An Imposter with a Crown

by Jordan Rivet

  She pushed aside her worries about Caleb and focused on Lord Gordon and Lord Aren, who sat on either side of her. The mood at the banquet table was becoming increasingly merry, but Mica had business to discuss. As soon as a suitable number of pleasantries had been exchanged, she addressed her host.

  “Tell me more of the activity in the Northern Channel, my lord.”

  “Ah. Yes.” Lord Gordon lifted his ale tankard for a refill from the single servant casually lurking by the earthen wall. “We have always dealt with piracy in the Channel, but attacks at sea have grown more frequent of late.”

  “My scouts have reported the same thing.”

  “We are still trying to find out why it’s getting worse,” Lord Gordon said.

  Lord Aren leaned in on her other side. “We think rebels from the Twins could be raiding the ships.”

  Mica arched an eyebrow. “Rebel pirates?”

  “Now, son,” Lord Gordon said, “we don’t know for certain—”

  “I think the insurgents in Dwindlemire and Cray are snatching up supplies. They could be preparing for an all-out war,” Lord Aren said. His face became animated, and anger tinged his voice. “They’re financing their secession from the empire by stealing from loyal imperial subjects.”

  Lord Gordon set down his tankard with a thump. “Let’s not trouble the princess with talk of secession.”

  “I’ve already heard the secession rumors, my lord,” Mica said. “I have come to address the people’s concerns and prevent any further violence.”

  “It may be too late for diplomacy.”

  “We have to try,” Mica said. “The Obsidian King will take advantage of our divisions if we fight amongst ourselves.”

  “I won’t argue with that,” Lord Gordon said. “However, I fear for your safety in the Northern Channel, my princess. I believe it would be wiser for you to return to the capital.”

  “I can’t turn back,” Mica said. “It’s my duty to defend the empire against any threats, even those from within.”

  “Princess Jessamyn,” Aren said, a hint of respect entering his voice. “Have you brought that warship to put down the rebellion yourself?”

  “I hope it will not come to that,” Mica said evenly.

  Lord Gordon frowned. “If something were to happen to you—”

  “The finest Talents in the Windfast are protecting me.” Mica glanced over to where Emir was keeping watch by the hall doors, then she put a reassuring hand on the older lord’s arm. “I may still have a chance to resolve the problems in the Twins, Lord Gordon.”

  He sighed heavily. “I hope you are right, my princess.”

  “If anyone can charm them,” Lord Aren said, “I reckon you can.”

  “You are too kind, my—” She turned back to him just in time to see him lean in and steal a piece of bread off her plate. She stared at him, stunned at his brazenness. He winked.

  “You were saying, Princess?”

  “I—” Mica shifted in her seat, a bit flustered. Aren looked at her blandly, chewing on her bread.

  He and Jessamyn had to have some kind of history. Not even Caleb would tease her like that.

  “I will need all the information you can give me on these piracy incidents,” Mica said, gathering her thoughts at last. “Captain Karson of the HIMS Arrow is scouting ahead as well.”

  “I will have reports drawn up.” Lord Gordon raised his tankard of ale to her. “I must say, I admire your bravery.”

  “Princess Jessamyn isn’t afraid of anything,” Aren said. Then he whispered under his breath, “Except maybe sheep dung.”

  Mica suppressed a chuckle, and Aren grinned, seeming delighted that she responded to the reference with mirth. The real Jessamyn probably didn’t look on the memory so fondly.

  The princess herself wasn’t within earshot of their conversation. She had been seated far down the table, making it difficult to consult her. In the Silver Palace, she would have hovered behind Mica’s chair, as Mica had done in various servant guises for her, dropping hints of important information wherever necessary. Lord Gordon’s hall was too informal for such an arrangement, leaving Mica to make decisions on Jessamyn’s behalf. She was becoming used to the responsibility.

  The seating arrangements also meant Mica couldn’t seek the princess’s approval when Lord Aren invited her to go for an outing in the country the following day.

  “It will be a hard ride, lacking in creature comforts, but the views will be well worth the inconvenience.”

  “I’d love to go,” Mica said. “I’m eager to see more of the countryside and meet the fine men and women of Pegasus.” Jessamyn might focus on charming the local nobility, but Mica figured she could spend time getting to know the commoners too. And she wanted to discover more about the dynamic between Jessamyn and Aren.

  “I think it’s a fine idea,” Lord Gordon said. “That ought to give your Captain Karson enough time to scout the Channel.”

  “It’s settled then.” Lord Aren raised a tankard of ale to his lips and paused, studying her over the rim. “You seem different, Princess. We might become friends yet.”

  * * *

  Later, when she and Jessamyn retired for the evening, Mica relayed all the conversations she’d had at dinner. They were in a cozy, candlelit guestroom with a large bed piled high with sheepskin pelts. Jessamyn had already claimed the bed for herself, and Mica would sleep in the adjacent servant’s room.

  Jessamyn reclined on the bed with her legs covered in pelts and wool blankets and dissected every detail of Mica’s report. “You don’t know what you’ve gotten us into,” she said when she heard about the plan to go riding in the country. “This won’t be a simple turn about the pasture.”

  “You could skip it, you know,” Mica said. “I’m sure I won’t mess up too badly if I go riding without you. Why don’t you take it easy?”

  “Ha! Oh, you’re serious? No, Micathea, I cannot allow that. Gordon and Aren may act like simple country lords, but they are incredibly powerful, and they have astute political instincts. You should see the instructions Gordon sends Wendel at court to make sure she’s making the most of her time there. They know what they are doing.”

  “You’re saying the warmth is an act?”

  “No, that’s genuine. But there is more going on beneath this sweet, pastoral surface.”

  Mica considered this as she combed her dark-red hair, sitting on a stool at the princess’s feet. She was growing tired of the duplicity. Could no one be simple and uncalculating anymore? “Maybe it’s best I don’t keep trying to represent you then. Isn’t it time you resumed your position?”

  “Mica.”

  “I’m serious. Telling Caleb wasn’t so bad, right?”

  Jessamyn snorted. “Did I miss the part where he celebrated my condition in between staring in horror and bolting from the cabin?”

  “Okay, I guess it was pretty bad. But that’s only because you didn’t trust him.”

  “Perhaps.” Jessamyn twisted her veil, wringing the silk with her discolored hands. “Caleb understands my actions better than most. He’ll come to see the wisdom of this scheme. I can’t say the same for everyone else.”

  “I don’t see why everything has to be a scheme,” Mica said. “If you would just tell the truth—”

  “Truth is a tool,” Jessamyn said. “I have told you again and again that I will reveal it when the time is right.”

  “I don’t believe you anymore,” Mica blurted out. “I think you’re afraid of what people will think of you now that you’re not beautiful anymore, and you’re using this secret plan as an excuse to keep hiding.”

  “Are you finished?” Jessamyn’s soft tone might have had Mica cowering a few months ago, but she knew better now. The princess had learned that scary, quiet voice from the emperor. The more Mica saw the seams in her façade, the less frightening she became.

  “No, I’m not.” Mica stood and tossed the comb onto the stool with a thud. “Have you thought that maybe the
rebels in the Twins have a point about the nobles in Jewel Harbor? It’s all complicated strategies and subterfuge. You’ve wrapped yourself up in so many lies that you don’t know who you really are, and no one else does either.”

  “You are treading on dangerous ground, Micathea Graydier.”

  “Oh yeah? Well, I’m willing to take a few steps further. In fact, maybe I’ll just walk away and see how you fare when you have to face the world in your own flawed skin. It might be the greatest service to the empire I could perform.”

  Fear flickered in Jessamyn’s eyes for the first time, and her veil crumpled in her hands. “You can’t leave.”

  “I have to eventually,” Mica said. “Someone needs to stop Lord Ober.”

  “And how do you expect to do that?”

  “Well, I need to find his barren fortress. I have a few leads already.”

  Jessamyn raised a scarred eyebrow. “And then?”

  “And then . . . Well then . . . I guess I’d—”

  “Stab him with the knife you keep under your skirt? After you sneak into this fortress where he may or may not be hiding? Or maybe you could try giving him a self-righteous lecture about being true to himself.”

  “I’ll gather intelligence,” Mica said. How had the princess managed to turn this back on her again? “I trained to be a spy, remember?”

  “So you’ll use your spy powers to find him, analyze his defenses, and then storm the fortress with . . . what army?”

  “I . . . Well . . . Captain Karson—”

  “Answers to me,” Jessamyn said. “That fine ship of his is under my authority, not yours. You need me just as much as I need you. I will take your advice under consideration, but you are not going anywhere.”

  Mica and Jessamyn stared at each other, the candlelight flickering in their matching eyes. Mica looked more like Jessamyn now than Jessamyn herself, but it was easy to forget that she was actually nobody, and the princess held all the power.

  Of course, few people knew that. It occurred to Mica for a single, transparent moment that if she really wanted that power, all she had to do was take it. She could supplant the princess, take Caleb as her consort, and have all the might of the Imperial Army at her disposal.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Jessamyn said softly. “I can read you like a book, Micathea. I’m surprised it has taken you this long to consider taking my place for good.”

  “I am no traitor.”

  “I didn’t think you were. But know this: we have the same goals. It may seem we are not aligned, but if you trust me, we will both get what we want in the end.”

  Mica stared at the princess. Did she trust her? Her good intentions maybe, but she trusted her judgment less each day. But they were still heading in the same direction—at least for now.

  “I’ll do what’s right for the empire,” she said at last.

  “Good.” Jessamyn waved her veil at Mica. “Now, Pegasus ale makes me rather drowsy. Run along, unless you have anything else to add.”

  “No, I don’t think—Oh, what’s the story with you and Lord Aren?”

  “Story?”

  “You didn’t fill me in on your history, but he seems to like you. If he is as powerful as you say, could he be a good choice for your consort?”

  Jessamyn stared at her in shocked silence. Then her answer came in a flurry. “Don’t be ridiculous, Micathea. You’d better get your beauty sleep. Goodnight.” And she yanked a wool blanket up to her chin and rolled over with her back to the room.

  Now I know there’s something between them. In all their months together, the princess had never once wished Mica goodnight.

  Mica burrowed beneath her own blankets in the servant’s room, but sleep was slow to come. Jessamyn was right. They needed each other if they were going to accomplish either of their goals. Still, she wondered what would happen when their paths diverged. And she couldn’t help imagining what it would be like if she were the one making all the decisions.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lord Aren followed through on his offer to take the visiting dignitaries riding in the countryside the following morning.

  “I have it all planned,” he announced over a hearty breakfast of fried eggs and mutton porridge. “I shall lend you my gentlest horse, Your Highness. She will keep you safe.”

  “I’m not afraid of horses, my lord,” Mica said. “I can handle any mount as well as you.”

  Lord Aren grinned. “Things have changed.”

  Mica raised an eyebrow, and Jessamyn carefully avoided her gaze. So there was another weakness she refused to reveal. Mica had seen Jessamyn ride many times, but she had never let on that her skill hadn’t come easily.

  “Who else would like to accompany us?” Aren asked. “The country air will do you good.”

  “I’ll join you,” Caleb said. He had appeared for breakfast looking somewhat the worse for wear and taken the farthest seat from Mica and Jessamyn at the breakfast table. Lady Wendel had spent the morning plying him with healthy Pegasus tea. “I could use the fresh air.”

  “How about you, ladies?” Aren asked.

  Elana and Ingrid practically fell over themselves to decline the invitation.

  “We need rest after the difficult sea voyage,” said Lady Elana.

  “I’m sure we’ll get plenty of fresh air right here in Carrow, thank you very much,” said Lady Ingrid.

  “I will stay behind as well,” Lord Riven said with a glance at Lady Ingrid. She smoothed back her dark hair, a blush creeping across her severe features.

  Lord Dolan muttered something about meeting with his merchant contacts, and Fritz wanted to search Carrow’s famous handicraft market for a gift for his bride. In the end, only Caleb and Wendel joined Mica and Aren when they departed Lord Gordon’s hall. Well, them and two dozen servants and guards to make sure they weren’t endangered on their journey—or inconvenienced in any way. Jessamyn would be riding among the guards and baggage, with Banner and Emir protecting her.

  The sky was cloudy, resting upon the hilltops like a pile of Pegasus wool. The cold lingered on the border between refreshing and uncomfortable, but it was sure to warm up throughout the day. Mica wore a thick woolen cloak that Lord Gordon had presented to her that morning, and Jessamyn had wrapped the matching scarf around her head like an enormous, fluffy cowl.

  They followed the river inland, heading north from Carrow, and the green countryside swallowed them up. The denser settlement gave way to farmhouses and fields, dotted liberally with sheep, and the occasional sleepy village. The grassy Pegasus landscape was tamer than the rock-strewn region around Stonefoss, where the farmers had to fight for every sprout and bloom. The air smelled of sheep musk, manure, and fresh-turned earth, with just a hint of the sea.

  At Lord Aren’s request, they stopped at villages along their way to speak with the farmers and shepherds. Aren knew many of the shepherds by name, and his rugged features were right at home among their sun-darkened noses and weathered cheeks. Many of the men also sported the same long hair tied back in a tail.

  The local children were thrilled to meet a princess. They gave Mica little gifts of pretty stones, drawings on rough parchment, and handmade dolls. She did her best to be as charming as Jessamyn would have been. Aren was almost as popular with the children as she was. He hoisted them into the air on his broad shoulders and let them tie winter flowers in his hair. Mica admired the way he interacted with the commoners, and she was glad Elana, Ingrid, and Riven were not there to scoff.

  “Please excuse their humble circumstances,” Lady Wendel said as they waved farewell to a thin-faced family outside a rundown hovel. “We experienced a plague several years ago. The sheep population was reduced by more than half.”

  “Those were hard times,” Lord Aren said. “Many good folks suffered.”

  “Production has bounced back better than ever, though, thanks to a subsidization program Aren designed,” Wendel said.

  “I’d love to know more about this program,�
�� Mica said.

  Aren reined his stallion closer to her. “That’s not the sort of thing that would have interested you in the past, Princess.”

  “A leader should care for the needs of their humblest subjects,” Mica said. “It’s my responsibility to make sure all imperial subjects prosper.”

  Aren gave her an appraising look. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Mica could feel Jessamyn’s gaze on her back. She couldn’t tell if she approved of the conversation. But the princess listened as Aren described the work he’d been doing to help the shepherds get back on their feet, and she even paused to speak with the next group they passed, shaking hands with the shepherds without flinching at the dirt on their skin.

  They rode deeper into the countryside, the lords and ladies mingling freely with the guards and servants in a loose group. Caleb hung back from the rest, more subdued than usual. His head nodded occasionally, and Stievson rode beside him, ready to catch him if he toppled from the saddle.

  Mica pulled up her horse, ostensibly to watch a pair of lambs frolicking beside the road, and leaned in to speak with him.

  “Are you all right?”

  Caleb rubbed a square hand over his face. “Could have used another few hours of sleep, but I’ll pull through.”

  “The Talent again?”

  “Afraid so.”

  Mica frowned. “You should have stayed in Carrow.”

  “Banner told me about the imposter,” Caleb said. “A ride into the wilderness would be the perfect time for them to strike.”

  “Most of the nobles aren’t even with us.”

  “They could have set a trap.” Caleb gestured at the countryside, where sheep and cattle grazed on dandelions beneath billowing clouds. The gently rolling hills didn’t look as though they could hide an ambush, but Caleb surveyed them as if they were battle trenches.

  “She’s at risk without proper protection,” he said. “Everyone in this party would move to protect you instead of her.”

  “That would be unfortunate,” Mica said, her voice flat.

  “That’s not what I—”