by Jordan Rivet
It had occurred to her that the kiss could have been an impulsive act in the aftermath of battle, nothing more. Caleb was still a member of the nobility, Mica was not, and the princess herself could end up choosing him as a consort. But Mica couldn’t reason away her feelings. Besides, Caleb was a true gentleman, not just a noble. He wouldn’t kiss her like that unless he meant it.
“Who was responsible for that horrid place anyway?” Lady Elana asked.
“I heard the potioner acted on his own,” Lady Ingrid said. “He was a lunatic, after all.”
“Raving,” Lady Amanta agreed.
Mica figured it was just as well that no one knew how lucid Haddell had been when he committed his atrocities. So far none of the rumors mentioned a noble mastermind behind the operation or tied the princess to the raid. Jessamyn seemed content to allow the mad potioner narrative to spread. If Lord Ober was angry that his nephew had taken it upon himself to clear out the warehouse, he hid it well. Caleb was safely sequestered in his rooms, protected by Stievson and his loyal retainers while he slept off the effects of using his Talents.
Mica still didn’t understand why they couldn’t arrest Lord Ober. She said as much to the princess as they prepared for a royal feast in the princess’s dressing room a few days after the raid.
“Lord Ober could be assembling an army of loyalists with exceptional abilities,” Jessamyn said. “Which of these goes better?” She held up two different strings of pearls against her metallic gold gown.
“That one.” Mica pointed without really examining the choices. The necklaces looked the same to her anyway.
“Thought so.” Jessamyn looped the pearls around her neck.
“About Lord Ober . . .?”
“We can’t tell how far he got on his little scheme. We mustn’t imprison him until we know whether a large force of super soldiers will descend on us to rescue him.”
“Are you so sure he’s building an army?”
“What else would a man as ambitious as Lord Ober do with a potion like that?” Jessamyn opened her case of crowns and tiaras and surveyed them with a critical eye. “It has happened before. Don’t they teach history at the Academy? I really must speak to my father about that place.”
“Why is it so important for his island to stay in the empire?” Mica asked. “Why not let them go off and be the independent Kingdom of Timbral?”
Jessamyn gave a longsuffering sigh. “Haven’t we talked about why the Windfast was formed in the first place, Micathea?”
“To fight the armies of Obsidian.”
“Exactly. Any islands that break away would be vulnerable to the dark kingdom, and every piece of the empire we lose makes us a little weaker.”
Mica thought of her brothers and her parents, who fought side by side with men and women from all over the empire. They were Talented and disciplined, but the dread armies from across the sea were vast.
“So it comes back to Obsidian again?”
“Always.” Jessamyn settled on a crown at last, silver with a large pearl dangling from the center. “That’s better. Now, remember: I shall oppose Lord Ober tonight when he thinks I’ve agreed to support him. I need you to keep a careful watch on Lords Dolan and Nobu, and on Lady Wendel. I believe they are on the fence about the wisdom of escalating hostilities. I want to know how they react when I disagree with Lord Ober’s war games proposal.”
“Yes, Princess.” Mica moved to the mirror to tie a scarf around her hair. She would impersonate a serving girl tonight so she could listen in on the gossip. The nobles rarely looked at the men and women pouring their drinks. “But are you sure he’ll still suggest the war games after what happened?”
“He can’t allow the warehouse scandal to affect him. He has spent days drumming up support for his war games proposal. If he pulls out now, his allies will wonder why.”
Mica frowned. “But you promised to support him, Princess. Are you sure it’s a good idea to go back on your word? I’m afraid if Lord Ober gets angry—”
“I expect he will be very angry indeed, especially when he realizes I’ve persuaded my father to take my side in advance.”
“Aren’t you playing with fire here?”
“That has never stopped me from opposing a bad idea before.” Jessamyn gave Mica a wicked smile in the mirror, resplendent in her gown and pearls. “I am not afraid of Lord Ober.”
And she turned and sauntered out of the dressing room.
The feast took place in the banquet hall in the heart of the Silver Palace. Hundreds of candles were arranged around the walls, filling the room with dancing light. The scent of roses and burning wax hung in the air. All the usual nobles were there, dressed in costly gowns and silk coats, clutching crystal goblets in jeweled hands. Mica was surprised to find that the grandeur had become commonplace over the past few months. Her brothers would never believe she walked among such finery without blinking.
Princess Jessamyn was in rare form that night. She circled among the guests before the feast, enchanting the lords with secret smiles and whispering conspiratorially with the ladies. Her metallic gown shimmered in the candlelight, perfectly complementing her dark-red hair, which fell in loose curls down her back. She exuded pure charm, making everyone at the banquet want to be near her and drink in a little of her magic. She even shared a toast with Lord Ober and Lady Euphia before inviting everyone to take their seats.
As the nobles feasted on roasted meats and fine cheeses dripping with honey, Mica moved slowly down the long banquet table, pouring drinks and listening to snippets of discussion. The conversations were rife with the witty banter with an undercurrent of falsehood that Mica had come to think of as the language of the Silver Palace. No one could ever say exactly what they meant or appear too earnest. For some, there was nothing more pathetic than sincerity. It was why Elana and Ingrid were giggling together despite their mutual hatred, why the emperor and his daughter hid the closeness of their own relationship, and why Caleb stood out so sharply amongst the Rivens and Dolans of the imperial court.
When Mica paused to refill Elana and Ingrid’s glasses, the ladies were still gushing about Lord Caleb’s heroics, even though the man himself wasn’t there. Mica was disappointed he wasn’t yet well enough to attend the feast. She’d wanted to see if he recognized her in her current guise. Perhaps if Caleb identified her in yet another face, it would prove he too had deeper feelings.
Focus on the task at hand, she reminded herself. You have to thwart Lord Ober. Then you can think about his nephew.
The more Mica grew to care for Caleb, the more she wanted to find out exactly what his uncle had done to him. It was Ober’s fault Caleb was left bedridden after using the volatile abilities he never should have had in the first place. She hoped there was a chance his curse could be lifted.
The nobles feasted on, their laughter echoing around the vast hall as the candles burned low. They gossiped and teased and engaged in frivolous chatter while Mica waited impatiently for the showdown. It wasn’t until the dessert wines were brought out that Lord Ober leaned toward Emperor Styl and suggested mobilizing imperial forces for war games on Talon.
The babble died down at once, as if everyone had been waiting for this point in the evening.
“It will remind the King of Obsidian that we are powerful,” Lord Ober said after outlining his proposal, “but it stops short of open hostilities.”
“And what do your peers think of the idea?” Emperor Styl asked, his face as inscrutable as ever.
Several nobles were quick to voice their agreement, probably those Lord Ober had approached in advance. Mica took careful note of everyone who spoke up for Ober. The most vocal supporter of the proposition was Lady Ingrid of Talon.
War games would be great for her island’s economy, Mica thought, surprised at how easily the realization came to her. She was finally starting to understand how these nobles operated. But what is Lord Ober getting out of the war games? There was still a missing piece here, and she wasn’
t sure what it meant.
“We must show we will not be intimidated,” Lord Ober declared as approval for his proposal spread. He drew himself up, handsome and distinguished in the candlelight, far more charismatic than the marble-faced emperor. “We shall remind our own people, as well as our enemies, of the strength of the Windfast Empire.”
The nobles nodded, looking to the energetic lord and murmuring about how war games could be just what the empire needed. Lord Ober certainly knew how to command a room.
Then Emperor Styl raised a hand, and the banquet hall instantly went silent.
Every face turned toward the head of the table, and Mica revised her earlier opinion. Emperor Styl may not be charming, but he used intimidating gravity as effectively as Jessamyn and Ober used charm. When he spoke, even the most arrogant nobles listened.
“Your proposal has some potential,” the emperor said, tapping his fingertips together, “but I query the wisdom of escalating tensions right now.”
“I understand these concerns, Your Majesty. Perhaps we could seek your esteemed daughter’s counsel?” Lord Ober bowed gallantly to the princess, not hiding the complete confidence on his face. “Princess Jessamyn, I know the whole court values your opinion. What do you think of my proposition?”
“Thank you for asking, my lord.” Jessamyn took a dainty sip of her dessert wine. “I believe mobilizing our forces, even if it is only for war games, will exacerbate an already delicate situation. I do not think we should do it.”
The chivalrous smile slipped from Ober’s face.
“Some were quick to call for violence after the harbor cruise incident,” Jessamyn continued. “You were among them, Lord Ober, but that turned out to be an act of pure pettiness by a disgruntled servant.”
Cold wrath crept into Ober’s eyes at the realization that Jessamyn had played him. The sight made Mica want to reach for her hidden knives. It only got worse as the princess went on.
“You were so convinced Obsidian was responsible that you nearly pushed us into an unjustified conflict then too.”
“That’s true,” someone murmured. “Lord Ober wanted us to take action.”
“So rash.”
“Yes, we don’t need a fight.”
“Our empire is strong,” Jessamyn said, speaking to the rest of the nobles now. “We needn’t resort to posturing by sending our soldiers running around Talon for no reason. Let us put aside this idea of playing at war.”
“Hear! Hear!” Lord Fritz shouted.
Lord Dolan raised a goblet. “The princess is as wise as she is beautiful!”
Jessamyn gave him a radiant smile, and several other nobles rushed to agree. Lord Ober remained silent, watching her accept the compliments of those sitting around her, his face reddening beneath his sculpted beard.
He was still watching the princess when Emperor Styl said, “My daughter is indeed wise. I’m sorry, Lord Ober, but I will not approve this war games proposal today. Let us focus on strengthening the empire without needless posturing.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” Lord Ober inclined his head slightly, never taking his eyes off Princess Jessamyn. “I live to serve the empire.”
After the feast, the nobles strolled up to the ballroom to spend the rest of the evening dancing and drinking. Lord Ober lurked in a corner of the promenade, speaking to anyone who approached him, but not seeking out conversation as he usually did. Mica circulated around the balcony, refilling wine goblets and keeping a close watch on the Timbral lord. She wished mindreading were a Talent. She wanted to know if he was starting to suspect Jessamyn was responsible for both of his recent setbacks.
Lord Ober remained in a foul mood all evening. He even refused to dance with his wife, whispering a sharp retort in her ear when she asked him to join her. Lady Euphia’s face went pale beneath her too-thick powder, and she turned and left the banquet hall.
Mica couldn’t help wondering whether Lord Ober’s anger was disproportionate to the situation. Why had he been so determined to initiate the war games? Could it have been a cover for his own plans involving the multi-Talented army Jessamyn was so convinced he was building? Whatever it was, Jessamyn had made a dangerous enemy. They had already seen what Ober was capable of.
Mica was supposed to stay behind to help clean up after the last of the nobles vacated the ballroom, but when Lord Ober left a few minutes after the princess retired for the night, Mica shifted to a face she had never used before and followed him.
She half expected Lord Ober to attack Jessamyn in the corridor, but he strolled in the direction of his own quarters in the west wing instead. Mica flitted along behind him, a shadow in a shadowy hall. Ober didn’t look back, and he paused only once to speak to a passing Shield. Mica edged close enough to hear him asking about the Shield’s elderly parents, sounding as amiable as ever. The pleasant tone in Ober’s voice struck Mica as suspicious given how angry he had seemed earlier. He couldn’t have been replaced by an Impersonator, could he? She hadn’t taken her eyes off him all night
Impersonator or not, Lord Ober didn’t take any detours on his way back to his chambers. He went straight inside and did not reemerge. Mica watched from around a corner for as long as she could, but the door showed no signs of opening.
What are you up to in there?
Lord Ober would not accept defeat this easily, but Jessamyn and Caleb had both insisted he was a cautious man. He would plan his retaliation with the same meticulous care he had used in hiding his connection to the warehouse. Though a sense of uneasiness lingered in the pit of Mica’s stomach, at last she concluded that he would not take action tonight.
As she abandoned her vigil, Mica considered stopping by Caleb’s rooms to see how he was feeling. But that may cross a line in a way that couldn’t be explained by the afterglow of battle. Besides, she had a feeling she needed to be at the princess’s side tonight.
“It’s about time you got back!” Jessamyn said when Mica reported to her chambers. “Tell me everything.”
While Mica filled the princess in on what she had observed during the feast, Jessamyn waltzed around her sitting room as if the tale of her triumph gave her life. She was especially pleased when Mica described how Lord Ober’s face had gone brick red when he realized Jessamyn had turned on him.
“That’s what he gets for trying to neutralize me.”
Mica was nervous rather than gleeful. She couldn’t help feeling they had missed something, some weakness.
“Do you think he suspects you had the warehouse raided? He knew you were with Caleb that night.”
“It is too much of a coincidence for him not to connect the events,” Jessamyn said, “but he cannot prove it any more than I can prove he was behind the warehouse in the first place. Oh, I do wonder what his next move will be.” She strolled to her side table, where the tea service she had shattered a few nights ago had already been replaced with a new one—silver instead of breakable porcelain. She poured herself some tea, chuckling over this game she and Lord Ober were playing.
“We still need to be careful,” Mica said. “Maybe I should impersonate Lady Euphia, see if I can get him to tell me something.”
“I doubt he tells that silly biddy anything,” Jessamyn said breezily, “but you may try.”
Mica frowned, thinking over Jessamyn’s words. She remembered Lord Ober rebuking Lady Euphia for asking him to dance. How had such a calculating man ended up with her? Was it possible she too was hiding something beneath a frivolous face?
“Go get some rest, Micathea.” The princess sipped her tea, clearly untroubled. “We shall have schemes aplenty in the morning.”
“Yes, Princess.” Mica started toward the servants’ quarters, though she had no intention of resting. She planned to leave through the back staircase to visit Danil at Peet’s. He would be setting out to join Sapphire soon.
But as Mica pulled back the tapestry, something caught her eye on the side table. A small glass vial lay on its side next to the silver teapot. It h
ad Magic Q’s curling logo on the side. She snatched it up.
“Where did this come from?”
“What are you talking about?” Jessamyn took another sip of her tea. Her cup was almost empty.
“This vial.” Mica held it up, hands shaking.
“It’s to help me sleep. You know I have various potions for—”
“But where did it come from? You ran out. I didn’t bring back the last—”
“Calm down, Micathea. Quinn personally delivered replacements for the potions you so carelessly lost. There’s a reason I am her most loyal customer.”
Mica felt as if the floor were falling away as she stared at the empty vial, the teacup Jessamyn had already drained. “How . . .” She stopped to clear her throat. “How did she know I lost the others?”
Jessamyn froze. They looked at each other, and pure stillness filled the room for one heartbeat. Two.
Then the silver teacup hit the floor.
And Jessamyn’s face began to melt.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Mica ran through the palace as fast as she could, her features shifting wildly, panic nearly blinding her. Jessamyn’s screams seemed to chase after her as she sprinted toward the west wing.
Mica had left the princess with Banner, the Shield holding her in his arms as poison spread through her body. Jessamyn had still been alive, but Mica didn’t know how much longer she’d hold out. She could still see the horrifying way Jessamyn’s skin had blistered and slid, as if she were being held too close to a fire.
Don’t think about it. Keep moving.
Mica forced Jessamyn’s features onto her own face as she turned the final corner and adopted the princess’s angriest strut.
“I must see Lord Caleb at once,” she declared to the guard posted outside the door. It was Stievson, the Shield with long brown hair she’d met a few days ago at the warehouse.
“I beg your pardon, my lady,” he said, “but I am under strict orders—”