by Jordan Rivet
“That’s kind of you, Lord Aren,” Mica said, “but that won’t be necessary.”
“You have extra room on your ship now, Princess. Besides . . .” Aren stepped forward to take her hand. “I couldn’t live with myself if you were harmed.”
Lord Riven and Lady Ingrid broke off their quiet conversation, watching with interest as the Pegasus lord addressed the princess. Riven raised a dark eyebrow, as if surprised that she was accepting Aren’s advances when she had pushed him aside.
“The Obsidians may be far away yet,” Aren said, “but too many dangers lurk out there. Allow me to protect you.”
Mica hesitated. “You’d have to travel on a ship.”
“Even that would be worth it to see you safely to Silverfell.”
Mica looked at Jessamyn for guidance. But instead of being ready with a quick signal for Mica, her gaze lingered on Aren and on the way he held Mica’s hand as if it were a precious jewel. Mica knew what to do.
“I accept your offer, Lord Aren.” He hadn’t been with them when Peet warned her about the imposter—and Mica had a feeling Jessamyn was going to need him in the days to come. “We depart for Silverfell at first light.”
Jessamyn looked up sharply, as if realizing Mica had made that decision without her. But she didn’t object as Lord Aren began issuing orders to his retainers to prepare for departure.
Lord Dolan attempted to talk her into letting him stay on the ship, but she refused to hear his pleas as they returned to Lord Gordon’s manor to gather their belongings. She planned to dump most of the luxurious foods and trappings and load up with as many fighting men as Aren could muster. She was a soldier’s daughter at heart, and she’d had enough of subtlety. She was marching to war.
Mica touched the parchment with the emperor’s brief note commanding her to return to Jewel Harbor. He might have thought he could send his daughter into danger, but he’d had second thoughts in the face of all-out war. Mica hoped she and Jessamyn weren’t making the wrong choice by ignoring his orders.
They had to finish their missions—both of them. If the Fifth Talent potion had been perfected, Mica feared the hour had already passed when the threats could be contained.
Chapter Fourteen
They departed for Silverfell with a hold full of weapons instead of silks, their noble guests and servants replaced by additional fighting men from Pegasus. The HIMS Arrow set a double watch, and soldiers patrolled the decks of the Silk Goddess day and night. In addition to the rebel raiders, now they had to watch for stealthy advances from the Obsidian invaders. Tension quivered through the ship, from the broad wooden hull all the way to the tip of the tallest mast.
Unsettling squalls punctuated their journey, making many of Aren’s retainers horribly seasick. Captain Pol grumbled about bad omens as the Pegasus men hurled the contents of their stomachs overboard.
“They will fight if they have to,” said Lord Aren, who looked a little green himself as they sailed out of sight of land. “We will keep the princess safe.”
“This isn’t a warship, nor a healer’s house neither,” Captain Pol muttered, not noticing that Mica was listening in. “I’d better be rewarded for this.”
“We have to restore peace in the empire,” Aren said. “The princess will—”
He clapped a hand over his mouth and darted for the railing. Aren already looked thinner and less robust at sea than he did on land, but Mica believed him when he said his men would fight if the occasion arose, seasickness or no seasickness.
Silverfell was a relatively short distance from Pegasus, but the voyage felt longer than their trip across the Heart Sea. Mica and Jessamyn spent most of their time confined in their cabin. Banner insisted upon it, claiming it would be all too easy for an enemy to sail out of the mist and murder or kidnap the princess.
“Captain Karson told me about the multi-Talented prisoner,” Banner said as he positioned himself in front of the cabin door, preventing Jessamyn from going out. He had lost some of his implacability since learning of the existence of what they’d all begun to refer to as the Fifth Talents. “Such an enemy could scale the side of the boat with Blur speed and immediately impersonate someone we know—even me. And then it would be all too easy for him to carry you away with his Muscle strength.”
“You forgot the Shield part.”
His mustache quivered irritably. “This isn’t a joke, my lady.”
“I know it’s not, Banner,” Jessamyn said. “We have set a double watch, and our Talent soldiers are not helpless. Honestly, what else can we do?”
“We can turn around and sail right back to Jewel Harbor, as your father ordered.”
Jessamyn put her hands on her hips, staring fiercely up at her guard. “My father is busy with the Obsidians. We must restore order in the West before the war in the east escalates. This is why we sailed out here in the first place.”
“The situation has changed.”
“He’s right,” Mica put in. She sat on the floor, playing with the leather sheath of one of her knives, deciding whether to wear it on her ankle or hide it farther up her thigh today. The other one was already secured beneath her sleeve. “Maybe you should tell everyone about your pois—”
Jessamyn whirled around. “If you finish that sentence, I swear I will have you beheaded, Micathea!”
Mica wisely kept her mouth shut, and the princess returned to her bed to sulk. She crumpled and tugged at her veil, nearly ripping it to shreds, and didn’t speak to Mica and Banner for the rest of the day.
Mica and Jessamyn soon tired of each other’s company in the cramped quarters, which had begun to smell thanks to the seasick men who now crowded into the nearby cabins in place of the perfumed ladies. Mica occasionally slipped into a different face to get some air on deck, but Jessamyn didn’t have that option with Banner keeping such a close watch on her. She grew increasingly moody, snapping at Mica worse than ever and criticizing every nuance in her impersonation, even though she had precious few opportunities to mess it up.
Mica had always thought Jessamyn was a step ahead of everyone else, but she seemed to be floundering a bit as news of the war reached them. She feared for her father’s safety, and she began second-guessing the decisions she’d made since leaving the capital. Mica renewed her efforts to get Jessamyn to reveal her new face now that they had left the imposter behind, but the princess was even less willing to entertain her arguments than before. She still insisted that she would do it when the time was right.
As they sailed west through the Northern Channel, they received regular reports about the war from Blur messengers, who powered their little skips back and forth across the tumultuous seas. They learned that Ironhall had fallen in a matter of hours when the surprise attack hit. The Obsidians had come in force from the Stone Coast, and their dread hordes overwhelmed the base through sheer numbers. The surviving Windfast soldiers had retreated to the rocky Talon mountains, where they had already begun to wage guerrilla warfare on the invaders. Despite their efforts, the Obsidians had gained a toehold in the empire. It wasn’t yet clear whether they’d set their sights on Amber or Pegasus Island next.
“I still don’t understand why Ironhall had no warning,” Mica said to Emir after listening to a report one evening. She had impersonated Banner—a shorter, slimmer version of him—in order to leave her cabin, and now she lingered on the foredeck with her brother. The darkened skies made the gilded figurehead look like iron, and a cold wind was blowing.
Mica looked to the east. “Our Mimic agents in Obsidian are supposed to help prevent surprise attacks.”
“The spy network may have been compromised,” Emir said. “I haven’t heard from Master Kiev in some time.”
“He can’t have been caught.” Mica gripped the railing as the rough seas rolled beneath their hull. The skip that had delivered the latest report was nearly out of sight, a trail of white foam disappearing into the waves behind it. “Master Kiev is a legend.”
“But if someone was caught, they could
be sending false reports.”
Mica didn’t want to believe that. The Masters Council sent their very best spies into Obsidian territory. The emperor had mentioned increased troop movements, but they hadn’t said anything about a full-scale invasion. And yet Ironhall had fallen.
Mica lowered her voice so she could barely be heard above that cold sea wind. “Do you think they’ll hit Stonefoss next? If they haven’t already?”
Emir grimaced. “It’s what I would do.”
They looked out at the churning waves together. Mica imagined their parents preparing to defend the base, and their brothers, who might already be fighting on the front lines. If Ironhall had fallen so quickly, would they stand a chance, even with their higher proportion of Talents?
She could do nothing to help them regardless. Mica had been the princess for months. She had ridden at the emperor’s side and given orders in his name. Yet she still felt powerless against the tide of war.
* * *
The Silk Goddess and the HIMS Arrow sailed onward through the steely waters of the Northern Channel. They were always on the alert, but the days still dragged, even for those not confined to their cabins.
The noblemen passed the time by continuing to train with the sword, their drills noticeably more purposeful with real threats on the horizon. Fritz, Aren, and Emir sometimes joined Caleb and Stievson at their exercises, though Fritz was often too nervous to keep at it for long. He could think only of Lorna and their upcoming wedding, which would be much subdued now that the empire was at war.
Caleb had verified Fritz’s identity before they departed Pegasus.
“I quizzed him on some our youthful adventures,” he explained when Mica called him away from his exercises one afternoon to discuss it in the shadow of one of the longboats. She wore Jessamyn’s face, the real princess safely confined to her cabin under Banner’s watch. “I know him better than any of the others. He’s definitely the real Fritz.”
“Good.” Mica had also ordered Captain Karson test each of his men after they departed Carrow in case another Mimic had snuck in among them. She should be relieved they had left their imposter behind, but she didn’t like letting the mystery go unsolved. “Who do you think Ober’s imposter was?”
“My coin is on Wendel,” Caleb said. “She tried to convince me to stay in Carrow. My uncle could have been trying to get to me all along.”
“Or Wendel just likes you,” Mica said. “She acted so naturally with her family, I was sure it must be genuine. I had narrowed it down to Elana or Dolan. They’re the ones who objected to being left behind.”
Caleb brushed a hand through his hair, considering the puzzle.
“What about Riven? I saw him going into Lady Wendel’s room the night before we left Lord Gordon’s, after I finished questioning Fritz.”
“Wendel’s room? Really?”
Caleb nodded. “That’s not like him, I know.”
“Ingrid was distraught over Ironhall,” Mica said slowly. “I’d have expected Riven to be comforting her that night.”
“Riven isn’t the comforting type.”
“Yes, but I thought he and Ingrid were finally forming a connection.” Mica made her bottom lip grow and shrink absentmindedly. She had definitely seen Riven watching Ingrid, the woman who had made no secret of her interest in him. What had possessed him to go to Lady Wendel’s room instead? “Do you think they were getting together?”
“I don’t know. It’s just as well we left them all in Carrow.” Caleb looked over at the main deck, where Aren was talking swords with Stievson. “I wish we’d left that one behind too.”
“Aren? Why?”
“I don’t like him.”
Mica searched Caleb’s face for some hint of what he was thinking. “Does your dislike have anything to do with how much Aren likes Jessamyn?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. He’s smitten.”
Caleb frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d noticed, but . . . you think it’s Jessamyn he favors?”
“Who do you think he’s had his eye on?”
“Well, you, of course! You’re the one he has been paying so much attention to.”
“As Jessamyn.”
“Yes, but . . . I don’t know.” Caleb looked around to make sure no one was watching them too closely and seized her hand. “It’s complicated, Mica. Your impersonation is good, but Jessamyn is different when you’re Jessamyn. I mean . . . let me back up. Before I found out the truth, I was starting to wonder if my feelings for Jessamyn might be . . . that is . . . it’s possible that what he sees in Jessamyn now is what I see in you.”
Mica blushed, feeling almost as flustered as Caleb sounded.
“Was that a complicated way of saying you think he likes me for my mind?”
“For your mind, your spirit, for the way you throw yourself into things like you’re about to draw a knife or tackle somebody three times your size.” His grip on her hand tightened. “How could he help himself?”
Mica locked eyes with him, suddenly wishing everyone on deck would find reasons to be elsewhere. She almost used her princess authority to send them away.
“I never thought about it like that,” she said. “I thought he and Jessamyn had a connection. They have history at least.”
“Maybe they do,” Caleb said. “Let’s hope so, or I might have to fight him for you.”
“Oh?”
He grinned, still holding her hand. “Yes. And I’m impervious sometimes, so odds are I’d win.”
“I thought you didn’t like to rely on that.”
“I’d risk it.” Caleb inched closer to her, his voice becoming husky. “For you, Mica.”
The sea air was biting, but his hands were like glowing embers holding hers. Mica could feel the remaining distance between like a physical thing. She had kept him at arm’s length for a long time, but now he knew her and cared for her because of who she was. How could she stay away?
She balanced on the balls of her feet, on the verge of launching herself forward.
“Cal—”
“Lord Caleb.”
Mica froze as someone spoke very close to them. She and Caleb stared at each other for a breathless instant then released each other’s hands.
Emir was standing beside them, his expression unreadable.
“What?” Caleb said, his voice gruffer than usual.
Emir narrowed his eyes. “Are you joining the sparring session, my lord?”
“Right. Of course.” He bowed, his eyes raking over Mica’s face one last time. “Princess.”
Emir didn’t move as the young lord brushed past him, heading aft to where the others waited with a barrel full of practice weapons.
“Mica,” Emir said.
“What?”
Emir raised an eyebrow, and Mica realized her voice had sounded fiercer than she intended.
“Care to fill me in on this part of the impersonation? I thought you were trying to set the princess up with Lord Aren.”
“I am.” Mica brushed at her skirt, not quite meeting her brother’s eye.
“Well, he saw you and Lord Caleb holding hands. If you were trying to make him jealous, it worked.”
“Yes, of course that’s what we were doing,” Mica said, going for some of Jessamyn’s breeziness. “Excuse me. I must return to my lady.”
Emir grabbed her arm before she could escape, his body hiding the action from view.
“Mica,” he said, his voice softer this time. “I don’t want you to get hurt. These lords are all the same. They use and discard young women. Even if he means well, he—”
“You don’t know anything about him,” Mica said.
“I’m trying to watch out for you,” Emir said. “You may look like the princess, but I’m still your big brother.”
Mica scowled at him. “I didn’t object when you were making eyes at Lady Wendel!”
“Did you see me holding hands with her in front of everyone? I d
idn’t say you can’t admire Lord Caleb from afar. He seems like a decent fellow. But that doesn’t make him any less a lord.”
Anger boiled up in Mica’s stomach. She wanted to argue with him, to tell him he didn’t know anything. But after all the time she had spent playing the lady, she couldn’t ignore what Emir had said about Caleb’s noble status. She wasn’t sure where he thought this thing between them was going, but lords who dallied with commoner women didn’t tend to stay with them. Emir was right on that count.
Not that Mica would tell him that. She plucked her brother’s hand off her sleeve.
“We are at war,” she said, mustering as much imperial dignity as she could. “I have bigger things to worry about than who wants to hold my hand—and so do you.”
Emir sighed. “Of course we do. Just be careful.”
“I will.” Mica paused. “And thank you.”
He gave her an exaggerated salute. “I live to serve, Princess.”
Mica stuck her tongue out at him, then she waltzed back across the deck. She made a point of winking at Lord Aren as she passed him. He stared back at her, not even noticing when Caleb whacked him hard with a practice sword.
* * *
Whether Lord Aren was jealous of Caleb or not, his affections for Jessamyn remained as evident as ever. They didn’t have many opportunities to speak. Aren had to tend to his men—and his seasickness—and Mica wanted to avoid any more intimate moments. But when she made her rare appearances on deck in Jessamyn’s form, Aren would pause whatever he was doing to watch her pass or dip into the elegant bow he had demonstrated back in Carrow.
Mica always responded warmly, but she couldn’t bring herself to resume the conversation that had been interrupted beneath the waterfall, especially after what Caleb had said. She figured Jessamyn could continue their courtship when she was herself again.
Then, late at night the evening before they arrived in Silverfell, Lord Aren knocked on the princess’s cabin door.
The Silk Goddess had made unusually good time with the threat of war and rebel pirates at their backs, and they expected to sail into Silverfell City’s harbor shortly after sunrise. The stormy weather had calmed at last, and the wind was no more than a muted roar outside.