An Imposter with a Crown

by Jordan Rivet

  “He had his claws in a lot of good Talents,” Peet said.

  “That he did.” Mica thought of Danil, who had lost a leg to Ober’s experiments. She hoped to get him work with Lady Maren when he was well enough, but he would be forever limited by what had been taken from him.

  Peet leapt up to grab the teapot, bringing it back to the table in an instant. Mica watched the young Blur lean over to pour her tea, his movements deft despite their speed.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  “If someone offered you the chance to be a Muscle and a Shield as well as a Blur, would you take it? Even if there were some nasty side effects?”

  “I’d consider it. I’m not gonna lie. But madness and sickness don’t sound like much fun. I’m happy with just one supernatural ability.” Peet sipped his tea, thinking for a moment. “I imagine an ordinary man would be striking tempted, though. Lord Ober might win supporters just by promising them a Talent-granting potion, regardless of the side effects.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Mica rubbed her forehead, making her brow change shape as she did. “We should have executed him when we had the chance.”

  “Or arrested him,” Peet said. “Can’t say I understand why Her Highness took her time about that.”

  That makes two of us. Jessamyn seemed to think an army of super soldiers would descend on Jewel Harbor if Lord Ober were arrested. Mica had to hope the potion hadn’t advanced that far yet.

  “At least he doesn’t have his potioner anymore thanks to you and Lord Caleb,” Peet said. “That should slow him down. And if he has been tinkering for over a decade, maybe the stuff won’t ever work well enough to be dangerous.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that.” Mica pictured Quinn’s workshop, cleared of all her notes and diagrams. Was Quinn helping Lord Ober perfect his formula at last? If all his men had multiple supernatural powers, Lord Ober might be able to take on the Imperial Army, no matter how many well-trained Talents like Mica’s brothers he had to face.

  On the other hand, with the same powers, the Imperial Army could march on the Obsidian Kingdom itself.

  Mica forced down that thought. As Caleb had said at the ball, if Ober had to chop people up to do his research, it wasn’t worth whatever benefits the empire might derive from it.

  “Have you heard from Edwina and Rufus lately?” Mica asked. The older couple worked as freelance Mimics, but they had been imperial spies for Master Kiev and Lady Maren in their youth—and Rufus had been another one of Ober’s victims.

  “Not since they shipped out,” Peet said.

  “Shipped out?”

  “Right, that was after you left. They went to join Master Kiev in Obsidian. Strange doings there. I know your mission is confidential, but can’t you give me a hint? Is that where you’re headed too?”

  “I really can’t say.”

  Peet smiled knowingly, and Mica didn’t correct his assumption. If anyone could foil the Obsidian King’s plans, it would be Master Kiev and his band of Imperial Impersonators. Mica had coveted the opportunity to join them once, but she still had work to do here.

  “Thanks for all the information, Peet.” Mica stood to go, preparing to abandon her own face again. “If you hear anything about a barren fortress, can you send a message to Princess Jessamyn? She’ll get word to me.”

  “Will do.”

  “Thanks. I owe you one.”

  “Send me a snack from wherever you end up.” Peet grinned. “I hear the sugar dates from Obsidian are delicious.”

  Chapter Six

  The day of the princess’s grand tour arrived with much fanfare. The citizens of Jewel Harbor gathered along the route from the Silver Palace to the docks, eager to catch a glimpse of the nobles as they paraded to their ship on horseback. The commoners waved colorful handkerchiefs in the crisp breeze, calling out for the princess to look their way. Enterprising vendors sold hot buns from carts along their route, and tavern keepers near the docks offered special deals on spiced Timbral wine. The smell of warm bread and cinnamon mingled with the usual sweat-and-refuse-and-seawater aroma of the city.

  Mica rode at the head of the entourage on a fine white stallion, resplendent in her Jessamyn impersonation. The horse pranced as if it were enjoying the adulation of the onlookers. Shimmering aquamarine silks hung from the saddle, flowing in the morning breeze, drawing every eye. Mica wasn’t sure she’d ever be used to attracting so much attention. She was looking forward to the day when she could disappear into the crowds again.

  Princess Jessamyn rode directly behind Mica on a scrappy bay mare, Shield guards flanking her. Banner scanned the crowds vigilantly, his drooping mustache hiding the nervous tension in his mouth. This was the first time Jessamyn had ventured into the city since the poisoning, and Banner was as worried as if she were riding into Obsidian territory. He would have carried the princess to the ship in an iron box if she had allowed it.

  Mica almost hadn’t recognized Jessamyn when she emerged from her dressing room that morning. She had chopped off her beautiful red hair. That alone might have disguised her from those used to her long tresses, but she had also donned a close-fitting linen cap with a veil that hung down to cover her mouth and nose. Combined with the shorn hair and damaged skin, it made her face look round rather than heart-shaped. As a final touch, she had outlined her eyes in black, subtly altering their shape.

  Mica was impressed. She had never seen a non-Impersonator change their appearance so completely.

  “Princess, you look—”

  “Yes, I know. I’m very talented.”

  Jessamyn wore well-cut trousers reminiscent of a sailor’s garb. The material was fine, but it had no embellishments, nor did it sport the imperial sigil most palace employees wore. A pile of thin gold bracelets adorned one wrist, and a plain brown satchel was slung across her chest, making her look like a well-to-do scholar.

  “I thought you were going to dress as a maid,” Mica said.

  Jessamyn scoffed. “And what excuse would a maid have to attend meetings with the local nobles? My father tasked me with restoring our influence in the farthest reaches of the empire and shoring up the loyalties of the local nobility. I don’t trust you to handle every delicate interaction on your own.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “I will go by the name Myn Irondier,” Jessamyn said. “I am to play your cultural advisor, ostensibly charged with making sure you’re aware of local customs on your tour of the islands. I will be at your side the whole time.”

  “That’s a good idea.” Mica suspected she would quickly grow tired of Jessamyn whispering in her ear whenever she did something wrong, but she’d been nervous about all the diplomatic duties she would have to perform.

  “Of course it’s a good idea.” Jessamyn put her hands on her hips. “Now, we must do something about your hair.”

  Mica wore an airy white dress with a long sash that would flutter artfully in the wind as they pulled away from the docks—and conceal one of the fine, curved knives she liked to wear underneath her clothes. Jessamyn wanted her to keep her hair loose too, but Mica objected to the prospect of untangling it afterwards. They finally compromised with a thick braid tied with white silk ribbons.

  “It won’t have the same effect.” Jessamyn touched Mica’s locks wistfully, as if she regretted cutting her own hair.

  “I’m sure every eye will be on you anyway,” Mica said.

  “No, Micathea.” Jessamyn lifted a simple silver circlet and set it on Mica’s head. “On you.”

  As they paraded toward the docks, Mica tried not to look back at the princess, fearful of drawing attention to the similarities in their features. But as she had discovered when she impersonated servants at the princess’s side, no one was even looking at her entourage. Jessamyn probably could have skipped the veil entirely, and no one would have noticed her.

  Rider, the newer Shield, had been positioned so his impervious body would keep the real princess safe
from a thrown knife or a volley of arrows. He still didn’t know Mica was an imposter. He was enjoying the parade as much as Mica’s horse, preening before the spectators and barely keeping half an eye on his charge.

  In addition to the Shield guards, their party consisted of Muscle porters carrying the luggage, nobles who had come along to wish them well, and the chosen few who would join them on their ship.

  “I can hardly wait to see Lorna’s gown,” said Lady Elana, who rode next to Mica in a sea-green dress designed to complement her coppery-red hair. She was among the lucky ladies Jessamyn had chosen for the grand tour. The remaining nobles would make their own way to Silverfell for the wedding festivities later.

  “I heard it will be lavender,” Mica said. “It’ll look marvelous with her complexion.”

  “I say it’ll be silver.” Lady Ingrid reined in her stocky slate-gray stallion on Mica’s other side. “Her father will insist on reminding the guests of the wealth Silverfell provides.”

  “That would be a pity,” Elana said. “I’ve seen Lorna wear silver before. It washes her out in the most dreadful way.”

  Ingrid snorted. “You’re just saying that because you wore silver at the anniversary ball.”

  “That gown was iconic,” Elana said acidly. “I wouldn’t want it to upstage Lorna’s wedding dress.”

  Mica murmured something conciliatory, privately wishing Elana had not been among the three ladies Jessamyn selected for her entourage. Ingrid wasn’t so bad on her own. Mica appreciated her no-nonsense manner, which reminded her of the female soldiers she had known back in Stonefoss. But the bickering was sure to wear on her.

  “Where is Lady Wendel?” Mica asked.

  “She went down to the ship early to make sure security measures are in place,” Ingrid said. “After what happened on the harbor cruise, she has been terribly nervous about sea travel.”

  “Her nose will never be the same,” Elana said. “Not that it was especially nice to begin with.”

  Mica winced. She had broken Lady Wendel’s nose during the Obsidians’ attack on the harbor cruise a few months ago. She had been impersonating an Obsidian lady at the time, and Lady Wendel assumed she had coordinated the ambush. Wendel had tried to apprehend her—something Mica admired a great deal.

  “She’s right to worry,” Ingrid said. “Especially after those raids on the Pegasus coast.”

  “The Obsidians wouldn’t dare bother us so far inside the empire, would they?” Elana asked, fiddling nervously with her sea-green sleeves.

  “They came to Jewel Harbor itself,” Ingrid said. “And I hear the Obsidians aren’t the only ones we have to worry about.”

  “I’m sure we’ll be safe on this voyage, ladies,” Mica said quickly. “My dear father has ordered a warship full of his best soldiers to escort us. We will have far more protection than necessary.”

  In truth, the reports from the West didn’t bode well. The secession agitators had looted a few manor houses in Cray, and they were clashing with the local noble family’s retainers. It was looking increasingly likely that they would need to use force to bring the rebels back into the imperial fold. Pretending this was a pleasure cruise was risky. Mica wasn’t sure how far these rebels would go to get out from under Emperor Styl’s rule. She touched the knife strapped to her thigh beneath her dress. At least if any enemies tried to harm Jessamyn, they’d get her first, giving the real princess a chance to escape.

  “Don’t forget we’ll have Lord Caleb with us.” Ingrid gave Mica a sly look. “He has proved himself good in a fight lately.”

  Elana gave a little sigh. “That does make me feel better.”

  “There will be no need for Caleb or anyone else to fight,” Mica said sharply. Her white stallion tossed his head, sensing her agitation. Caleb had been spending more time than usual training with his retainers after seeing the Talent lose control at the ball. He still intended to leave the expedition to seek out his uncle. She would much rather send a Mimic double in his place, if it were possible to imitate his erratic bursts of Talent.

  Suddenly, blurry movement caught her eye. A figure shot out of the crowd toward her white stallion, weaving deftly among the guards. Before Mica could react, someone seized her hand.

  “What—”

  “My princess.” Peet had appeared beside her horse. He closed her hand around a piece of parchment and bowed over it. Then he sped away, narrowly evading the guards once more.

  “Did you see that?” Ingrid said.

  “What?”

  “A Blur! He was just here!”

  “I didn’t see anything,” Mica said breezily. “I do hope you won’t become as paranoid as Lady Wendel. I won’t have anything ruining our fun.”

  Ingrid narrowed her eyes, but she didn’t press the issue. Elana was too busy preening for the crowds to notice the exchange. Mica discreetly tucked the parchment into her belt to read later. The incident reminded her how easy it would be for a Blur to dart up and stab her before anyone could stop it. Such assassinations had occurred many times in Windfast history, which was why the nobility often made use of Mimic body doubles.

  Mica kept an eye out for any signs of multiple Talents among the dockworkers when they arrived at the harbor. The usual commotion filled the docks. Muscles unloaded huge crates from trading ships as if they weighed no more than snuffboxes. Their captains shouted at them to take care with their delicate wares. Blurs dodged through the crowds, delivering messages. New arrivals stared wide-eyed at the tumult. Farther out in the harbor, boats skittered across the sun-drenched waters like mosquitoes, Talents manning their oars.

  Mica and her entourage approached the vessel waiting for them at the heart of the chaos. The Silk Goddess was a fine trading ship with three sails, a tall prow, and long rows of oars protruding from her wooden belly. Muscle oarsmen would guarantee that their journey proceeded on schedule whether or not the wind was in their favor. A buxom woman was carved on the prow of the ship, and touches of gilt outlined her handsome features. Mica thought she looked a little like the princess herself.

  The Silk Goddess belonged to Lord Dolan, who would be traveling with them up the coast of Amber Island, across the Heart Sea to Pegasus Island, then on to Silverfell. Lord Dolan wanted to marry Jessamyn, which was undoubtedly why he had offered the use of his best ship for their voyage. The princess entertained his suit because of his influence with the merchants’ guild. Mica hoped Jessamyn wasn’t seriously considering the dough-faced lord as her consort. Dolan loved to hear himself talk, and he got far too handsy when he drank.

  Jessamyn had invited all the front-runners for her hand on this voyage: Lord Dolan, the cold, ambitious Lord Riven, and of course, Lord Caleb. Lord Fritz would also join their party for the first half of the tour, while Lady Lorna went ahead to Silverfell to prepare for the wedding.

  Fritz and Caleb were already waiting on the dock near the Silk Goddess when the ladies arrived. Both men wore white linen shirts with crisp sleeves that billowed in the sea breeze. Caleb had on a waistcoat the same deep blue as his eyes, and a fine sword was slung low on his hip. With the wind in his hair and the sunlight bringing out the angles in his face, he looked positively gallant.

  He strode toward the ladies as they dismounted from their horses.

  “Good morning, Jessa. You look stunning, as usual.” He leaned in to plant a swift kiss on Mica’s cheek. She wasn’t expecting it, and the sudden touch left her blushing.

  “S-so do you.”

  “Thanks.” He gave her an odd look, and she feared he’d heard the slight hitch in her tone.

  Why does he have to be a lord? Why couldn’t he be a simple soldier, like my brothers?

  A foot trod hard on her toe.

  “I beg your pardon, Princess,” Jessamyn said. She flashed a warning look over her veil, and Mica shook herself. She couldn’t go swooning after Caleb now. He and Jessamyn had always been casually affectionate toward each other, and the real princess would never act starry eyed over a peck on
the cheek. She needed to get her head straight.

  But why does he look so good?

  She rounded on Caleb’s companion.

  “Lord Fritz, you look positively dashing! I hope you aren’t too nervous about your wedding.”

  “No, Princess. I can’t wait to marry Lorna.” Fritz bowed over her hand, his blond hair swooping over his scar. His jeweled dagger was tucked in his belt. He hadn’t been without it since the Obsidian ambush. “Thank you for inviting me to accompany you on the Goddess. She’s a beauty.”

  “This will be a delightful last hurrah before your marriage,” Mica said. “And we will have a divine time on Pegasus as well. Speaking of which, have you seen Lady Wendel and Lord Riven? It’s high time we set sail.”

  “Lord Riven hasn’t arrived yet,” Fritz said. “Lady Wendel is speaking with the captain of the HIMS Arrow.”

  “I’d better make sure she’s all right.”

  Mica pranced across the dock, with Jessamyn, Banner, and Rider shadowing her, to where a massive war galleon floated at the opposite mooring. His Imperial Majesty’s Ship Arrow would serve as their military escort. It was manned by an elite force of Talent soldiers, who would be called upon to contain the agitators for secession if Jessamyn’s diplomatic efforts failed. Mica touched the note from Peet in her belt, wondering if it contained information that could help.

  At the gangway leading to the HIMS Arrow, Lady Wendel stood toe to toe with a uniformed soldier, standing every bit as tall as he did. The noblewoman had thick black hair, which she had tied into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and her straightforward mannerisms came off as brash despite her nerves.

  “How can you be certain none of your men have been replaced by Obsidian Impersonators?” Wendel demanded.

  “My lady, the army carries out regular identity checks on our forces.” The muscular soldier had brown hair cropped close to his scalp, and he wore a slightly bemused expression on his sunburnt face. “I have a system of code words to make sure the men on my ship are who they appear to be.”