by Jordan Rivet
Emir blushed. “The princess is lovely, but I was talking about Lady Wendel.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was dark by the time the storm passed, and they rode back to the city by moonlight. Lord Aren stayed close at Mica’s side, telling her of his hopes for the future and teasing her gently about her life in the city. Mica didn’t mind his company, and she wondered if they might be friends when all this was over.
The warm lights of little cottages were dotted across the countryside, and they slowly winked out as the hour grew late. But as they drew nearer to Carrow, the city still glowed brightly, as if every household had a dozen lanterns burning in the windows.
“Something is wrong,” Aren said suddenly. “The midnight hour is past, but—”
“My lord! Riders approach!”
Aren shifted forward, placing himself in front of Mica.
The thunder of hooves made the earth tremble as a dozen men on horseback approached from the brightly lit city.
“That’s Fritz,” Caleb said. He too had advanced, so that he was halfway between Mica and Jessamyn.
Mica recognized Lord Fritz’s blond hair among the darker, taller Pegasus men.
“Let them approach,” she commanded, and she urged her horse past her would-be protectors to the front of the group.
Fritz’s eyes were bright with excitement and fear as he joined them on the hilltop overlooking Carrow.
“News came while you were away!” he called out. “The Obsidians have captured Ironhall on Talon. We are at war!”
Gasps erupted behind Mica. She leaned forward in her saddle.
“When?”
“Two days ago. Lady Ingrid is preparing to depart for her home now.”
“What of the other border bases?” she asked, not daring to look at her brother. Stonefoss was almost as close to Obsidian as Ironhall.
“They haven’t been attacked yet, according to the Blur’s report,” Fritz said breathlessly. “They’re all on high alert, but no one knows where the Obsidians will strike next.”
“How did they succeed in taking Ironhall?” Jessamyn had forced her way to the front of the group too. Fritz did a double take, but he was too worked up over the news to question Myn Irondier’s involvement in the discussion.
“A surprise attack,” Fritz said. “The fortress was caught unaware. The Obsidians came in vast numbers from the Stone Coast and overwhelmed the defenders.”
“What of—the emperor?” Jessamyn said.
“Yes,” Mica said quickly. “Where is my father?”
“Still in Jewel Harbor. He sent a letter for you.” Fritz drew it from his coat pocket and passed it to Mica. Jessamyn’s fingers twitched, as if she wanted to grab it out of her hands.
A servant moved forward with a light, and Mica scanned the brief note, written in the emperor’s blocky handwriting.
“He orders me to return to Jewel Harbor at once.”
Jessamyn made a sharp hissing noise, like an angry cat.
“That sounds wise, my princess,” Lord Aren said. “This isn’t a good time to be sailing about.”
“We should stay right here!” Wendel said. “I’m not going to sea during a war.”
“You are under no obligation to leave Carrow, Lady Wendel,” Mica said. “But it sounds as though the Obsidians are far away from here.” For now.
She was watching Jessamyn for guidance. The princess’s eyebrows drew down in a stubborn line. They hadn’t completed their missions. They couldn’t just turn around.
“There’s more, Princess,” Fritz said. “Captain Karson has returned.”
“Already?”
“The Arrow was in a skirmish in the Northern Channel. They came upon a merchant ship under attack. Both sides suffered losses, but he managed to take a prisoner.”
“Obsidians here!” Wendel exclaimed at the same time Lord Aren asked, “Were the attackers from the Twins?”
“Not Obsidians,” Fritz said. He nodded at Lord Aren. “Yes, we think he’s with the secession group, but wait until you see what he can do!”
Mica and Caleb exchanged tense glances.
I hope he doesn’t mean what I think he means.
“We’re holding him in a cell,” said one of Lord Gordon’s men, who had accompanied Fritz. “I reckon you should see for yourself, Your Highness.”
“Take me to him,” Mica said.
They rode swiftly down the hill toward the blazing lights of Carrow. Fritz fell in beside Mica, all but bouncing in his saddle.
“Princess, I wish to carry on to Silverfell,” Fritz said. “Lorna could be in danger!”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Wendel said on his other side.
“I don’t think the princess should go to sea right now,” Aren said. He rode beside Mica still, scanning the hills as if he expected an attack at any moment.
“But Lorna!”
“I am sure Lorna will be safe in her father’s city.” Mica held up a hand to silence her companions. “Let us see what this prisoner has to say before we make any decisions.” She couldn’t catch Jessamyn’s eye with the nobles crowding around her, but she hoped they were of the same mind. She wasn’t ready to turn back yet.
Carrow was alive with activity, as if no one could sleep with the news of war. Faces appeared at the windows as they rode past, bright eyes and pale cheeks betraying their anxiety. Mica imagined what would happen if the Obsidian hordes made it this far into the empire. These humble houses wouldn’t stand a chance against the slave armies of the Obsidian King. They had to turn back the invaders before they made it this far.
She trusted the Imperial Army to meet the threat, but Mica and Jessamyn wouldn’t make any difference on the front lines. They were needed deeper in the empire.
Lord Gordon’s men led the way to a cell set into a hillside on the far edge of town. Captain Karson and Lord Gordon himself waited for them outside. Torches lit the night with a reddish glare, and their faces were grave.
“The prisoner isn’t saying much, Your Highness,” Captain Karson said after offering a crisp salute. “He wants to talk to you. You should know there were Talent fighters among his comrades. They were well trained and—I know this may sound crazy—some of them had more than one Talent ability.”
Mica clenched her fists. “Are you certain?”
“I saw it with my own eyes.”
“Were they sane?”
Captain Karson blinked. “Sane, Your Highness?”
“Did these multi-Talented fighters show signs of illness or erratic behavior?”
“Not that I saw,” Captain Karson said, “but I will ask my men.”
He studied her with renewed respect, picking up on her lack of surprise at the news of multiple Talents. He was a sharp man, and Mica could see why the emperor had chosen him for this delicate mission.
“But no one can have more than one Talent,” Wendel said. “Can they?”
Mica ignored the question, her attention on Aren and Gordon. They had exchanged a few quiet words at Captain Karson’s report, their expressions uncomfortable.
“My lords?” she said. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”
Lord Gordon grimaced. “Survivors of other skirmishes have made wild claims, saying the Talents were as fast as Blurs and as impervious as Shields.” He glanced at his son, whose face looked grave in the torchlight. “We had ignored them until now.”
“I confess we thought the sailors were exaggerating,” Lord Aren said. “No one can be a Blur and a Shield.”
“With all due respect, my lord, it looks like you were wrong.” Captain Karson gestured to the door set in the hillside. “The one we caught is one of them. You can see the truth for yourselves.”
“Yes, we’ve had enough talk,” Mica said. “Show me the prisoner.”
She entered the earthen prison with Emir and Captain Karson flanking her. The cell was divided from a small guard station with iron bars. Torches burned here too, giving it a stuffy, claustrophobic feeling.
There wasn’t enough room for Jessamyn to come in with them. Mica would have to handle this one on her own.
She expected the prisoner to be like the madman from the anniversary ball.
The reality was far worse.
“Good evening, Princess Jessamyn.” The man had a large blond beard, and his eyes were small and watery. His clothes were blackened with soot and torn in dozens of places, but he appeared to be uninjured. “So kind of you to visit.”
“Good evening,” Mica said, matching his polite tone. “Have we met?”
“You don’t remember? I wouldn’t expect you to, I suppose. You care little for people like me.”
Mica approached the cell, trying to get a better look at the man in the flickering light. Suddenly, his features morphed into those of Lord Dolan: doughy skin, close-set eyes, thinning hair.
“Is that better?” he said. “This is the kind of face you’d pay attention to, an important, rich face. Or how about this one?” His features changed again, and he stared down Lord Riven’s aquiline nose at her. “Or has he fallen out of favor too?” The man’s features changed for the third time, and a perfect copy of Emperor Styl faced her through the bars of the cell.
“Very impressive,” Mica said. “Will you tell me where we met? You’ve clearly seen my father in the flesh too.”
“It matters little,” the man said in the emperor’s cold, clear voice. “Your tyranny cannot touch me anymore.”
Suddenly, the man was right at the bars. Mica stumbled back a few steps, and he grinned at her with the emperor’s straight, white teeth. So he was a Blur and a Mimic. The lack of injuries suggested he was a Shield too, given how roughed up his clothes were. So that made three Talents, just like Caleb. Could he have the fourth?
As if he sensed where her thoughts led, the man grasped the bars of his cell with both hands and pulled. With a steady, implacable strength, he bent the iron aside. Muscle.
Emir and Captain Karson were on him at once, pushing past Mica with their blades drawn. But their steel glanced right off the prisoner’s skin when they tried to drive him back. The man smiled at them with the emperor’s mouth. Then he turned around and walked to the cot at the back of his cell. He sat, resuming the blond, bearded face once more, and grinned up at them through the bent bars of his cage.
“You see there is no point in trying to contain me,” he said. “I allowed myself to be captured so I could speak with you face to face.”
“You want to talk?” Mica said. “So talk. How did you get those Talents?”
“From a benefactor who understands the needs of my people.”
Ober. Mica knotted her hands in her skirt, struggling to keep her features in place.
“And who are your people?”
The blond man raised his head proudly. “The noble men and women of the Independent Republic of Dwindlemire.”
“I see.”
“We have sent our Talents to the Imperial Army for generations,” the man said. “In return, you help us only when it suits your own ends. No more. Now, we will all be Talents. More than Talents.”
Mica swallowed. “All of you?”
“When the time is right.”
“But what about the fatigue? Do you sleep for days after using your abilities? Or have you seen hints of madness and violence among your friends? You may think you’ve been given a gift, but this is poison.”
“I am afraid your intelligence is outdated, Your Highness,” the man said. “You are describing the older model.”
Mica froze. “What do you mean?”
“Our benefactor has perfected his process.”
No. Please no.
“P-perfected?”
“Quite recently.”
Mica believed him.
She was too late.
“Don’t you know how it works?” she said, anger flaring through her like a lit torch. “This benefactor of yours uses Talent bones and blood to make his potions.”
She thought of her friend Danil, whose leg had been chopped off in service of Lord Ober’s experiments. He was from Dwindlemire, the same as the prisoner. She thought of the warehouse, with its screams and groans and jars of blood.
It isn’t right.
The prisoner smiled, and for a moment, he looked at her with Jessamyn’s face, somehow more grotesque for its beauty. “Sometimes the price is worth it.”
“Not this time.”
Mica felt the situation spiraling beyond her control. She had thought they were ahead of the game, but the attacks were coming from all sides. Obsidian. The secession agitators. And now Lord Ober was helping the rebels acquire all four Talents—perhaps without the weaknesses that had led her to believe they still had time.
But there was already a new type of Talent in the empire.
A Fifth Talent.
Mica retreated from the cell, pausing outside the door to wait for her hands to stop shaking.
“We can do little to keep him here, Your Highness,” Captain Karson said. “You see why?”
“I do.” Mica hesitated for a breath. “Do you think he can be killed?”
“Do you want us to try?”
A memory flashed before Mica’s eyes of when she had leapt onto a man’s back and stuck her knives deep into his body. She had clung to him as he died, his blood gushing over hands. That visceral moment still haunted her months later. Could she give an execution order after she knew what it felt like to kill a man? She supposed that, at least, wasn’t her job.
“We have to know how to kill them,” Emir said, “if we are to face more like him.”
Mica looked up at her brother’s face, but all she could see was the way the prisoner had ignored his sword completely. If her brother faced a Talent like that, he would be killed, despite all his elite training. The world was a very different place now.
“I want to know more about him first,” Mica said. “See if you can learn his true face and name. And I want to know if he shows any signs of madness or extreme fatigue.” She still held out hope that his mixed Talents weren’t as flawless as they seemed.
We never should have let Ober leave Jewel Harbor.
The nobles and their retainers were waiting for her in the ring of torchlight a few paces away. The rest of her traveling companions had joined the group. Lady Ingrid, looking pale and murderous, was already dressed for travel, and Lord Riven stood close at her side, a cloak over his broad shoulders. Elana and Wendel were whispering together, catching each other up on the news—and gossip—with lightning speed. Dolan, Fritz, and Caleb formed another knot, but Caleb wasn’t paying attention to the other lords. He had clearly been watching the prison door, waiting for Mica to emerge. Jessamyn had been watching the prison just as intently, and she had just happened to position herself next to Lord Aren.
One among those nobles was untrustworthy, and Mica couldn’t afford to keep trying to guess who it was. The stakes were too high now. It was time to dispense with the imposter.
She rejoined her companions.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Gordon. I am afraid we must cut our visit short.”
“I understand completely.”
“Do you intend to return to Jewel Harbor, Princess?” Fritz asked. “I must go to my bride.”
Mica glanced at Jessamyn, who shook her head, confirming what Mica already knew they must do.
“I shall continue on to the outer islands,” Mica said. “My father will handle the Obsidian invasion.”
Fritz gaped at her. “But he ordered you to return to—”
“What my father says to me is between the two of us,” Mica said sharply. “I will not have you questioning my decisions.”
“Apologies, my princess.” Fritz ducked into a low bow.
Jessamyn’s eyes brightened, as if she approved of Mica’s use of her angriest voice. Mica felt as if they were in sync. Their adversaries were helping each other now. Ober. The rebels. Their missions were converging. Once again, she had the eerie sensation that only one o
f them was real.
She turned to the others. “I will continue on to Silverfell with Lords Caleb and Fritz and my soldiers,” she announced. “The rest of you may remain here or sail east, but I can no longer have you in my party.”
Elana opened her mouth. “But—”
“This is not a discussion. Lord Dolan, I require the continued use of the Silk Goddess. You will be compensated later.”
His doughy face paled. “But Princess, we—”
“We’ve had a delightful jaunt, my lords and ladies,” Mica said. “But our journey together ends here. I cannot bring you into danger in a time of war.”
Ingrid and Riven were whispering to each other, unbothered by her decree. Perhaps Riven had already decided to accompany Ingrid back to Talon. Wendel looked relieved. Only Dolan and Elana appeared distressed. So which one was the imposter?
It didn’t matter now. Mica had spent enough time trying to figure out the imposter’s identity. She decided to leave Rider the Shield guard behind for good measure. It wouldn’t be the first time a Mimic had succeeded in securing a job at the princess’s side. She refused to sail toward untold dangers with a snake in their midst. She trusted Caleb, and she knew Fritz would try to swim after the boat if she left him behind. She would have Caleb verify his identity before they set sail, but she couldn’t have the others lurking at her back anymore.
“I beg you to reconsider your voyage, Princess,” Lord Gordon said. “The rebels have grown too bold. The Channel is not safe.”
“The agitators will have to put aside their secession ambitions when they learn of the Obsidian invasion,” Mica said. “They will be the next target if the empire falls. I must reach them.”
Obsidian might be attacking to the east, but Mica wouldn’t allow the West to fall too. And she had to learn exactly how many people this “benefactor” had corrupted with his gifts.
Lord Aren exchanged a few quiet words with his father then said, “Princess, let me accompany you to Silverfell. I will contribute my best fighters to your force.”
