An Imposter with a Crown

by Jordan Rivet

  Ober sent the Blur messenger speeding out of the atrium. He turned, about to speak to his Mimic again.

  Caleb coughed twice.

  The two guards dropped him and hurled themselves at the Fifth Talents holding onto Mica. The rebels wrenched Ober’s loyal guards apart, leaving Mica staggering in the middle. The two pairs of guards hit the ground, shouting, wrestling for control.

  Mica grabbed the knife from her ankle sheath and spun toward the others. Jessamyn met her gaze, naked fear flaring in her eyes. Her perfect lips parted in surprise. Mica hurled her knife.

  The weapon arced through the air between them, flashing brilliantly.

  And the blade struck the Euphia Impersonator dead center in her chest. Her eyes widened in shock as she stared at the knife hilt sticking out of Aren’s tunic. Blood spread from the wound in a rapidly widening teardrop. The Mimic fell, features contorting wildly, her large body shifting between male and female. The color drained out of her hair until it was slate-gray and coarse, leaving a mature-looking older woman who bore no resemblance to any of the roles she had played.

  Lord Ober gave a wordless cry at the sight of his dying partner.

  Caleb had gotten to his feet. He scrambled around the Mimic’s body, boots slipping on marble, showing no sign of fatigue now. Then, as quick as a Blur, he closed the distance between himself and Lord Ober and snapped his uncle’s neck with Muscle strength.

  The crack reverberated through the room.

  Caleb released Ober’s head as quickly as he had seized it, and the body crashed into the marble fountain with a terrible splash.

  A shocked stillness filled the atrium, as even the wrestling Talents paused their contest. Caleb stood rigid above his uncle’s body, which slumped beneath the water, one leg splayed over the lip of the basin.

  Mica hoped for one breathless moment that they had won.

  Then Jessamyn started screaming.

  “Traitors!” she shrieked. “Guards! There are traitors in our midst!”

  The two pairs of Fifth Talents resumed their struggle, locked in an impossible contest between invincible foes. Impervious, fast, and strong, none could gain the advantage.

  Caleb stumbled away from his uncle’s body. He grabbed Mica’s hand, his eyes clouded with pain. This was it. They had said stopping Lord Ober was their primary duty, even if it meant betraying the empire itself. They had done what they had to. Now, all they could do was run.

  Jessamyn screamed for backup as they sprinted away from the fountain. Her true enemies lay dead on the floor, but still she called for Mica and Caleb’s capture. Called them traitors. Murderers.

  Mica blocked out the sound, holding tight to Caleb’s hand.

  And they ran.

  But they didn’t get far.

  Caleb stumbled in the first corridor, his body giving way. Mica tried to hold him up, to keep moving forward, but guards swarmed them, blurring in from all directions. The Fifth Talents were inescapable, assured of their inevitable victory.

  Caleb and Mica were wrenched apart and led away.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Mica practiced her impersonations in the cell beneath Silverfell Manor. She cycled through her regular rotation of faces, which were a little rusty after she’d spent so much time in a single guise. She became the doe-eyed cowherd’s daughter. The mischievous lad. The lean old soldier. The Obsidian beauty. The humpbacked crone. She shifted her eyes through a dozen colors, her hair through a hundred shades and lengths. The shape of her face contorted, cheekbones rising and lowering, nose growing and shrinking, lips filling and deflating and changing in turn.

  She still wore the old gardener’s shapeless dress, which the Fifth Talents had ripped as they searched for more hidden knives before tossing her into this cell. It was actually a wine cellar, full of stacks of barrels stamped with the symbols of wineries from across the Windfast islands. A single lantern hung from the ceiling, its weak light casting deep shadows across the stone floor.

  Mica had been sitting on one of the barrels for hours, waiting to learn her fate. The longer she sat here, the more certain she became that she would be sentenced to death for her actions.

  The scene in the atrium was a blur. Jessamyn’s screams. The blood blooming around the knife in the Mimic’s chest. The sharp snap of Ober’s neck. He hadn’t been impervious after all. Despite his confidence in his formula, he hadn’t been brave enough to use it on himself.

  Mica knew she and Caleb had done the right thing, even though they had gone against Jessamyn’s commands. She had dared hope that Jessamyn would thank them for dealing with Lord Ober and releasing her from the terrible bargain she had struck. Instead, she’d had them taken away by Ober’s men, refusing to look either one in the eye.

  The princess had truly betrayed them, just as Ober had betrayed the rebels from the Twins. Mica had believed Jessamyn was better than that, and the truth stung.

  Now, Mica wasn’t sure whether her actions would make a difference. Ober had gotten what he deserved, but they hadn’t finished saving the empire. The princess controlled the Fifth Talent potion, and she could still decide to use it.

  Maybe it’ll all be for nothing.

  Mica wished she could talk to Caleb. They had been hauled off to separate prisons after the Fifth Talents subdued them. Silverfell Manor’s dungeon only had one cell, which was why Mica was being held in the wine cellar, and she’d lost track of how long she’d been alone down here. The heady smell of wine, which had been overpowering when she was first thrown down here, barely registered now.

  Maybe they’ll just leave me here until the war’s over.

  As she waited to learn her fate, Mica couldn’t help thinking about Stonefoss. She adopted her mother’s face. Her father’s. Her brothers’, one by one. They could all still be alive or none of them. Not knowing whether they had perished was worse than knowing her home had fallen.

  Mica wondered if her family would think she and Caleb had done the right thing. They had always been loyal to the empire, serving in the army without complaint. But the future ruler of the empire had taken a dark path. Would Mica’s brave and noble family have done Jessamyn’s bidding without question if they had been given the same choice? For Mica’s part, there was no choice at all. She had seen the suffering Ober caused, the blatant disregard for Talent—and human—life. He deserved death.

  As Mica practiced her faces in the flickering lantern light, her thoughts turned to Ober’s Mimic. She had known the woman as Euphia, as Riven, and finally as Lord Aren. She wished she’d gotten a better look at her true face. She’d only glimpsed the coarse gray hair and older-than-expected features at the end. What had prompted the woman to serve at Ober’s side for so long, despite what he was doing to Talents like her? Mica would probably never know.

  She relaxed into her own face at last, every muscle stretched and weary. It had to be almost morning. She hoped Jessamyn would let her see Caleb one last time before she executed them for the murder of her new fiancé.

  That’s what working Talents get for being loyal to their lords and ladies.

  Mica shouldn’t have allowed herself to believe it would be different with Jessamyn. The nobles didn’t care about people like her. They never had.

  Then the cellar door opened, and Jessamyn entered. Mica was so surprised to see the princess herself that she nearly toppled off her barrel.

  “Jess—”

  “Just a moment, Micathea.” The princess addressed an unseen figure beyond the door. “I wish to speak with the prisoner in private. I will be perfectly safe. See that we’re not disturbed.”

  Voices murmured beyond the door, then it slammed shut, leaving Mica and Jessamyn alone.

  Mica tensed as the princess strolled forward into the flickering light. She wore the same red gown she’d had on the last time Mica saw her, and she looked tired. Clearly, neither of them had slept that night. A subtle sloping and mottling had returned to Jessamyn’s face too, as if whatever Quinn had done to restore
her beautiful features hadn’t been designed to last.

  “Princess,” Mica began.

  Jessamyn flung up a hand, revealing the patchiness returning to her exposed skin. “I don’t want to hear anything you have to say, Micathea.”

  “If you’ll let me ex—”

  “Now is not the time.” Jessamyn stopped out of Mica’s reach, as if she feared Mica might lunge at her, no matter what she had told the guards. She wasn’t wrong to be cautious.

  “Listen carefully,” the princess said, her tone low and urgent. “Lord Ober left instructions that if he were to be killed, the Fifth Talent formula would be delivered to the King of Obsidian.”

  “What?” Mica vaulted to her feet. “The King of Obsidian has—”

  “Be quiet until I am finished,” Jessamyn snapped. “You have already messed things up enough for one night. I was aware he had this failsafe in place. I needed time to find his chosen messenger before I moved against him.”

  Mica’s jaw lengthened as she realized what Jessamyn was saying. “You were only pretending to partner with him?”

  “I had hoped you could find the messenger when you returned from the mountains. You didn’t trust that I was doing the right thing, and now you may have condemned us all.”

  “But I thought—”

  “You thought I threw my lot in with a monster for a new face.” Jessamyn’s voice dripped with cold fury. “After everything we’ve been through, I thought you knew me better.”

  Mica gaped at her. Had she really gotten it so wrong? It was hard to think straight. The only rest she’d had in the past twenty-four hours was when the guard knocked her unconscious, and she had lurched far past the point of exhaustion.

  “I thought you’d really agreed to work with him. With Banner and Aren gone—”

  “That’s why I needed you more than ever.” Jessamyn’s voice cracked, and she turned to study the casks of wine lining the walls of the cellar. She refused to meet Mica’s eyes, but vulnerability showed in the tightness of her shoulders and the way her hands clenched her skirt. “You and Caleb were my last hope. I had no choice but to accept Ober when he arrived with a hundred Fifth Talents in tow. I needed time to plan how to move against him.” She drew a wavering breath. “But you didn’t have faith in me. You . . . you betrayed me.”

  Mica slumped down to sit on the barrel again.

  “I am so sorry, Jessa.”

  She hadn’t believed it at first. She had looked for some sign from Jessamyn, but the princess had played her role too well. Besides, a part of Mica could understand why Jessamyn would agree to cooperate with Ober upon learning how far the Obsidians had advanced. Stonefoss. Talon. All of Amber Island east of the Ridge Mountains. She could see the argument for working with her enemy in order to halt the invasion.

  On the other hand, Jessamyn had tried to play games with Lord Ober before, waiting for her moment, believing she could outwit him in the end. It had only led to pain.

  Mica looked up. “Actually, let me clarify,” she said. “I am sorry for not trusting that you had a plan, but I’m not sorry we killed Ober and his Mimic.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “They’re too dangerous, and they’ve done too much damage. I’m not sorry for killing them at all.”

  Jessamyn put her hands on her hips, no longer avoiding Mica’s eyes. She looked more like her old self now than she had in the atrium, energetic rather than cold, angry rather than calm. Her skin appeared to be slipping out of shape again too.

  “Do you understand you’re declaring yourself an unrepentant traitor to the Windfast Empire?”

  Mica got to her feet. “I am a traitor to anyone who would hurt the empire, including you. I stand by what I did.”

  Mica and Jessamyn faced each other, the flickering lantern casting shadows over their features. Mica refused to look away. She had stopped fearing the princess, stopped viewing her as a superhuman force. She felt guilty for not waiting to hear her plans, but she was certain Ober had a worse fate in mind for her.

  So she continued to stare down her friend, hoping Jessamyn would understand, but no longer regretting what she had done. Mica had sometimes felt as if her needs and opinions and conscience were being absorbed by the princess. But in this, at least, Mica knew what was right.

  She stood her ground.

  The shadows danced around them, and no sound interrupted the stillness.

  Jessamyn was the first to look away.

  She sighed, the sound resigned rather than self-pitying. “I can never forgive your lack of trust in me, Mica, but I know what Ober is. He would probably have strangled me the moment I bore him a son if I went through with the agreement.”

  Mica couldn’t argue with that. “Does that mean you’re letting me go?”

  Jessamyn snorted. “Not quite. Let’s not forget that you and Caleb destroyed a fragile alliance in front of witnesses—witnesses who are loyal to Lord Ober and supernaturally Talented.”

  “Oh.” It hadn’t occurred to Mica that Ober’s men might object to the murder of their lord. She supposed the people who followed him did seem exceptionally dedicated.

  “It is vital that I take control of the Fifth Talents Ober has already created before they lend their power to another cause. Over sixty are still in the city now, with the rest out there doing Ober’s bidding.” Jessamyn glanced at the door and lowered her voice. “I must make them believe we were both betrayed so they will transfer their allegiance to me. Otherwise, none of us will survive the week.”

  “You intend to use them?”

  “The ones already in existence, yes.”

  Mica’s stomach plunged as she remembered what else those Fifth Talents were supposed to be doing while she was busy being captured.

  “What happened to the people at Birdfell?”

  Jessamyn hesitated for a beat. “They were rebels. We’re out of time for diplomacy.”

  “I told them you would listen.”

  “I wanted to,” Jessamyn said. “Truly, I did.”

  “Are they all dead?” Mica thought she might be sick on Jessamyn’s fine red gown. “Ober said no survivors.”

  “I sent another Blur to say I wanted as many prisoners as possible after all,” Jessamyn said. “But . . . I can’t imagine they’ll all come quietly.”

  Mica bowed her head, thinking of Wildson and Fair, of the motley band of bearded men who had wanted their voices to be heard. Of Emir. He had been injured. She could only hope he would allow himself to be taken prisoner once more.

  “What are you going to do with the extra Fifth Talent potion Ober created?”

  “I don’t know, Mica,” Jessamyn said. “The Fifth Talents may be our only hope against the Obsidians. We may have to use it.”

  Mica thought again of her family, who might yet be alive and in need of backup. The temptation to send super soldiers to their aid was powerful indeed, especially if they were following Jessamyn’s orders directly instead of Ober’s. Mica allowed herself to picture every soldier from the Arrow blurring to meet the Obsidian horde, impervious, strong, victorious.

  That’s how it starts. You can’t forget the cost.

  They couldn’t use the Fifth Talents in battle even once, not after everything she’d seen in the mountains. It would be all too easy to use them again.

  “Jessa,” Mica said, “I have to tell you about a place called Dustwood.”

  She kept her description as brief as possible, aware of the Fifth Talents just outside the doors. She understood Jessamyn’s fears. Too many of these dangerous soldiers had already been born from the mirrored waters of Birdfell. The princess needed to tread lightly in the days to come. But controlling them by creating yet more Fifth Talents was not the answer. Mica had to impress upon her what Ober had done to open this door.

  Jessamyn listened carefully as Mica described the flitting figures, the fallen tree, the woman named Tallisa whose abilities caused her pain, the stories about the mysterious happenings at Birdfell. Mica be
gged her not to use it, not to allow this evil to spread.

  “Thank you for telling me,” Jessamyn said when Mica finished. “I will think it over. I cannot promise anything more than that.”

  “But—”

  “Do not press me on this, Micathea. I don’t need any further reminders that you don’t trust my judgment.” She waved off Mica’s objections and went on, her face a dispassionate mask once more. “Now, listen. This has already taken too long. The Fifth Talent formula is on its way to the Obsidian King with Ober’s messenger. I need you to go after it and destroy it.”

  Mica blinked. “Me? There are already Windfast agents in—”

  “Would you rather rot in this cellar? I can’t trust anyone else to destroy the formula. It must be you.”

  Mica was momentarily at a loss for words. She felt as if she were being tossed about in a storm at sea, never entirely sure where she stood. Had she and the princess reconciled or not?

  When she didn’t answer, Jessamyn raised her eyebrows, where the scars were slowly emerging again. “Well? I don’t have all day.”

  “Of course I’ll do it,” Mica said quickly. “I’m guessing you’ll tell those Fifth Talents you want to follow you that I’ve been executed for my part in Ober’s murder?”

  “Naturally.” Jessamyn pursed her lips, which were no longer rosy and smooth. Her beauty was dripping away, her poison-marred features reasserting themselves. If Quinn really could fix her face permanently, she hadn’t done it yet. “I am sending Caleb with you. You two traitors deserve each other.”

  “Really?” Mica felt a swell of hope. “Thank—”

  “You should know this is a suicide mission,” Jessamyn snapped.

  “Understood.”

  “Good. I will send instructions shortly.”

  Jessamyn marched back to the door, where she paused to brush a hand through her short hair, partially hiding her face—and whatever emotion she might be feeling.