by Jordan Rivet
Caleb grinned. “Maybe you can tell me. I bought the silk for Princess Jessamyn. She’s been looking for that pearly shade for ages, and I happened to see it in the market down by the docks.”
“Oh.” Mica made her bottom lip grow and shrink as she considered this, until she realized Caleb was staring at the movement. She stopped. “You’re good friends with the princess?”
“Jessamyn was kind to me when my father first sent me to Jewel Harbor to represent the Pebble Islands,” Caleb said. “Some people call her calculating, but she has a good heart. She welcomed a homesick Pebble boy, even though there was little chance I’d ever have much political clout. And she also helped me understand that Emperor Styl isn’t as scary as he seems.”
“How old were you when you were sent here?” Mica asked.
“Eight.”
“Eight?” Mica hadn’t left home for the Academy until she was thirteen. “No wonder you were homesick.”
“I understand the why of it better now,” Caleb said. “Someone from my family has to represent our interests here.”
“What about your uncle?”
“He’s my mother’s brother,” Caleb said. “Not from the Pebble Islands at all. He represents Timbral, our nearest neighbor.”
“I see.” Mica looked around the antechamber, which was smaller than Jessamyn’s and furnished mostly with bookshelves. Mica had never seen someone keep so many books in their own room. Lord Ober could fill half the Academy library with his collection alone. It was hard to believe that silly Lady Euphia also lived here.
“Do you miss the Pebble Islands?”
“All the time,” Caleb said. “No matter how much time I spend in the capital, that will always be home. Everything I do here is to serve the Pebble Islands.”
“Not the empire?”
Caleb paused, taking another sip of his tea. When he answered, his tone was careful, showing none of the boyish vulnerability she’d seen moments ago. “The Pebble Islands are a proud part of the empire. Serving them means serving Windfast.”
Mica wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Silence fell between them, and she regretted pushing him. As an Amber Islander, it was easier for her to think of her island and the empire as one and the same. Jewel Harbor was technically its own territory as the seat of the capital, but this crescent-shaped chunk of land was nearest to Amber Island, and the first emperor had been the Amber King long ago. She wondered if Caleb’s family had been kings in their own right before the islands united. And there was still the matter of whether or not he was truly a Blur—and why he refused to admit it.
Lord Ober bustled back in, bringing a platter full of sandwiches. “You both must be starving,” he said. “It’s nearly midnight.”
“What?” Mica leapt up. The walk back to the palace must have taken longer than she thought with the incapacitated lord in tow. “I need to report to the princess. Forgive me, Lord Ober, but I shouldn’t have stayed this long.”
“It’s quite all right,” Lord Ober said. “I do hope you’ll stop by for tea another time. I am in your debt for helping my favorite nephew.”
“It was nothing.” Mica gathered her package of potions and dipped into a quick curtsy, not quite meeting Caleb’s eye. “I hope you recover well, my lord.”
“I hope I’ll see you again soon,” Caleb said, “in your form or another.”
Mica curtsied again, not sure what to say.
Lord Ober accompanied her to the door. “I didn’t have an opportunity to speak with you on our journey from the Academy, Miss Micathea, but Master Kiev spoke highly of you. Please let me know if I can help you with anything. Anything at all.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Mica said, wondering exactly how close he was to the old spymaster. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good. Oh, and Miss Micathea?”
“Yes?”
“May I ask that you not mention my nephew’s illness to anyone? He wishes to maintain his privacy in this matter.”
“Even Princess Jessamyn? Aren’t they friends?”
“I’ve no doubt he will tell her in his own time.”
Mica didn’t know how she was going to explain her late arrival without mentioning Caleb, but she supposed it wouldn’t endanger the princess’s schemes to keep this to herself. She could always claim she’d gotten lost.
“I won’t tell her,” Mica said at last. “You have my word.” She made no promises about what she’d tell Master Kiev. He needed to know this secret, whether he was a friend of Lord Ober’s or not.
“Thank you. I am always pleased to meet Impersonators, Miss Micathea. I hope we will speak again soon.”
Mica ran all the way back to Jessamyn’s chambers. She apologized for “dropping” the potion she’d used to revive Caleb and excused her tardiness by claiming she had gotten lost on her way home from the potioner’s. She could see Jessamyn’s respect for her slipping with every word.
“Why must these things happen to me?” the princess whined, tears glistening in her big brown eyes. “It’s as if you don’t even care about my feelings when you do such things.”
“I’m sorry, Princess Jessamyn. It was my first time out of—”
“Do you think I want excuses? Honestly, it’s not as if I ask for much.” Jessamyn sniffed and patted her dark-red hair. “Now go put on your Lord Nobu face. Lord Riven is coming to see me, and he must believe he’s not the only nobleman I’ve invited for a late beverage this evening.”
Mica sighed and altered her features to resemble Lord Nobu’s, adopting straight hair, dark eyes, and sallow skin. At least Jessamyn wasn’t going to fire her. Mica wasn’t enthusiastic about her chances of making it alone in Jewel Harbor after speaking to Quinn, especially now that she knew people were out for Talent blood. She waited in the doorway until she saw Lord Riven approaching, then she gave her very best arrogant lord impersonation as she sauntered past him.
Chapter Twelve
Mica had precious little time to explore her suspicions that the disappearing Talents were being used for their blood over the next week. Jessamyn was preparing to host a grand harbor cruise, and she kept all her attendants busier than ever. They spent more time building up anticipation for the event among the young lords and ladies than actually making the arrangements.
The princess didn’t appear to be suffering from the loss of one vial of energy potion. She ran her life at the usual furious pace, skipping from dancing lesson to tea party to racquetball match to feast. She entertained noble visitors, called on them in their own chambers, and saw to it that the right people met even when she couldn’t be there. Mica wondered if the nobles even wanted to socialize as often as the princess made them. Perhaps they were all sending hired Mimics to these events, running the Talents off their feet while they sipped ambrosia in their own quarters.
Mica kept a closer eye on Lord Ober after he asked her not to tell the princess about Caleb’s mysterious illness despite their long friendship. She was supposed to watch out for uncharacteristic behavior in case any of the nobles had been replaced with Obsidian Impersonators. But whenever she passed the two men in the palace corridors, Caleb looked healthier than ever and Lord Ober was his usual charming self. The latter had many friends among the nobility, and he got along well with the non-nobles too. She had seen him laughing with a group of Shield guards, and he’d even asked her about her children when she was impersonating a cook to listen in on a private dinner party. Such pleasantries were so rare from the nobles that she had gaped at him for a minute before giving a vague answer about the cook’s darling little ones.
Though there was probably nothing sinister about the late-night encounter with Caleb and Ober, Mica included it in a report to Master Kiev anyway. She’d been taught at the Academy that she might never see how all the pieces fit together, but even the tiniest bead of information could prove essential.
The Blur messenger who carried her letters to Master Kiev didn’t live too far from the palace. She snuck out to send her re
ports whenever she could steal time between tasks. The Blur, a young lad called Peet (gangly, with bright-red hair and a pointed chin), could make it to the Academy and back in a day.
“Master Kiev says to keep up the good work,” he said when Mica went to see him a few days after the incident with Lord Caleb. He searched around his tiny flat for a tin of cookies to share with her. The bedsit was located on the fourth floor of a cramped tenement, and it only had room for a cot, a small table, and a handful of chairs. Still, if Peet was at home when Mica stopped by, he always offered her a cup of tea and whatever sweets he had on hand. “Oh, and here’s a letter for you.”
Mica glanced at the rolled scroll. Her name was inscribed on the outside in a dense handwriting that didn’t belong to Master Kiev.
The letter was from Sapphire.
It took all of Mica’s willpower to keep from ripping the scroll open right away. She was desperate for news of her friends. But she paused to ask Peet if the other Talents in Jewel Harbor were saying anything about the disappearances.
“I hear the Muscles at the docks don’t go out alone anymore,” Peet said. “I know a girl who pulls a ferry down there. She’s thinking about moving out to Silverfell to live with her sister. And this is a five-foot-nothing lady who could pick up a horse and toss it one-handed.”
“It’s that bad?”
“Aye. People are going missing every few days.”
“Every few days?”
She should have heard more about the disappearances up at the palace, if they were occurring so frequently. Wasn’t that the whole point of stationing her at Jessamyn’s side instead of out in the city?
“Do the ones who disappear have anything in common?”
“Just their Talent.” Peet poured the tea and handed her a crumbling walnut cookie. “I heard about a Shield who works the furnaces in a smithy. He was seen having a pint at a pub over lunch one day, but he never came home for dinner.”
“Was this near the docks too?”
“That one was, yeah. Then again, this Blur who has a regular message route clear over on the western side of the crescent went missing last week.”
“Isn’t the City Watch doing anything?”
Peet shrugged. “They said the fellow probably ran off for a drink somewhere and got lost.”
Mica didn’t understand. In Stonefoss there’d be outrage if people started vanishing. The authorities would take action. Yet she’d hardly heard a whisper about the problem from anyone except other Talents.
“Tell me something,” Mica said. “Are all the missing people commoners?”
Peet thought for a moment, chewing on a walnut cookie. “All the ones I’ve heard about,” he said at last. “You think that’s why no one cares?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Mica said bitterly. The nobles in the Silver Palace couldn’t be bothered with the troubles of working Talents. The elusive Emperor Styl hadn’t done a thing about the disappearances. He didn’t bother much with his daughter either, as far as she could tell. She’d had no idea when she swore to serve the empire that these were the kind of people whose rule she’d be protecting. She touched the scroll from Sapphire in her pocket, afraid of what she’d find inside.
“Well, I’d better get going,” Peet said. “Gotta make it to Redbridge before dark.”
“I have one more question,” Mica said as she walked with him to the door. “Have you ever heard about Talents selling their blood to potioners?”
“Sure. I did it a few times before I started getting steady work from Kiev. You short on coin?”
“What? No,” Mica said, surprised he was so casual about it. The practice must be more widespread than she realized. She was actually paid quite well, though she had precious little time to spend her salary. “How did the potioners find you?”
“I found them,” the Blur said. “All you got to do is turn up to the bars around Potioners Alley and listen in on a few conversations. It’s easy.”
They stomped down the narrow stairs and parted ways at the bottom of Peet’s building. She looked up at the young Talent, who was limbering up his gangly limbs for his run to the Academy.
“Thanks for your help, Peet. Be safe out there.”
“May you thrive.” And he was gone in a blur of motion.
Mica hoped Quinn had been serious about her offer of a drink, because she intended to take her up on it next time she went to Potioners Alley. She needed to find out more about those who dealt in Talent blood.
Mica pulled out the letter from Sapphire and read it as she walked back to the palace.
Dear Mica,
I wish I could write with happier news. Danil is still missing. I’ve searched every inch of Redbridge and the surrounding area a dozen times, but he’s just . . . gone.
I’m leaving tomorrow for Winnow Island. Master Kiev convinced my assigned employer to take me on after all, even though I was supposed to report for duty over a month ago.
Mica paused. Had it really been over a month since she left the Academy? Time had flown by since she last saw her friends and family.
She continued reading.
Master Kiev says it’s time to move on. I disagree, but there’s nothing else I can do here.
Do you think you could talk to the princess about Danil? I’m sorry to ask it, but I feel completely powerless. Maybe you ended up in the palace for a reason.
I hope you’re okay. I miss you.
Sapph
P.S. I saw Tiber Warson’s mother the other day. She’s as smug as ever.
Mica read the letter twice. It had none of Sapphire’s usual verve. The sense of defeat in her cramped handwriting made rage simmer in the pit of Mica’s stomach, and she struggled to keep her features from sliding out of place. She didn’t understand why no one striking cared. The nobles were so terribly concerned with their parties and petty rivalries. Meanwhile, the Obsidian infiltrators were stealing the very best people in Windfast out from under their noses.
She read the letter again as she entered the palace gates, lingering on Sapphire’s request. Could she talk to the princess about Danil? She wasn’t sure how much power Jessamyn had outside the Silver Palace itself. Her complicated waltz of alliances and relationships seemed to have little to do with anyone apart from the nobility, even if she did care. Mica needed someone with real power, someone like Emperor Styl himself.
She snorted. She didn’t have much chance of that. She still hadn’t seen the emperor in person yet. He had a reputation for being as busy as Jessamyn, and Mica didn’t think the princess herself saw much of her father. Neither one would listen to the likes of her.
“You’re looking somber for such a fine day, Miss Micathea.”
Mica looked up, realizing she had paused in the middle of the courtyard.
“Hello, Lord Ober.”
“Out for a stroll?” He had a book under his arm, and a manservant with hair as gray as Ober’s walked beside him, carrying a pitcher of chilled lemonade and two glasses.
“I’m just returning from an errand, my lord,” Mica said.
“Care to join me for a beverage? My lady wife was supposed to meet me in the garden, but she has decided it’s too warm out for her.”
Mica hesitated, not wanting to miss her chance to gather information about the influential lord. But she had already been gone too long.
“I’m afraid the princess is expecting me.”
“Ah well. I suppose it’s just you and me for a drink then, Dak.” Lord Ober clapped the gray-haired manservant on the back. “You’ve spent enough time on your feet today.” He nodded politely. “Miss Micathea.”
Mica watched the two men stroll off toward the garden together. Why couldn’t all the nobles treat their “inferiors” with such courtesy?
Speaking of servants, just then, Brin rushed through the palace gates behind Mica.
“You’re not with her?” she exclaimed, wiping sweat-dampened hair back from her round forehead. “Oh dear, I thought I could run out for
a moment. We’d better hurry!”
She seized Mica’s arm and hauled her back toward the palace.
“Where were you—?”
“I had to check on my mother,” Brin said. “She’s ill, and I swear it gets harder every week to find time to see her.”
“Could you ask the princess for time off?”
Brin gave a wild laugh. “You’ve met her, haven’t you? She nearly took my head off last time I asked her for something. Just wait until she finally lets you impersonate her. None of us will ever get a moment’s rest when she can be in two places at once again.”
Chapter Thirteen
Mica had been in Jewel Harbor for six weeks before she was finally permitted to impersonate Princess Jessamyn herself.
“It requires trust to allow someone to act in your place,” Jessamyn had said when Mica brought it up earlier. “Just because one is a good Impersonator doesn’t mean one is a good actor. I shall decide when you’re ready for the responsibility. The aftermath would be exhausting if you messed up.”
Mica didn’t argue, though she was eager for a chance to try out the princess’s face. She had added the look to her nightly exercises, and she’d been studying Jessamyn’s energetic mannerisms, her potion-softened skin, her bold eyebrows, and the particular sheen of her dark-red hair. She felt confident that she could do a good impression.
The princess finally decided to give her a chance the week before the harbor cruise. Mica would be allowed to assume the royal form to stand in at an official audience with Emperor Styl while Jessamyn attended a dance lesson, where she intended to set a few interpersonal dramas in motion.
Mica couldn’t help feeling excited when she at last took the princess’s shape and stood before the real thing.
“Hmm.” Jessamyn walked all the way around her, studying her closely. “That’s not horrible for a first attempt.”
They were in the princess’s large, gold-bedecked dressing room. Closets full of costly gowns and two towering cases for Jessamyn’s jewels lined the walls. A standing mirror with three panels made it possible for the princess to admire herself from any angle, and there was a purple silk chaise longue where she could relax in the midst of dressing. Not that Mica had ever seen the princess actually relax.