An Imposter with a Crown

by Jordan Rivet

  “This is science, not magic.”

  “Meaning?”

  “It requires certain ingredients,” Ober said, “but after the transformation, our loyal soldiers are far stronger than the Talents used in their making. The results are well worth it.”

  He sounded calm, almost friendly, like the man who kept hundreds of books in his antechamber and invited common Talents to join him for a relaxing drink. Mica despised him for it.

  She turned back to Jessamyn. “You can’t agree with him.”

  “We must make sacrifices in wartime.”

  “You’re not sacrificing anything. Talents are.”

  “And if we do not use this potion, more Talents will die.” Jessamyn gave a longsuffering sigh. “Stonefoss has already fallen. Your brothers—”

  Mica slapped the princess hard across the face. “Don’t you dare talk about my brothers. You—”

  Two guards tackled her before she could get another word out. They had blurred across the atrium so fast she didn’t see them coming. She engaged in a brief but fruitless struggle with them and their Fifth Talent advantages. Any illusion that she was just having a friendly chat with the princess was over now.

  “I trusted you!” Mica shouted at Jessamyn as twin iron grips locked around her arms. “I defended you. I honestly believed you would do the right thing.”

  “I am doing the necessary thing.” Jessamyn’s voice sounded sad. She hadn’t so much as rubbed her cheek when Mica slapped her. “This is the only way we can save the empire.”

  Mica glared at her, the expression as hostile as she could make it, with reddened eyes, bared teeth, and a stretched and misshapen brow. She couldn’t believe she had been helping Jessamyn all this time, only for the princess to turn on her when it suited her aims.

  “Please know that I still think of us as friends,” Jessamyn said as she watched Mica ineffectively try to pull free from the two Talent guards. “You will come to see the wisdom of this new alliance.”

  “Banner was your friend too,” Mica spat. “Ober killed him to get to you, didn’t he?”

  “That wasn’t necessary,” Ober said. He had been watching their exchange with mild interest, making no move to interfere. “My men really are very strong. However, I did have him killed later. He reacted to the news of our engagement even worse than you have.”

  Mica felt a sob rising in her throat. The princess’s expression remained stoic, empty.

  “What about Lord Aren?”

  Had she discarded him too, the man who had offered her happiness with a kiss on the palm?

  Before Jessamyn could answer, the doors at the far side of the atrium opened, and another pair of Fifth Talents entered.

  They were dragging Caleb between them.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Caleb could barely stand as the guards hauled him across the atrium floor. He was bleeding from a slash to the arm, and he looked on the verge of falling asleep. He had clearly used his abilities, and he was paying the price for it. Mica’s stomach churned at the sight. Caleb had been her only hope, the only one left who might still stop the evil these two were about to unleash on the world.

  Ober showed only the faintest surprise when his nephew was dragged before him, a tightening of the eyes here, a twitch of the fingers there.

  “Report?” Lord Ober said.

  “We found spies lurking outside the city, my lord,” said a guard with curly brown hair and sunburned skin. “They put up a fight, but they were no match for us.”

  Caleb’s captors wore the same uniforms as the two Fifth Talents securing Mica. His second guard (unusually handsome face, dark skin, mustache) looked at her curiously. Mica made her face unbearably ugly for a moment, and he jumped.

  Caleb lifted his head for just long enough to catch Mica’s eye, his expression bleak. Her face faded back to normal, but she couldn’t summon a smile. Despair threatened to pull her under. However hard Caleb had fought, it hadn’t been enough against these Fifth Talents. And where were Ed and Krake? Had they fallen, despite their own supernatural strengths?

  Lord Ober strode closer to his nephew and the two guards, blocking the princess’s view of the newcomers.

  “I am glad to see you yet live, son,” Ober said quietly. “I think I can finally offer you a solution to your condition. I have always hoped to right the wrong done to you.”

  “By you.”

  Ober flinched. “I thought I was giving you a gift. My conclusions were . . . premature.”

  “That’s one way to put it.” Somehow, Caleb’s voice sounded even wearier than before. His head drooped, and the guards had to hoist him up so their master wouldn’t have to bend down to address him.

  “I believe we can put this behind us,” Lord Ober said. “My new potioner can remove your limitations and give you the strengths I intended you to have the first time around. With the dedication you have shown to your swordsmanship training and your head for strategy, you could become truly formidable.”

  Fear seized Mica, constricting her throat. Was she to be betrayed by every noble she thought was good tonight?

  But Caleb shook his head after barely a pause.

  “It’s no use, Uncle,” he said. “I won’t touch anything you created.”

  “You cannot go on like this,” Ober said. “Let me heal you. We need strong men like you to lead the charge against our enemies.”

  “My answer is no.”

  Mica’s heart swelled with fierce pride. Caleb wouldn’t be bought so easily. He understood the cost of creating the Fifth Talents better than most. They couldn’t allow this evil to spread in the world, no matter what benefits came with it.

  Lord Ober sighed. “I am sorry my own nephew doesn’t appreciate my vision. I have accomplished something that will change the world forever.”

  “For the worse,” Caleb said.

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “Caleb, darling, you’ve missed a few things.” Jessamyn elbowed past her betrothed, attempting to take charge of the situation once more. “The cost of not using the Fifth Talents is greater than you think.”

  Jessamyn quickly filled Caleb in on the fall of Stonefoss, the Obsidian advances, and the agreement between her and Ober. Mica had thought he would react with more vehemence, but he had trouble staying awake as she told him all that had changed since they rode into the mountains. He allowed the news to crash into him, a sea cliff in a storm.

  Don’t give up. Not yet.

  Mica gave an experimental tug in case her captors had relaxed their grips, but Ober’s guards held her as firmly as ever, not even glancing at her. Her arms must be turning red by now, and they ached almost as badly as her head. Only Caleb’s dark, mustached captor paid her any attention, stealing glances at her as if he expected her to make the ugly face again. She bared her teeth at him.

  When Jessamyn finished telling Caleb what she had told Mica, he looked blearily between her and his uncle.

  “So you’re engaged? But where is Euphia?”

  Ober blinked. “What?”

  “My aunt, Lady Euphia. Your wife.”

  Mica had forgotten all about Lord Ober’s wife. She hadn’t seen the simpering older lady since the pair fled Jewel Harbor months ago.

  “What happened to her?” Caleb pressed.

  Ober straightened his fine coat, his expression unreadable. “I am afraid she passed away.”

  Caleb’s eyes widened, shock painting his face white, and he struggled to form a response. He looked as if he might finally lose consciousness. Mica didn’t think Caleb had been close to his aunt, but he still appeared deeply troubled, as if he couldn’t believe his uncle would pursue his ambitions so relentlessly that he would murder his wife.

  That’s exactly the sort of thing he would do. They had seen this man’s evil behavior again and again. They had to stop being shocked by it sometime.

  “You killed her, didn’t you?” Mica demanded hoarsely.

  “No, I did not,” Ober said. “Poor
Euphia died years ago of natural causes. The woman who has been at my side over the past few years is an Impersonator—a rather good one. I have no wife.”

  Caleb swore, and both Mica and Jessamyn jumped.

  “Is anyone their actual selves anymore?”

  Ober ignored his nephew’s outburst. “You’ve met my Impersonator friend in other guises, you know,” Ober said. “She was the one who uncovered the rather interesting result of my attempt to poison the princess.” He gave Jessamyn a polite, apologetic shrug, as if it had all been a simple misunderstanding. “I had concluded that Jessamyn didn’t drink my little gift at all, until my Impersonator reported back.”

  “Is Quinn the Mimic?” Mica asked, not sure if the timeline made sense.

  “Guess again,” Ober said.

  Irritation flashed through Mica at his condescending tone, but she forced it down, trying to think. Peet had warned them that Lord Ober had stationed an Impersonator on the Silk Goddess when they left Jewel Harbor. But they had left most of the nobles behind—and none of them knew about Jessamyn’s face. Had the intelligence about the spy posing as a noble been wrong all along?

  Caleb was frowning, as if he too was trying to work out this puzzle. “She was with us on the ship?”

  “All along,” Ober said.

  Mica felt a stab of dread as another possibility occurred to her. Not Emir. Please, don’t tell me I mistook a Mimic for my own brother.

  Before Mica could voice that terrible thought, the sound of steady footsteps sounded down the corridor. Someone was approaching the atrium with a strong, confident stride.

  Anxiety spun within her. Not Emir. Please.

  The thud of footsteps grew louder, drowning out the gentle babbling of the fountain. Mica strained to see past her captors, to see which face was attached to that gait.

  Then Lord Aren of Pegasus Island strode into the atrium. He marched across the marble floor toward them, looking robust, confident, and handsome. He was exactly the right man to sweep the calculating princess off her feet. Jessamyn couldn’t accept Lord Ober’s suit over Aren’s, no matter how many Fifth Talents he promised her.

  He’ll stop this madness.

  Mica looked back at the princess, hoping she had come to her senses. But Jessamyn’s expression was unmoved at the appearance of the man she had once gazed at with such warmth. She looked carved from cold marble, the resemblance between her and Emperor Styl suddenly apparent. No hint of affection shone in those brown eyes now.

  Caleb drew in a sharp breath, and Mica whipped her head back around to see what had startled him.

  As Lord Aren crossed the atrium toward them, his features had begun to morph. He shrank steadily, gaining a voluminous bosom and wider girth as his height diminished. His manly ponytail changed color, from rich black to a brassy, artificial shade not quite hiding gray roots. By the time the Impersonator reached the end of the hall, Lady Euphia stared haughtily back at them.

  No.

  “Hello, Caleb, dear,” the Mimic said in that familiar simpering voice, the one Mica had thought sounded put-on when she first met Euphia. “It has been marvelous to spend so much time with you of late.”

  Caleb went a little green, looking nauseated rather than fatigued now.

  “You were our imposter?”

  “I went to a great deal of trouble to bring the princess and Lord Ober together,” the Mimic said, switching to a female voice Mica had never heard before, low and self-assured. Then she contorted her appearance again, becoming tall and male once more. But this time instead of looking like Aren, she assumed the black hair and proud, fine-boned face of Lord Riven.

  “He—she has been with us since Jewel Harbor,” Mica said, the pieces clicking into place at last. “But as two different people.”

  “Indeed. I set out from the capital as Lord Riven, hoping that his status as the princess’s suitor would give me a chance to secure a position of influence at her side. I was disappointed to learn that Riven had little or no hope of becoming the princess’s consort, much less her confidante.”

  “And you saw a better opportunity when Lord Aren came along.”

  “The princess was quite taken with him.” The Mimic dropped Riven’s cold features for Aren’s broad smile and sun-kissed skin. “I’d have chosen Aren too.”

  It was a clever move. Mica hadn’t taken the possibility of a switch into account. She thought she’d done away with the imposter by leaving the nobles behind in Carrow.

  “What happened to the real Aren?” Caleb asked.

  “I killed him shortly before we departed Carrow,” the Mimic said, “after getting him and Lady Wendel to tell me enough about his childhood friendship with the princess to make the impersonation plausible.”

  “It was a convincing performance, wasn’t it?” Jessamyn said. Her cold mask slipped to reveal a gut-wrenching flash of grief and dismay, gone in an instant. “I was certainly fooled.”

  Mica felt some of the princess’s sadness. She remembered how Aren had teased Jessamyn about their childhood games, how he had saved her from drowning in the rapids, how he had admired her for all her qualities that had nothing to do with her looks. But he had been dead before their romance could properly begin.

  Poor Jessa.

  Mica glared at the mysterious Mimic. “It was you who came to our cabin the night before we arrived in Silverfell, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s correct. Myn Irondier wouldn’t let me in to see the princess. I didn’t realize I was speaking to the real thing.”

  “And then . . .” Mica swallowed hard. “And then I convinced her to tell Aren the truth about her poisoning.”

  The Impersonator smiled, her lips becoming plump like Euphia’s, stained a shade too bright. “That was a great help to us.” She laughed Euphia’s laugh, and Mica cringed at the affected sound. This illusion had layers upon layers. She had underestimated Euphia for her frivolous manner. She had figured out too late that the frivolity hid this woman’s calculating nature. But she still hadn’t understood the half of it. Euphia. Riven. Aren. Who was this Mimic?

  “When we learned the princess’s secret,” Lord Ober said, “all we had to do was wait until her loyal Mimic left her side and then offer her everything she desired.”

  “Ober played his hand well,” Jessamyn said. Her hands remained tightly folded, her face granite. “The empire will be stronger than ever.”

  I still can’t believe it. Even with the grief Jessamyn must feel over Aren, even with the threats bearing down on her from all sides, Mica still couldn’t believe the princess had yielded.

  She tried to catch the Jessamyn’s eye, seeking some hint that all was not as it seemed.

  Please. Show me this isn’t what you want.

  But the princess refused to look at her, keeping her gaze trained on Mica’s boots. Sour betrayal roiled in Mica’s stomach.

  Please.

  Then the quick tap of footsteps sounded on marble. A Blur messenger entered the atrium and sprinted toward them.

  “The men are moving into position, my lord. We should have control of Birdfell within the hour.”

  “Very good.” Lord Ober exchanged glances with his Mimic, not quite hiding his gleeful anticipation. “See that there are no survivors.”

  Caleb convulsed, trying to pull away from his captors. “You’re betraying them too? Your allies?”

  “They served a purpose, but leading a band of rebels from the mountains is hardly my endgame. I don’t need them now that I shall have all of the imperial army at my command.”

  “You’re just . . . eliminating them?” Mica thought of all the people waiting for her return at Birdfell. Emir. Danil’s family. Fritz and Lorna. Wildson and the rebels. Mica had promised that Jessamyn would hear them out. They had believed her when she said the princess had their best interests at heart. They had all been betrayed.

  Jessamyn betrayed us—betrayed me.

  “Birdfell is only the beginning,” Ober said. He paced in front of the marble f
ountain, hardly able to contain his excitement. “Jessamyn and I shall announce our engagement tomorrow night. And then we will begin steeping our soldiers in the Fifth Talent potion.”

  “Starting with the fine men of the HIMS Arrow,” Jessamyn said.

  Mica felt as if she were spinning around and around inside a whirlpool. Her headache had become so powerful it was taking on a life of its own. Pins and needles spiked along her arms. The more Fifth Talents were created, the more impossible it would be to stop them. She couldn’t let Ober and Jessamyn make any more. She had to act.

  Ober was addressing the Blur messenger, giving further instructions for his murderous mission. Jessamyn still refused to look at Mica, no matter how much she squirmed in her captors’ arms. The princess watched her future consort without expression, revealing nothing of her thoughts.

  Why is she letting this happen? Why isn’t she fighting with her last breath?

  Caleb was still secured between the two Fifth Talents. Like Mica, it was impossible for him to move. They locked eyes for a moment, and she saw the same naked urgency in his gaze. He knew what a terrible decision the princess was making, what a terrible betrayal. They couldn’t allow her to go through with this, even if it meant turning on the one person they had trusted unequivocally.

  They might already be too late. They had to act now.

  Mica thought of the knife strapped to her ankle, the weapon her captors had missed. She scanned the atrium. A Blur messenger. An anonymous Mimic. A murderous lord. A faithless princess. Two Fifth Talents holding Mica and two holding Caleb.

  Could Caleb summon enough energy for one more burst of Talent? Mica glanced at the two guards holding his arms.

  And to her great surprise, one of them gave her a Mimic’s wink.

  The Fifth Talent still had curly brown hair, sunburned skin, and unfamiliar features, but his eye was shifting rapidly from blue to green to black to white to blue again. He was trying to tell her something. The unusually handsome mustached guard was watching her too.

  Ed and Krake are here!

  Mica changed her eye color from hazel to bright blue and back again, acknowledging that she understood. She was not alone after all—and she was ready. The curly-haired guard squeezed Caleb’s arm, and he gave a faint nod in response.