by Jordan Rivet
Still, Aren had to knock a second time before they heard him over the creaking and groaning of the ship.
“It is Aren, Princess,” he called through the cabin door. “May I come in?”
Before Mica could answer him, Jessamyn leapt to her feet.
“Pretend to be asleep,” she hissed.
“But—”
“Do it! And do not stir until I give you leave.”
Mica flopped down on the bed and closed her eyes. Breathing slowly and deeply, she listened as Jessamyn answered the door herself.
“May I help you, my lord?”
“Good evening, Miss Myn. I’d like to speak with your lady.”
“She’s sleeping, my lord. She said she would slice off my ears and feed them to the fish if I woke her.”
“Oh. You needn’t disturb her, then. I shouldn’t have called on her so late.”
The disappointment in his tone made Mica wonder what he had expected to happen when he knocked on Jessamyn’s door in the quiet of the night when everyone was supposed to be in bed.
Aren didn’t leave right away, and she strained to hear what he said next.
“I haven’t had an opportunity to ask if you are well since the river. I was worried about you.”
A pause. “You were?”
“I was afraid you’d catch cold after I foolishly dragged you all into the wilderness with a storm coming.”
“No, I’m quite all right.” Jessamyn sounded caught off guard. “I can’t get much worse.” She gave a humorless laugh, and Mica imagined her gesturing to her ruined features, or what little could be seen beneath her veil.
“May I ask what happened to you?” Lord Aren said.
“I was caught in a fire as a little girl.”
“That must have been awful.”
“It doesn’t hurt so much anymore, but it isn’t getting any better, either.” A note of vulnerability entered Jessamyn’s voice. “I’m not sure it ever will.”
“Why do you wear a veil? Is it a custom from your homeland?”
“Of course not,” Jessamyn said with a snort. “My face is hideous. You saw it yourself.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s hideous at all,” Lord Aren said. “Besides, you seem like a brave and steadfast woman. That’s far more important than being pretty, don’t you think?”
Jessamyn was quiet for a moment, and Mica cracked open one eyelid. She couldn’t see the princess’s expression as she faced Lord Aren through the doorway. When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft Mica almost couldn’t hear it.
“Thank you, my lord. I will tell the princess you stopped by.”
Lord Aren bowed and strode away. Jessamyn watched the corridor long after he was gone.
The princess didn’t say anything at all about Aren’s nighttime visit. Mica allowed herself to hope that Aren’s words would move her and the truth would finally come out. Mica had made too many decisions on Jessamyn’s behalf lately. With the empire at war, a common Mimic from Stonefoss had no business acting as the princess.
But as the morning of their arrival in Silverfell dawned, Jessamyn put on her veil and cap as usual and handed Mica a crown.
“I expect your very best performance, Micathea. Many nobles will be staying at Silverfell right now. We mustn’t give them any reason to doubt us.”
Mica sighed. “Yes, Princess.”
Of course she won’t give up her secret just because of a handsome man.
Jessamyn fussed over the elaborate gown she had chosen for Mica’s reception in Silverfell, the rich cobalt satin and silver embroidery a marked contrast to her simple tunic.
“Remember,” she said, “we need to convince everyone that we have absolute confidence in the empire right now. We are not afraid of the Obsidians or intimidated by the rebels.”
“Understood.”
“And don’t mention that Fifth Talent from Dwindlemire. That rumor will spread fast enough as it is.”
“As you wish.”
Jessamyn looked as if she had more to say, but they heard shouting from above, the words indistinct.
“Well, what are you waiting for, Micathea? We must have arrived. Hurry!”
Mica and Jessamyn climbed up to the deck together to get their first look at Silverfell in the early-morning light. The weather had calmed at last, and the sea reflected the shimmering blue of the sky. The island was mountainous, and its largest city was set beneath towering purple peaks.
But smoke was billowing into the clear skies, and the smell of char mixed with the briny sea air.
The city was under attack.
Chapter Fifteen
The attack had come from the sea. Enemy ships assaulted Silverfell City from the bowl-shaped harbor. Some attacked the moored vessels, while others hurled pots full of burning oil directly at the city. Fires blazed at a dozen points along the waterfront, and soldiers ran across the docks in close formation, taking cover behind piles of goods whenever arrows or fire rained down on them. Shouts rang across the water, punctuated by cracking timber and the occasional explosive splash.
The Obsidians must have beaten us here.
Mica, Jessamyn, and Banner darted to the portside railing in time to see the HIMS Arrow sailing toward the harbor mouth ahead of them. The long paddles scuttled like spiders’ legs from the belly of the galleon, and the decks bristled with swords and arrows as their escort ship barreled down on the enemy.
“It’s not safe, Your Highness!” Captain Pol shouted, hurrying over to where they stood at the rail, watching the Arrow. “You should get below.”
“We will do no such thing,” the real Jessamyn snapped.
“That’s right.” Mica covered for her quickly. “I cannot follow the battle from below.”
“The Goddess was not built for battle,” Captain Pol said. “We can’t fight!”
“You needn’t engage directly,” Mica said, “but we should help the injured if we can. Hold fast at the harbor mouth for now.”
Pol puffed out his cheeks as though he wanted to object. Then he gave a stiff bow. “As you say, Your Highness.”
Jessamyn didn’t contradict Mica’s order, too busy following the battle with bright eyes. She was probably imagining herself taking up arms on the deck of the Arrow to save the city. Banner had placed himself in front of the princess, but he had to keep moving to shield her body while she tried to get a better look at the action.
They were still far enough away that the enemy ships hadn’t noticed them. Mica hoped it would stay that way. She believed Pol when he said the Silk Goddess was not suited for a sea battle.
Caleb, Aren, and their men were preparing to launch the two longboats to assist the Arrow. Fritz was too busy shouting Lorna’s name to be much use. Only his Shield guard’s efforts kept him from leaping straight into the harbor. Although they weren’t as efficient as Captain Karson’s soldiers, the fighting men of the Silk Goddess were soon ready to sail into the fray.
Caleb paused in buckling on his sword to catch Mica’s eye, giving her a swift, intense look. She prayed his Shield Talent wouldn’t fail him. She hated that Caleb would go into battle not knowing whether or not his skin could be injured. She wanted to go to him, but she held back, aware of Emir’s eyes on her. Her jaw shifted into a harder shape as Caleb climbed into one of the small boats and disappeared over the side.
Jessamyn was studying the battle too closely to pay attention as the lords and their men were lowered to the water, but she tore her eyes away to watch the back of Aren’s head as he sailed into the harbor mouth, his ponytail streaming behind him. She too seemed to steel herself against what might befall him.
Haze hung thick over Silverfell City now. The surrounding peaks contained the smoke rising from numerous fires like the bowl of a pipe. The Silverfell ships had difficulty launching while under fire, and curses echoed across the water as the captains tried to get underway. The city had clearly been taken by surprise, but Mica noticed that none of the aggressors bore the black flag with a st
ark white tower she’d been expecting. Come to think of it, all the ships looked as though they’d been built right here in the Windfast Empire.
They’re not Obsidians, Mica realized with a jolt. This is a whole new war.
The rebels must have tired of looting lone ships in the Northern Channel when the ones sitting in Silverfell were ripe for the taking.
Whoever the enemies were, they didn’t see the Arrow coming.
Captain Karson chose the ship tossing pots of burning oil at the city as the Arrow’s first target. The galleon shot across the harbor and crashed into the enemy ship, her steel prow ramming their hull. With a great creaking and splintering of wood, the Arrow ripped a hole in the other vessel.
The enemy ship was no match for one manned by well-trained imperial soldiers and powered by Muscle oarsmen. As it tried to flee, the Arrow rammed it a second time, and the steel prow stuck to the smaller ship like a knife in an apple. The soldiers began to leap across the gap to board the other vessel.
“That Captain Karson knows what he’s doing,” Jessamyn said. She was standing on her toes, her veil flying free. The morning sun shone on her waxy skin, making her look fierce, otherworldly. She reminded Mica of the gilded figurehead protruding from their own prow.
Mica had a knife in one hand, though she didn’t remember pulling it from her sleeve, and she clutched the wooden railing with the other, nearly tight enough to get splinters. She wanted to join the fight as much as Jessamyn did.
She looked for Caleb’s smaller boat, but it was lost in the smoke and confusion. She leaned farther out over the water, trying to spot him through the jumble of beams and oars and fast-moving boats.
Then an arrow whistled through the air and stuck in the railing right beside her hand.
“Get down!”
“There’s one behind us!”
“Quickly, to arms, men!”
Mica and the others ducked below the railing as the remaining men on the Silk Goddess surged into action. She couldn’t tell where the arrows were coming from. The sailors were confused too, running this way and that, trying to prepare their defenses. Banner had his arms wrapped protectively around Jessamyn, who struggled like a cat as she tried to see what was going on.
The storm of arrows ceased.
Mica’s heart raced, the beat loud in her ears. She waited.
When a minute had passed without the telltale thud of metal into wood, Mica risked a peek over the side of the ship.
A longboat had detached from the main battle, and it was speeding through the swells toward the Silk Goddess. Blurs manned the oars, and in seconds, they had reached the Goddess, secured grappling hooks to its railing, and begun scaling its sides.
“They’re boarding us!” Mica shouted. “Look out!”
She had a sudden, vivid memory of the pale-haired Obsidians attacking the princess’s pleasure barge in the middle of Jewel Harbor a few months ago. But these attackers lacked the pale hair and paler skin of their Obsidian enemies. These were Windfast citizens, trying to kill their own.
The Blur rebels swarmed up the side of the Silk Goddess to the foredeck. The sailors rushed to defend their vessel, wielding knives, cutlasses, and random heavy objects they found around the deck—such as the lounge chairs the nobles had used. Captain Pol shouted orders from the helm, his face bloodless. The clash of steel and screams of men filled the deck, the gilded figurehead shaking under the onslaught.
Some of the Blur rebels were thrown back into the sea, but others gained their footing aboard the Goddess. Footing was all they needed to become twice as deadly.
As the Blurs swarmed the deck, Banner flattened Jessamyn beneath him, using his impervious body to protect her delicate one—despite her shrill protests. Mica crouched beside them, knife in hand, ready to fight. She was glad they hadn’t stayed below, trapped in their cabin, where they couldn’t see their enemies coming.
But the boarders moved too fast, and one was upon them almost before they realized what was happening.
The Blur lunged at Mica, trying to grab her in rough, sunburned hands. He had a knife in his belt, but he didn’t try to use it. As his hand closed around her wrist, she realized she was wearing the wrong face. Of course their enemies would try to abduct the princess as soon as they recognized her.
She slashed at her would-be kidnapper, but he dodged the strike, still gripping her other wrist. She twisted, trying to get near enough for a slash, a bite, anything to get him off her.
Then, as quickly as she had been seized, the hold on her wrist released, and her attacker flew halfway across the deck.
A speeding figure slowed long enough for Mica to register that Emir had come to her rescue. He flowed forward, death on winged feet, and raised his sword.
The Blur rebel was no match for Mica’s brother. Emir made quick work of the man, showing in an instant why he had been selected for the Elite division. The would-be kidnapper fell to the deck, gurgling his last breath almost as soon as the fight began.
“Thanks,” Mica said, but Emir was already moving on to the next attacker, a blinding whirl of steel and grace.
Before anyone else spotted her—and realized what a tempting hostage she would make—Mica ripped the crown from her head and tossed it overboard. Then she trimmed the fine silver embroidery off her dress while she contorted her features to look less like a prize. Ashy blond hair replaced the red, blue chased the brown from her eyes, and her face became cute rather than beautiful. Soon, a shorter copy of her best friend, Sapphire, stood where a princess had been. Mica added a couple of scars to the look, as she had seen Mimics do when they prepared for battle. She brandished her knives, feeling more like herself than she had in a long time.
Her brother paused his deadly dance and gave her an approving nod. Then he flowed forward to confront the last of the Blur boarders. It almost hurt to watch the two men try to kill each other at supernatural speeds. The clash of their blades beat a tempo too quick to follow.
Emir sealed the victory with a vicious stab to the gut, and his opponent slumped to the deck, dying slower than he fought.
The sailors raised a cheer as Emir cleaned the blood from his blade with swift hands. Mica thought he looked like their father then, tall and slim and deadly. A fierce pride swelled through her. No enemy could take down the empire while the Gray children still fought.
“There’s another boat coming,” Captain Pol shouted from the helm. “Get ready!”
They had rebuffed the first assault, but the battle wasn’t over yet.
Mica rushed back to the railing as the sailors prepared to use whatever weapons and Talents they had to keep the next wave of attackers at bay. Banner was still shielding Jessamyn, who looked livid at the indignity of being squashed beneath her protector.
Better angry than dead.
Mica scanned the turbulent harbor for the boat Captain Pol had spotted, expecting another longboat like the one full of Blurs.
All she saw was a little skip speeding toward them with three men aboard. Pol’s men shot at the trio, but as the skip came alongside the hull, its occupants ignored the arrows raining down on them.
“Shields!” someone called. “Knock them off balance.”
One of the sailors had found the Silk Goddess’s fancy silverware, and Captain Pol’s men began throwing knives, spoons, and heavy goblets at the three Shields, attempting to distract them. The blows glanced off their skin, the attackers unfazed.
The Silk Goddess might not be a warship, but the sailors should have been able to keep three fighters from scaling its sides easily. The trio didn’t even have grappling hooks. They scrabbled at the hull with their bare hands, as if searching for cracks in the timber.
Strange. Mica leaned out over the water, trying to see what these new attackers were doing.
Then they began to climb.
The strange Shields clung to the hull with the strength of Muscles, jamming their fingers into the tiny cracks between the beams.
“Oh no,”
Mica said. “They’re not just Shields. They’re—”
“Advance!” At the signal from their leader, the three attackers suddenly swarmed up the sides of the boat, using supernatural strength and speed to haul themselves aboard. The sailors’ efforts to injure them made no difference at all. They were too strong, too fast, too invincible.
Then all three men were on the foredeck, weapons glinting wickedly in the morning sun. They paused, surveying the carnage left by their predecessors. Mere Blurs had failed to take the ship.
But these were Fifth Talents.
And they had come to the Silk Goddess with one mission in mind: death.
The Fifth Talents shredded through Pol’s sailors with ease. Strong. Fast. Impervious. There was no touching them. Mica couldn’t tell if they were Mimics or not, but they did more than enough damage with their three visible abilities.
It was a slaughter. The sailors fled before them, any attempts to fight seeming paltry in the face of this new kind of Talent.
“Demons!”
“They can’t be killed!”
“What do we do, Captain?”
But as his men called for guidance, Captain Pol fell with a knife in his belly. His first mate was next, his skull split open by a man who’d been ten feet away a second earlier. The Fifth Talent hurled the bodies aside and paused at the helm. His features morphed, taking on Captain Pol’s wiry, windblown look. Then he advanced, and it was as if the Silk Goddess’s own captain were ripping her men apart.
That’s all four Talents. And they’re not slowing down.
Mica felt helpless. She cowered by the railing with the others, knowing she wouldn’t last more than a few seconds if she tried to engage the attackers. It was one thing to guess what perfected Fifth Talents could do. It was quite another to see them in action.
“The ship is lost.” Emir had reappeared at Mica’s side. “We have to get the princess to safety before they notice her.”
“I’m not giving up that easily,” Jessamyn said, her voice muffled from where she was still trapped beneath Banner. “Let’s blow up the ship!”
