  She gave a shaky version of Jessamyn’s chuckle. “Oh, I’m practically falling asleep on my feet. I’d better turn in now. Good night!” And she darted away before Caleb could say another word.

  Chapter Nine

  Mica knew she had danced too close to the line with Caleb. She made a point of treating him exactly as Jessamyn always had as the voyage continued. Neither more nor less affectionate. Sometimes she thought he was watching her more closely, following the turn of her steps and the pitch of her voice. Her cheeks heated when their eyes met, and she couldn’t tell if she feared discovery or hoped for it. And she couldn’t tell if he was watching her because he suspected the truth, or if he was slowly coming to see Jessamyn as more than a friend.