by Jordan Rivet
“That one’s my favorite.”
Mica jumped as a strange man stepped out of the fog. She was still standing on the rock, and as she whirled to face him, her foot slipped off the edge. Her arms flailed wide, her balance tipping too far, too fast. The waves crashed against the cliff far below.
The stranger reached her so fast he might have been a Blur, grabbing her hand before she toppled into the sea. He pulled her to him as if on reflex.
“I’m so sorry! I—”
“You startled me.” Mica wrenched away from the stranger and retreated from the dizzying drop, heart thudding wildly. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just admiring your work.”
“Oh.” Mica straightened her clothes, hoping he hadn’t seen her nose grow an inch when she slipped. At least the young man sounded genuinely apologetic. She cleared her throat. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Long enough to see that wrinkly old lady impression.”
Mica winced. She was supposed to keep her impersonations private outside of the Academy. They wouldn’t be any use if people knew them all. She looked the stranger up and down, cataloguing his features as well as she could in the darkness: windblown hair, slightly pointed ears, broad shoulders. He wasn’t very tall, but energy seemed to fill every line of his stocky body.
He accepted her scrutiny unselfconsciously. “I’ve never seen a Mimic go through so many faces so fast.”
“I thought I was alone.”
The man didn’t take the hint, regarding her with frank curiosity.
“I’d love to ask you about your Talent.” He sat on the large rock, sticking his boots over the cliff edge, and beckoned to her with a square hand. “Would you care to join me?”
Mica didn’t move, remembering Edwina’s words about how Talents can’t be too careful these days. She was all too aware of how remote this location was.
The stranger looked up at her, as if surprised she didn’t immediately sit beside him. “I promise not to push you off the cliff.”
Mica hesitated, thinking of Danil disappearing without a trace and the scarred man’s comment about young women being out at this hour. Would Lord Ober and his entourage even notice if she didn’t take her place in the carriage the next morning?
“I have to get back to town,” she said. “I have an early start in the morning.”
“Oh. Okay.” The man sounded disappointed though not in a particularly sinister way. “May I escort you?”
“It’s not far.” Mica started to go, but something held her back. The stranger had sort of saved her life by pulling her away from the cliff, even though he’d put her in danger in the first place. His eager curiosity and open expression didn’t seem nefarious—though she knew not to be fooled by people’s faces.
The wind picked up, sweeping away the fog that had helped to light her way. It was getting darker by the minute, turning the cliff edge into an ominous maw. Mica figured the young man was probably a local, who would know if there were any hidden drops on the way back to town.
“All right then,” she said. “Are you coming?”
The stranger flashed a smile and scrambled to his feet. He fell in beside her, and they headed back toward the lights of Gullton.
“So what do you want to know about Talents?” she asked.
“It’s your Talent in particular,” he said. “Impersonation. I’ve known plenty of Blurs, Shields, and Muscles, but Mimics are much more secretive.”
“That’s kind of the point.”
“What does it feel like to change your face?”
“Like squeezing a muscle, though my bones and skin change as often as my facial muscles.”
“What about your eyes?”
“That feels like squinting. Then I just visualize the color I want.”
“How can you tell you got it right?”
“It’s difficult to explain. That’s like asking how you know when you’ve scratched an itch enough. You just do.”
“Hmm.” The young man lapsed into a thoughtful silence. Mica matched her steps to his, an exercise she’d learned in her first year at the Academy. It always took a few paces to get a stranger’s stride just right. His walk was like a soldier’s, purposeful and straight though not too fast. He clearly wasn’t worried about the rocky landscape, even in the dark.
They reached the town and strode onward through patches of light from the windows. The young man remained at Mica’s side, still discussing what it was like to be a Mimic. She found herself slowing her steps to prolong the conversation as they drew near to her inn. It was surprisingly nice to have company after the lonely ride with indifferent traveling companions. The stranger was an agreeable sort, and his questions were keen—and numerous. She sometimes forgot that most people didn’t spend much time around trained Impersonators, at least as far as they knew.
“And can you always control it?” he asked as they paused in front of the door to the inn’s common room.
“Now, yes,” Mica said. “Control is something you can improve through practice. Blurs and Muscles practice too. Those who don’t never reach their full potential.”
“Huh. Did you learn that at Redbridge?”
“How did you know I went to Redbridge?”
The man gave her a puzzled look. Before he could answer, the inn door burst open, releasing a torrent of laughter. A trio of drunken sailors tumbled out, singing sea shanties at the top of their lungs. One of the sailors spotted Mica and lurched toward her with a lascivious grin.
Mica’s companion stepped forward at once, clapping a firm hand on the sailor’s shoulder and steering him back toward his friends. But Mica had already turned into a lean old soldier at the first sign of a threat and slipped through the door.
She paused in the common room and peered back outside. The young man was looking around for her, brushing a hand through his wind-tousled hair. She could see him better now—and he was quite good looking. She hesitated, wondering if she should resume her own face and invite him for a drink in the common room. But the hour was late, and Edwina’s warning lingered in her mind. She retreated to the servants’ quarters, leaving the handsome young local behind.
Chapter Five
The road became clogged with traffic as Lord Ober’s convoy trundled toward Jewel Harbor. Mica had woken early that morning and spent nearly half an hour rearranging the trunks in her carriage so she would have a better view out the window. They were heavy, and she was grunting and swearing by the time she finished, but it was worth it.
She leaned all the way out of the window now, coughing in the dust of passing horses. They were still on the coast road, but she could only smell the barest hint of sea salt, hidden beneath the musk of the horses and the thick aroma of sweat. She tried to memorize the features of passersby but was quickly overwhelmed by the endless parade of strangers. They were all so different from each other! She wondered how she was going to come up with some proper city-folk looks when they hardly seemed to have a single thing in common.
Mica forgot about the people entirely when the carriage rumbled around a bend and she got her first view of the capital city. Jewel Harbor was located on a crescent-shaped island so built up it was almost impossible to see the ground beneath the buildings. The city was a glittering, chaotic place, rising from the water like a jagged knot of crystal and stone.
When the Windfast Empire formed, it was agreed that the capital shouldn’t belong to any of the individual kingdoms that made up the original coalition. It was built on a formerly uninhabited hunk of rock and quickly blossomed as the political seat, cultural hub, and center of commerce for the empire. Space on the island was limited, so the city grew up rather than out over the generations, with towers built on top of each other in teetering piles. Teams of Muscle builders were constantly being called upon to reinforce structures so they could stretch farther into the sky. The streets were warren-like, half of them covered by the outc
roppings of yet more additions to the buildings.
The harbor itself was sheltered between the crescent landmass and the western coast of Amber Island. Another city, Old Kings, spread along the Amber coast, directly across from Jewel Harbor. It had more space for sprawling estates and wide avenues, but most people preferred to live in the imperial capital itself, where the action was.
Mica’s caravan rumbled down the broad streets of Old Kings to a noisy dock, where ferries waited to carry them across. After a few shouted negotiations, the carriages lurched onto one of the larger ferries. They swayed precipitously as they crossed the churning harbor toward the city. Boats of all sizes and shapes careened around them. Sailors cursed elaborately at one another whenever they came close to a collision, which happened frequently.
Mica marveled at the cacophony. Jewel Harbor was busier than she could ever have imagined. How could anyone even think in a place like this?
It only got noisier when the ferry bumped against the opposite dock and they rumbled off into the city itself. The streets were narrow and packed, and voices echoed off the buildings looming overhead. Mica could have sworn the walls themselves trembled under the onslaught of sound.
Faces whizzed past her so fast she felt dizzy. Fire-red hair, protruding ears, black mustache, harelip, red lip, black braid, protruding nose. On and on, features morphing, mixing. She had to clamp down on the instinct to catalogue everyone she saw, or she might be sick.
Instead, she tried to spot the Talents in the crowds. Here and there, Blur messengers darted through the throng, moving side to side as often as forward. A pair of Muscles carried huge stones across the road, forcing traffic to come to a halt until they passed. Mica wondered what they were building. There hardly seemed to be room for so much as a hut in this chaos.
Shields were more difficult to identify. Just because they couldn’t be injured didn’t mean they were any stronger or fitter than anyone else. But they carried themselves with a certain self-assurance mixed with brash abandon, a trait that had made Mica’s brothers especially popular with the girls back in Stonefoss.
Once, she caught a glimpse of a fellow Mimic down an alleyway. He was performing a complex rotation of impersonations, standing atop a crate with a hat for coins at his feet. Mica felt faintly embarrassed for him. He must have failed out of his Impersonator training if he had to resort to being a street performer. There were beggars in the alley too, some missing limbs or eyes. Barefoot children watched the fine carriages pass with hungry gleams in their eyes. Safe in the bubbles of Stonefoss and the Academy, Mica had never seen such poverty before.
The carriage turned another corner, and she lost sight of the Mimic and the beggars. They jolted along a broad street lined with apothecaries and potioners shops. A myriad of scents filled the air, and colorful steam issued from the windows. She detected rosemary and sage, cedar and cinnamon, poppy, eucalyptus, and the heady aroma of incense. Potions were costly, and Mica had only seen them used on rare occasions. She could hardly imagine a city wealthy enough to fill an entire street with them.
They left the potioners street, the mixed aromas lingering in the carriage, and entered a lane of prosperous townhouses and fine stone buildings. Crystal shone in the windows, and elegant trimmings adorned the walls. It was just as busy here as in the poorer streets, and the endless parade of faces continued. Sleek hair, jeweled earrings, powdered cheeks, sharp eyes. Mica could hardly believe there were this many people in the whole empire.
They turned at last toward the Silver Palace. Located at the apex of the crescent, the palace was a grand, sprawling place, bigger than the assembly hall back at the Academy. There was a wing for every point of the compass, radiating from a central tower. A dome topped this tower, plated in pure silver so dazzling Mica had to shade her eyes as they approached.
Guards, likely Shields, waved them through the palace gates into a broad courtyard. Once inside, the first carriage turned right, delivering Lord Ober and the nobles to a shaded portico where they could disembark. The servant and baggage carriages turned left and continued on through a stone archway. At last they came to an abrupt stop, and Mica tumbled out into a crowded stable yard.
She hoisted her satchel of belongings onto her shoulder, wondering where she was supposed to go next. Everyone seemed to be in a rush. Lady Euphia’s maids darted one way, and the carriage drivers went the other, already shouting at the stable boys to hurry up and attend to their horses. Mica had thought she could ask Lord Ober for further instructions, but he must have already disappeared into the depths of the palace. She wasn’t even sure which archway around the stable yard led back to the front gates.
“Move yer feet!” shouted a scrawny man, elbowing past her with a massive bale of hay balanced on his shoulder as if it weighed no more than a teapot.
She jumped out of the Muscle’s way and was nearly trampled by a fine stallion. The nobleman on its back didn’t notice her at all. She realized with a start that it was the real Lord Riven. Rufus had captured his features well, but he hadn’t included the imperious air Lord Riven adopted as he looked right through the stable boy rushing up to take his horse. He dismounted and sauntered toward another archway, walking as if he expected everyone in the crowded yard to move out of his way. They did exactly that.
Mica tried to follow the arrogant lord, figuring Princess Jessamyn would be wherever the other nobles were, but the gap was already closing behind him. She couldn’t force her way through the throng, and she got turned around, no longer sure which way Lord Riven had gone. Most everyone else seemed to be palace employees, and they were all far too busy to talk. One guard leered at her when she asked where to find the princess.
“In my bed, naturally!”
Mica retreated, taking refuge in an archway to try to get her bearings. She wished she’d asked Master Kiev for more details about how to actually report for duty. She had no idea the Silver Palace would be this big and bustling. She might as well be invisible.
Then she had an idea. She closed her eyes, shutting out the riot of faces in the courtyard. She concentrated, squeezing her features into new shapes, eyes widening, lips plumping, chest expanding as her waist dwindled to waspish proportions. By the time she opened her eyes, she was a passable copy of Lady Lorna. She lifted her nose into the air and sauntered straight across the courtyard.
It was like magic. The crowds parted before her, servants leaping aside to make room, some dipping into curtsies and bows. Mica tried not to look at them. That seemed to be the most common trait of the nobles she had seen so far. They didn’t look at anyone but each other.
As the way cleared before her, she spied another archway that appeared to lead into the palace proper. She marched straight toward it, wishing she’d had a chance to observe Lady Lorna’s walk. Did noble ladies sway their hips, or were they supposed to process in a statelier fashion? She’d find out soon enough.
Once she made it inside the palace, the crowds thinned. She walked down a plain stone corridor lined with doors and stairwells at regular intervals. The clatter of pots and pans echoing down the corridor indicated she was near the kitchens. A passing scullery maid gave her a strange look, which Mica took to mean that Lady Lorna didn’t frequent this part of the palace. She slipped into a doorway and changed back to her own face before continuing on.
Mica hadn’t made it another ten paces before a young woman with frizzy black hair and wide, frightened eyes bounced out of a nearby stairwell and seized her hand.
“Are you the Mimic? I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Hurry along! She’s expecting you.”
“How did—?”
“Don’t stand there gaping like a goldfish. Come with me.”
The girl tugged her into the stairwell and led the way up the steps. She had a panicked way of moving that Mica had noticed in many of the servants in the stable yard too, as if she were trying to outrun an angry wildcat. She kept up an anxious patter as she hurried up staircases, turning into corridors seemingly
at random.
“She’s in such a state this morning. Lord Riven went riding when he was supposed to be visiting with Lady Ingrid, which means Lady Ingrid was in the conservatory instead of her parlor. Nearly ruined everything! Fortunately, she sent in Lady Elana, and Lady Ingrid can’t stand to be in the same room with her after everything that happened in Winnow Bay last summer. Oh dear, can’t you walk a little faster?”
Mica picked up the pace, trying to process the flood of information burbling from the girl’s mouth. She had completely lost track of where they were, though she noticed the corridors becoming wider and airier in this part of the palace. She caught glimpses of the city out of the windows, but she wasn’t sure which wing of the palace they were in now. She’d never be able to find her way out.
“What’s your name?” Mica said when the girl paused to take a breath.
“I’m Brin, Her Ladyship’s handmaid. I do errands and carry messages when the Blur isn’t needed. Oh, I wish I were a Blur. Quickly, it’s this way!”
Mica jogged after her into the widest corridor yet. Decorative lanterns in sconces lined the walls, and additional light flooded into the corridor from panes of thick glass set directly into the stone ceiling. Before Mica could ask about the skylights, Brin grabbed her arm again and stopped her in front of an especially large set of doors. She slipped a key out of her pocket, fumbling it in nervous hands.
“Don’t tell her it took me so long to find you. And do try not to breathe so hard so she doesn’t realize we ran all the way. She hates it when servants run.” Brin was trying to fix her frazzled hair and fit her key into the lock at the same time.
“I’m not really a servant,” Mica said, finding her voice at last. “I trained at the best academy for professional—”
The lock clicked. “Got it! Shh, don’t speak unless she speaks to you.” Brin turned the knob, and a small door set into one of the larger doors swung open. Then she ushered Mica through it and into Princess Jessamyn’s chambers.