The Spy in the Silver Palace (Empire of Talents Book 1)

by Jordan Rivet

  Chapter Six

  Mica’s first impression was of a meadow of wildflowers. They entered a huge sunlit room in which every surface was covered with vases overflowing with blooming lilies, crocuses, and lupines. Deep plush carpets spread across much of the tile floor in muted shades of rose, tan, and pale green. Assorted couches and tables were arranged in clusters, enough to seat at least two dozen people at once.

  Elegant tapestries adorned most of the walls, except for one made entirely of glass. The massive windows looked out on the crescent harbor, with a view of Amber Island beyond. It wasn’t long past noon, and the sun shone bright above Old Kings and the glittering harbor.

  “Psst. Over here.” Brin tugged Mica toward a round table dominated by a massive vase of yellow roses.

  As they approached, the vase rose from the table, hiding the face of the woman carrying it. Her long indigo skirts swished as she tottered under the weight of the flowers. A voice came from deep within the roses.

  “Who does he think he is? He expects me to believe he picked these flowers for me himself? Does he think I am as dumb as this cheap Dwindlemire crockery?”

  Abruptly, the vase soared through the air and shattered on the tile floor with a terrific crash. Roses and shards of porcelain scattered all the way to the window. Mica’s eyes snapped back to the woman who’d thrown the vase.

  Princess Jessamyn was exactly Mica’s height. She had a similarly slight build, though it looked less boyish and more delicate on her. Her hair was a pretty shade of dark red that reminded Mica of summer cherries. Her cheeks were flushed, her brown eyes bright, and she had some of the thickest and most expressive eyebrows Mica had ever seen.

  “Can you believe he had the gall to claim he went riding to pick me some roses—roses!—and that’s why he failed to call upon poor Lady Ingrid?”

  Brin dipped her head nervously. “No, Princess Jessamyn.” She elbowed Mica, who dipped her head as well. The princess didn’t seem to be speaking to either of them.

  “And to think I was forced to skip my dancing lesson this morning to make sure Lady Elana would go to the conservatory.” The princess stalked over to the puddle by the window and began kicking the roses, porcelain crunching under her slippers. “My life is such a trial.”

  “I’m so sorry, Princess Jessamyn.” Brin swallowed audibly and approached the irate lady as if she were a rabid animal. “Princess Jessamyn? This is the—”

  “And I’m supposed to have a new Impersonator by now!” Another rose flew across the floor. “Why is it taking Ober and Caleb so long to get me one? I thought they were the only reliable men left in the empire. Apparently, I was wrong!”

  “Princess Jessamyn!” Brin said, her voice taking on a desperate edge. “This is the Mimic His Lordship brought from the Academy. Her name is . . . is . . .”

  “Micathea Graydier,” Mica said before Brin could fly into a full-blown panic. “I’m a recent graduate of the Redbridge Academy for—”

  “At last something goes my way!” Jessamyn spun to face them, her skirt swirling over the battered roses. “But Brin, you mustn’t call them Mimics. They get so tetchy about using the proper terms.”

  Brin looked as though she might burst into tears. Jessamyn waved off her apologies and swooped closer to Mica, scrutinizing her from head to toe.

  “She’s the right size.” She pursed her lips. “I don’t like that skirt. Dreadful color.”

  Mica felt a muscle pulsing in her jaw as the princess walked in a circle around her, examining her as thoroughly as if she were a horse at market.

  “Well?” Jessamyn said when she completed her circuit. “Impersonate something. I don’t have all day.”

  “Who would you like me to—?”

  “Just show me what you can do,” she said impatiently.

  Mica’s mind went completely blank. She couldn’t remember a single one of her impersonations. She was still reeling from the city, the palace, the endless procession of strange faces.

  Think, Mica. Don’t just stand there.

  Jessamyn tapped her silk slipper on the floor. Brin looked as though she was about to vomit.

  “If you can’t even—”

  Mica shook herself then quickly squeezed her features to look like the first person who popped into her head, the young local she’d met on the cliff’s edge near Gullton. She was smaller than he was, so she made the shoulders less broad and squeezed in her waist beneath her clothes to get the extra height she needed.

  Princess Jessamyn blinked in surprise. “Well, he’d find that amusing.”

  Mica wasn’t sure what “he” Jessamyn meant. Maybe the man who’d sent her the flowers? She quickly switched to a different impersonation: the humpbacked crone. Jessamyn grimaced and started to turn away. Mica scrambled, trying to think of what would impress the princess. It took a lot of skill to change the curve of her spine and make all her skin sag. Maybe Jessamyn didn’t realize what a complicated impersonation that was.

  The princess was already losing interest. Poor Brin hovered anxiously beside her, as if she expected her lady’s displeasure to break over her like a sudden rainstorm.

  Feeling slightly panicked, Mica looked around at the chamber full of flowers, the elegant wall hangings, the view overlooking the city. And then it hit her. Jessamyn obviously loved beautiful things. She didn’t care about the intricacy of the impression. She cared about the beauty.

  Mica summoned the most gorgeous face she knew, a woman so perfect that she couldn’t be real. In fact, she wasn’t. This was a face Mica had created herself, trying enhancement after enhancement until she found the perfect balance of features. Her hair became the pale gold of a moonbeam, growing thicker and falling all the way to her waist in soft curls. Her eyes grew, losing their plain hazel to become a shade of soft green that was a little unrealistic but not enough to be unnerving. Her features became more delicate, and her skin took on a dewy, translucent hue. It was an Obsidian look, exotic and ethereal.

  Jessamyn raised one of those magnificent eyebrows. “Interesting choice.”

  Belatedly, Mica realized she probably shouldn’t have selected an idealized version of their greatest enemy to show the princess of the empire. Beauty could come in many different forms, but she’d been taught to make judgment calls about what her audience found attractive. Great. I’m going to lose my assignment for sure.

  Then Jessamyn said, “This one is exquisite. You have better taste than the last girl, Micathea Graydier.”

  Mica opened her perfect rosebud mouth, surprised Jessamyn had recalled her name. “Does that mean—?”

  “Yes, you’ll be useful, if you can stop gawking like a country lass.”

  “I—”

  “You’d best take that look off before any of the lords see you, or you’ll never have a night’s peace.” Jessamyn swept off toward an ornately carved door at the back of her chamber. “I must prepare for my afternoon tea. Brin, see that our new Impersonator finds her room. I’ll send for her later. Now, I must go put on that new green gown. It will make Lady Amanta curl up and die.”

  And she was gone in a whirl of skirts and pealing laughter.

  Mica stared after her, not quite sure what to think of her new lady. At least she had passed the test.

  Brin tugged on her sleeve. “Come on, then. Your room is just through here.” She pulled back a large tapestry directly across from the windows, revealing a hidden door.

  “I’m staying in the princess’s quarters?”

  “It’s so she can call when she needs us.” Brin led her into a narrow corridor behind the walls. It was lit with plain lanterns and lined with several doors. “These are the other two handmaids’ rooms, and that one is for her Shield. His name is Banner.” Brin blushed deeply as they passed that door. “The servant staircase is at the end, next to my room. And this is you.”

  She opened the door to a small, furnished bedroom, no bigger than the one Mica had shared with the twins when she was young. It was clearly a maid’s
room. A bell hung next to the narrow bed, with a silk cord leading into the wall.

  “You must come the moment she rings,” Brin said.

  “Do I have on-duty hours or—?”

  “Don’t make her wait,” Brin said. “It’s easier for everyone that way. I must go help her dress. We’ll talk later.”

  And the maid scampered off, leaving Mica to catch her breath for the first time since arriving in the palace.

  Mica was lost in a deep sleep when the bell sounded by her bed. She had only intended to take a quick nap before venturing out to explore the palace. The hard cot reminded her of the simple beds in the cottages back at Stonefoss, and she had drifted off thinking of home.

  The abrupt clang of the bell made her jump so high she nearly rearranged her organs. She scrambled out of bed and tripped over the low stool where she had set her satchel. She rubbed sleep out of her eyes, trying to figure out whether it was still daytime or if she had slept right into the night. Then she remembered where she was.

  She dashed out through the servants’ corridor and back to the flower-filled antechamber. Red-gold light drifted in through the wall of windows, hinting that the sun was setting on the opposite side of the palace. Old Kings looked hazy on the eastern horizon, already cloaked in purples and blues. Mica must have slept for hours.

  Princess Jessamyn was storming around her room, wearing the pale-green gown she had chosen for her tea. The shattered vase and roses had vanished.

  “Impersonate a Blur messenger and deliver this note to Lady Ingrid.” Jessamyn held up the letter without looking at Mica, forcing her to dart across the chamber to take it. “Make sure she knows it’s from Lord Riven, and find out who she’s dining with tonight.”

  Mica took the fine parchment, still feeling disoriented from her abrupt awakening. Blurs looked just like regular people. Was there a specific one she was supposed to impersonate?

  “Excuse me, uh, Princess Jessamyn,” she began. “How do you want—?”

  The princess gave her an exasperated look, as if she had interrupted a very important train of thought. “I’m not going to tell you how to do your job, Micathea.”

  “But I don’t know—”

  “The Head of the Academy assured me he’d send me a better Impersonator than my last one.” The princess made a shooing motion. “Don’t waste my time with inane questions.”

  Mica swallowed a retort about how she wasn’t here to be a messenger. She put the note in her pocket and hurried out into the corridor before the princess could dismiss her on the spot. As much as she’d prefer a different assignment, she didn’t want to be fired on her first day.

  She halted outside the door, staring down the broad corridor. The palace was vast, and she had no idea where anything was located yet. Unfortunately, Brin was nowhere in sight. Surely it wasn’t reasonable of the princess to expect her to know her way around a few hours after she arrived?

  A throat cleared gruffly behind her. She turned to find a tall, middle-aged man with a drooping mustache and deep-set eyes looking down at her.

  “May I be of assistance?”

  “Oh, uh, I’m supposed to deliver this to a Lady Ingrid.”

  “I believe her quarters are in the south wing on the fourth floor. Someone there can direct you to her room.”

  He had a melodious voice and an unflappable bearing. Mica already felt steadier in his presence.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Which way is it from here?”

  “Go to the end of the corridor. Take your first left and walk around until you reach a large stone archway and turn left again. That’s the south wing. Take the stairs down to the fourth floor. We’re on seven now.”

  “Thank you, Mister . . .?”

  “Banner. I am the princess’s Shield.”

  Mica was surprised. From the way Brin had blushed when she pointed out Banner’s room, she had imagined him being much younger.

  “I’m Mica, the new Impersonator.”

  “A pleasure.” Banner inclined his head politely.

  “Oh, one more thing,” Mica said. “She asked me to impersonate a Blur messenger. Is there a specific one?”

  “Hmm. There’s a lad about your age. Perhaps three inches taller, with bright-red hair. I very much doubt Lady Ingrid will be able to tell the difference beyond that.”

  Mica thanked him again and set off, morphing her features into the mischievous lad in her regular rotation but with red hair a few shades brighter than the princess’s. She also unfastened her skirt and looped it over her shoulder as if it were a cloak, revealing the trousers beneath.

  Even with Banner’s instructions, it took her a while to find the correct corridor on the correct floor. She marveled at the opulence of the palace as she wandered down marble halls and caught glimpses of grand rooms trimmed in silver and gold. Sculptures decorated the corridors, some made of stone, others of crystal. The palace even smelled rich, as if costly perfumes and incense were in use at all times. Her brother’s joke about sweet-smelling lordlings might not be far off.

  The scurrying servants she had noticed before were evident here too, numbering at least three for every noble. With the exception of the ladies’ maids, most wore uniforms with the imperial crest embroidered on the arm in silver thread. Clothing was going to be an issue here during acts of impromptu espionage. Her Mimic’s garb of versatile materials in simple colors wouldn’t be as useful where the commoners wore livery and the nobles bedecked themselves in jewels and silk. She expected she’d do more than just deliver notes when Master Kiev got in touch. She was eager to find out why she was really here.

  When she reached the fourth-floor corridor in the south wing, she asked a puffy-cheeked servant to point her toward Lady Ingrid’s room. He gestured to the appropriate door with the candle he had been using to light the lanterns along the corridor.

  Mica made sure her impersonation was in place and knocked. The door opened a mere crack, and a woman with brown skin and large eyes framed with thick lashes peeked through.

  “Yes?”

  “I have a note for Lady Ingrid.”

  A slim brown hand emerged. “Give it here.”

  “I’m supposed to deliver it to her personally.”

  “She is dining with a companion, and she does not wish to be disturbed.”

  Mica didn’t move. She couldn’t leave without finding out who was dining with Lady Ingrid.

  “I can wait,” she said, not entirely sure whether that was true. How long had it been since she left the princess’s quarters? She probably expected Mica back by now.

  “That won’t be necessary,” Lady Ingrid’s maid said. She had a soft voice, and those large, framed eyes made her look frightened. But she didn’t budge, and Mica couldn’t see past her into the room.

  “It’s from Lord Riven,” Mica said desperately. “He told me to give it—”

  “Who is that out there?” came a haughty voice.

  Lady Ingrid’s maid stepped back, cringing slightly, and a woman with a familiar mole on her cheek appeared at the crack in the door. Mica recognized the sleek, red-gold hair of Lady Euphia’s maid. She felt a moment of alarm before she remembered the maid would have no way of connecting her current face to the princess.

  “I have a personal message from Lord Riven for Lady Ingrid.”

  “We will take it.” The maid snatched the letter from Mica’s hands before she could move. “Now run along, boy. The ladies are busy.”

  Mica didn’t argue. This had already taken too long. She raced back through the palace, making at least two wrong turns before she found the east wing. She was out of breath by the time she reached the top-floor corridor. The lanterns were all lit now, and stars were visible through the panes of glass in the ceiling. Mica stole glances at them as she ran back to the princess’s quarters and resumed her own face. Banner admitted her through the small door set in the main one with a polite nod.

  Jessamyn had changed her clothes again, now wearing a luxurious black dressin
g gown. She sat on a plush couch near the vast windows, giggling over a glass of wine with another noblewoman. Mica got a glimpse of bouncing blond curls and round cheeks before she remembered to dip into a curtsy. Only then did it occur to her that perhaps she should have returned through the servants’ staircase. She had no idea how to reach it from the other end.

  “Finally,” Jessamyn said. She snapped her fingers. “Well, who was our mysterious dinner companion?”

  Mica grinned. “Lady Euphia was the one dining with Lady—”

  “That will be all, Micathea,” Jessamyn interrupted sharply. “I don’t need you for the rest of the night. Lady Bellina and I have so much to discuss.”

  “Yes, Princess Jessamyn.” Mica crossed the room, silently kicking herself. Of course she shouldn’t say Lady Ingrid’s name around the other lady. She’d been lucky that she recognized Lady Euphia’s maid, but she should know better than to divulge any more details than the princess explicitly requested in front of a stranger.

  She felt as though she’d been infected with some of Brin’s nervousness. She wasn’t exactly making a good impression. To top it off, she couldn’t remember which tapestry hid the door to the servants’ chambers. She pushed aside two others before finding the correct one.

  “Wherever do you get your maids?” Lady Bellina said, not bothering to lower her voice. “You always end up with dimwits.”

  Cheeks blazing, Mica escaped through the hidden door and closed off the sound of the ladies’ laughter. She trudged back to her room, feeling embarrassed and overwhelmed, and collapsed onto her bed. She stared at the stone ceiling as her breathing slowed, desperately hoping Master Kiev would get in touch with further instructions soon.

  Chapter Seven

  Master Kiev had warned Mica to keep an eye out for anything unusual. The trouble was everything about the Silver Palace was exceedingly strange. Her first week was a blur of frantic errands and wrong turns. People moved as if they were constantly on the verge of disaster, yet nothing seemed to actually happen but tea parties, diverting walks through the conservatory, and balls. Apparently, whenever people weren’t attending a ball, they were gossiping about what had happened at the last one. And they all spoke so fast! Mica decided to add a few vocal exercises to her nightly impersonation drills in an effort to accurately capture the way people talked here. She had taken classes on accents at the Academy, but speed and syntax were proving to be just as important.