by Jordan Rivet
“He’s dead now,” Mica said. “The old man.”
Tallisa pursed her lips. If the news pleased her, she didn’t show it.
“That may be, but a few months ago, it all started up again. Now, those who go to Birdfell do not return.”
It lined up with Mica’s understanding. Ober and his potioners had used the remote tower for their early experiments before eventually moving the operation to the warehouse in Jewel Harbor. Perhaps he wanted to oversee it more closely, or he knew by then that Talent blood and bones made powerful potions, and he wanted to be nearer to a steady supply. He had stopped needing the Dustwood villagers—until Mica and Caleb drove him from the capital.
Fritz raised his hand. He had been listening to the tale in shocked silence, and he waited for Tallisa to nod at him, slightly bemused, before he spoke.
“Did you ask for help from Lord Bont, ma’am?”
Tallisa snorted. “Lord Bont thinks only of profit. Our mine stopped producing long ago. He doesn’t care what happens to us now.” She studied them over the top of her cup, forehead wrinkling. “I can see from your clothes that you are wealthy, perhaps nobles? It has been a long time since the nobles of this empire have cared to help people like us.”
“She speaks truth,” Ed said. “The nobles always choose their own interests over ours. It is past time common folk like us broke away.”
Mica set down her own mug with a thunk.
“How can you say that after the ‘help’ you’ve accepted from your noble benefactor?”
“He is making us powerful,” Ed said.
“Don’t you understand? All this is because of Lord Ober.” Mica threw her arms wide, taking in Tallisa and the rest of the village, where strange sounds still murmured in the night. “That old man worked for Lord Ober. This is the cost of the help he’s giving you.”
“I don’t believe you,” Ed said.
“I think you do,” Mica said. “I think you’ve known all along that what you can do comes at a cost, but you’ve never had to look it in the face before.”
Ed’s features changed briefly into Emperor Styl’s again. “Ever the hypocrite,” he spat. “You have known nothing but luxury produced by the labors of others. Don’t talk to me about costs.”
With that, he stood and blurred out the door. He slammed it behind him with Muscle strength, making the cabin shake.
Silence fell in his absence, except for the sound of Caleb’s heavy breathing. Tallisa was grimacing as if some of her pain had returned, and she did not meet Mica’s gaze.
Fritz cleared his throat delicately. “Can I pour anyone some more tea?”
Mica felt discomfited by Ed’s words when she went to sleep later that night. They had been directed at Jessamyn the princess, not Mica the soldier’s daughter, but she couldn’t help acknowledging that he had a point. She had hoped what Ed saw in Dustwood would force him to question the wisdom of keeping Ober as an ally, but she hadn’t expected to end up feeling sympathetic to the rebels. They had been empowered to fight for themselves. She understood why it was so tempting to accept his aid.
Then her gaze drifted to Caleb, sleeping on beside the fire, and Tallisa, who still sat awake in her homemade chair. No amount of power could justify the cost Ober had made others pay.
Chapter Twenty-One
Caleb had mostly regained his strength by the morning of the third day. He was able to sit upright on his horse, his face pale and drawn, as they left Dustwood and rode at last toward the barren fortress.
Fritz filled Caleb in on what they had seen in the village. Mica caught Caleb’s eye as Fritz described the residents who had suffered through the same poisoning Caleb had endured as a child. Something dangerous flickered in his eyes now. He would agree there could be no compromises when they found his uncle.
Fritz had apparently been deeply moved by Tallisa’s story. The young lord had pressed his prized jeweled dagger into Tallisa’s hands when they left her cabin, quietly asking her to sell it and use the money to help the other villagers.
Ed hadn’t returned to Tallisa’s cabin to sleep. He offered no explanation when he appeared at sunrise to accompany them out of Dustwood. He must have run ahead to tell his comrades they were on their way. He seemed subdued, and Mica couldn’t help wondering if the village had had any effect on him at all.
Mica herself still felt a deep uneasiness in the pit of her stomach. She tried to ignore it and focus on the negotiation ahead. No matter what injustices the rebels had experienced, no matter what horrors the people of Dustwood had endured, a great threat was advancing to the east, advancing on her brothers and parents. If they couldn’t work out an agreement with the rebels, they had little hope against the Obsidians. Despite its flaws, the empire needed to be whole.
As they got closer to their destination, scouts shadowed their path, lurking among the trees beside the road. Mica got out the silver circlet Lord Bont had given her and wore it with her hood flung back, the crown on full display.
The sun hadn’t yet reached its zenith when the four travelers crested the ridge above Birdfell Tower. The fortress awaited them on the slope below, sharp and gray in the morning sunlight. It was indeed barren, perched precariously on a mountainside that had been stripped of vegetation long ago.
Instead of one murky pond, half a dozen pools surrounded the base of the fortress. Liquid filled each one to varying levels, and they mirrored the sunlight, making it difficult to discern the color of the liquid. The stones bordering some of the pools looked freshly cut, as if they’d been constructed recently.
Steel glinted on the old tower’s ramparts, and a flurry of activity suggested that its inhabitants had gathered to watch their approach. A flock of birds took off from the tower and swooped into the sky, cawing mournfully.
So much for Birdfell being abandoned. Mica wondered, fleetingly, if Lord Bont knew more of what had been going on here than he’d admitted.
A party of men on foot awaited them on the steep path leading down to the tower and the mirrored pools. The men wore rough clothes of wool and cotton, beards like Ed’s, and belts bristling with weapons. They formed a dense knot behind a leader with an especially long and thick beard. Lord Ober was not among them.
“Greetings.” The leader with the impressive beard had a calm voice, slightly higher than Mica expected. “I am Representative Wildson of the Free Nation of Cray. None of you is the Lord Governor of Silverfell.”
“Alas, he could not leave Silverfell City, though he wanted to speak with you ever so much,” Mica said, doing her very best charming Jessamyn voice. “But you know who I am, of course.” She touched the simple crown on her head.
Wildson gave the briefest nod possible. “We have not met before, but yes, I know who you are. Mica Graydier.”
Mica kept her features steady.
“Micathea doesn’t work for me anymore.”
“Who’s Mica?” Fritz said, his horse dancing beneath him. “And where is Lady Lorna?”
“I am Princess Jessamyn Styldier,” Mica said, waving for the young lord to be quiet. “I come on behalf of—”
“Your impersonation is very convincing,” Wildson interrupted, “but we know the truth. You don’t need to keep this up, Miss Graydier.”
Mica risked a glance at Ed, but he looked confused too. Apparently, he hadn’t suspected that she was an Impersonator at all.
“I assure you, you have been misinformed,” Mica said. “I have come to hear the concerns of my people, who—”
“We are not your people,” Wildson said. “Or at least, not the princess’s. We are free men now.”
Mica’s hands had begun to sweat. The slightest shift of her features would give her away. She had not expected the conversation to go like this. “I wish to discuss your complaints—”
“Miss Graydier, there is no call for this.” Wildson’s calm voice became a little condescending. “The Silk Goddess has already been brought in to the western harbor. If there was any doubt before about your identity, it w
as gone when we discovered your brother among our prisoners.”
Emir! He’s alive! Mica felt an overwhelming torrent of relief, more powerful than the wildest storm or the largest waterfall. She clutched her reins tight, fighting for control, and managed to keep her face impassive.
“I have no brother. I’m not sure what you’re—”
“You have four brothers, and one of our men knows them all by sight,” Wildson said impatiently. “Emir Grayson’s presence confirmed what we already suspected: that the princess still has an Impersonator at her side.”
“Emir Grayson was assigned to my protection detail.” Mica brushed her dark-red hair back from her face, trying to draw attention to her crown. “He has nothing to do with—”
“He is your brother.” An older man with curly, graying hair and a round face emerged from the back of the rebel group. Mica’s heart sank.
“I am sure you remember Fair of Dwindlemire,” Wildson said. “Representative Fair, I should say. I believe you and his son Danil were friends at the Redbridge Impersonator Academy. More importantly, you know what happened to Danil in Jewel Harbor and how the emperor and the authorities did nothing to help him for so long, commoner that he is.”
“Danil told me everything, Mica,” Fair said. “I appreciate what you did for him, but you are on the wrong side now.”
“It is true,” Wildson said. “You ought to join us, Miss Graydier, not continue to speak for those who failed your kind for so long. It speaks volumes that the nobles sent you instead of coming themselves.”
“My people helped Danil Fairson and the others the very night the location of the warehouse was discovered,” Mica said, still using Jessamyn’s voice. “The investigation took longer than anticipated, but we acted as soon as we learned of their plight.” She wouldn’t be the one to crack first, even if Fair really had identified Emir. Mica understood why Fair would be less than enthusiastic about the empire these days, but there was another factor still in play.
She leaned toward the men. “I am sympathetic to your protests about what happened to Danil and the others, but you have allied yourselves with the very man responsible. Forgive me for doubting the rightness of your cause.”
“You are referring to Lord Ober,” Wildson said.
“Ed here described him as your benefactor,” Mica said. “And this is his tower, if I’m not mistaken.”
She gestured to the austere building behind them, wondering if Ober himself was waiting inside. More people had come out on the ramparts to watch their leaders treat with the nobles. How many of them had already taken a dip in those mirrored pools?
“Lord Ober has helped us greatly,” Wildson said. “In addition to providing this tower to use as a base on Silverfell, he has offered us a weapon unlike any other.”
“The Talents with all four abilities,” Mica said, “what we call Fifth Talents?”
“Indeed. Their strength will allow us to achieve independence from the empire.” A defiant gleam appeared in Wildson’s eyes, the look of a man who finally had a chance to fight back against those who had oppressed him. “You saw them in action back in Silverfell City.”
“We did.” Mica pictured the three fighters scaling the Silk Goddess and cutting through any who stood against them as if they were little more than cobwebs. But that same frustrating question still lingered. Why had Ober chosen this cause to back? “So Lord Ober gave you the formula for his potion in exchange for what? A split in the empire?”
The faintest of mutterings spread through the group. Wildson’s face remained impassive.
“Wait,” Mica said, trying to interpret that reaction. “Has he not given it to you yet?”
Wildson straightened in his saddle. “He has begun to transform our men, giving us weapons unlike—”
“But you can’t create the Fifth Talents yourselves?”
“All in good time,” Wildson said, but he looked slightly uncomfortable.
Mica glanced at Ed, who sat his horse halfway between the two parties. They had relied on him often for a group that was supposed to have so many empowered fighters.
“How many Fifth Talents do you actually have?”
Wildson snorted. “That’s hardly something we would reveal to an imperial spy.”
“If you really think I’m Mica Graydier, then don’t you think I’d be interested in looking out for my fellow Talents and the families of my friends? Danil’s father can tell you that.”
“It is true that Mica worked hard to find my son, even when the princess delayed,” Fair said.
“Only a few of you have all the Talents, right?” Mica pressed. “What is it? Half a dozen? And you don’t know how to use the potion to make more yet?”
No one answered, but the way they avoided her eyes was answer enough. She guessed they had fewer than ten Fifth Talents among them. There was still a chance she could convince them.
Mica’s heart raced as she searched for the right words to say.
“Whether you believe I mean well or not, you have to know that Lord Ober is a treacherous man who cares only for his own ambitions. Do you really think he will give all your people these extraordinary abilities when he’s your closest neighbor? That would be a terrible risk.”
“He is using you.” Caleb spoke up for the first time. He still sounded fatigued, but he had been tracking the conversation, and he urged his horse forward to stand beside Mica’s. “Ober may be promising you the empire, but he would turn on his own flesh and blood. If he hasn’t given you the means to create your own Fifth Talents, you have nothing at all.”
The men behind Wildson were murmuring to each other, as if this was something they were already worried about. As if they had known this gift must be too good to be true.
“Lord Caleb, I presume?” Wildson said. “You are on the wrong side too. The Pebble Islands are with us in the secession effort.”
Caleb didn’t answer, but his face drained of what little color he’d regained.
“Oh yes, your parents are keen on the idea of separating the western branch of the empire into independent nations. They’ve had enough of answering to a faraway ruler.”
Mica shifted uneasily. She and Caleb were united in their desire to stop Ober and protect the empire, but she wished she felt a little more confident that the two of them had chosen the right side. If his family and her friends all believed in this cause, was it possible they had made the wrong choice in working so hard to support Jessamyn’s schemes? Both of them had fallen under her spell in their own ways. What if their loyalty had been misplaced all along?
Caleb was frowning, the deep grooves etched in his forehead suggesting he felt conflicted too.
The rebels’ cause might be understandable, but one thing at least was clear.
“No matter whose side you’re on, you cannot use Lord Ober’s formula without accepting his methods,” Mica said. “He tortures Talents in his research. He leaves his failed experiments suffering from madness and illness. Ed can tell you.”
Their Fifth Talent guard started, his face briefly taking on Tallisa’s features. But he remained silent.
“He uses Talent bones in his potions,” Mica said, desperate to make them understood. “You can’t put up with such things for a couple of over-powerful soldiers.”
“To fight for our cause.” Wildson met her gaze steadily. “Some would say the ends justify the means.”
“I wouldn’t,” Mica said.
“Then what justifies your pandering to the nobility, Princess? You only pay attention to the special interests of those who have your ear at court. You will always favor the concerns of the powerful over the rest of us. You are culpable too.”
Mica opened her mouth then closed it again. He was right, of course. Jessamyn and her father had become so wrapped up in their political games that they had neglected the needs of the common people. They might not be using their bones for potions, but they were not blameless in other kinds of suffering. She thought of the audiences she ha
d witnessed, the desperate people—like Ed—who came to the emperor for help. Such audiences took place only once a month. Meanwhile, the nobles engaged in endless frivolous socializing in the Silver Palace—and they got what they wanted more often too.
Mica studied the rebels, who faced her against the backdrop of the barren fortress, where so much pain had originated. Wildson, leading his band of bearded men. Fair, with curly hair just like his son’s. Ed, whose shifting features suggested the uneasiness within. None of them were innocent, but she had more in common with them than with the nobles of Jewel Harbor. She had grown up in a humble little house in Stonefoss, far away from palaces and crowns and politics. She was still Mica Graydier, no matter how far away from herself she had come since she fell under Jessamyn’s spell.
But she was still Mica Graydier, and her family was in danger. Emir lived, but her other brothers were probably already marching to defend Stonefoss against the invaders. No matter how much corruption she had witnessed in the Windfast Empire since leaving the Academy, it didn’t change the fact that a vast host was bearing down upon her home.
She knew what Jessamyn would say next. Nothing unites people like a shared enemy.
“The Obsidian army has invaded Talon and Amber Island,” she said. “Did you know that?”
Wildson blinked, as if he hadn’t expected the conversation to go in that direction. A few of his men exchanged uncomfortable glances.
“We have had reports.”
“They will reach you here eventually,” Mica said. “You may not care about the eastern islands, but make no mistake that the Obsidians will not leave you alone. You are making it too easy for them to advance through the empire by splintering it. They’ll be at your door soon enough.”
“The Fifth Talents can stop the Obsidian host,” Wildson said.
“I think you’re right, but only if you have enough of them.” Mica glanced at the mirrored pools filled with potions the rebels didn’t know how to use. “You had half a dozen when you attacked Silverfell City, and you still lost a ship and dozens of men. Unless every single one of you is already a Fifth Talent, you could still be overwhelmed when the Obsidians come.”
