by Jordan Rivet
Mica looked around, wondering if these super soldiers would remain impervious if they blew the ship to smithereens. She had an awful feeling that even that wouldn’t stop them.
Then the Fifth Talent impersonating Captain Pol spotted them. He started their way, cutting down anyone who challenged him.
“No time,” Mica said. “Are you okay to swim, Princess?”
“Don’t insult me, Micathea.”
“All right, then. Jump!”
Mica grabbed Jessamyn by the tunic and with Banner’s help tossed her overboard. Her indignant scream was lost in the chaos. Banner leapt after her into the waves.
Mica and her brother exchanged glances, preparing to leap over the edge together.
“On three?” Mica said.
“One,” Emir said.
Then an arrow thudded into his side.
“No!”
“Jump, Mica!” Emir said, turning toward the man who had shot him, his hand going to his side. The bowman stood at the helm, looking like one of Lord Aren’s men. Another Fifth Talent Impersonator?
The man was taking aim again. Mica drew back her arm to throw her knife at him. Before she could release the blade, Emir lurched toward her.
“Don’t—” she gasped.
But he seized her by the waist, lifted her up, and tossed her over the side—just as the bowman unleashed his second arrow. Mica fell, losing sight of her brother and the arrow flying straight at his exposed back.
The world blurred.
And Mica hit the water so hard she felt as if she had run into a wall. Saltwater stung her nose, filled her mouth, and burned her eyes. She gasped and choked, the sea threatening to pull her into its cold embrace. She tried to claw her way to the surface, unsure which direction it was, her skirt tugging her downward.
Emir.
Her head broke the shell of the water.
Mica flailed, looking for any sign of her brother through salt-flooded eyes. Banner and Jessamyn treaded water nearby, struggling less than Mica as they helped each other stay afloat. Why weren’t they searching? Emir had to have jumped too. She couldn’t lose him like this. With an arrow in his side, in his back, he would need help. Where was he?
Other sailors had followed their lead in abandoning the Silk Goddess to the three Talents. She scrutinized the heads bobbing in the waves, some with blood pooling out from their injuries. None had that familiar dark hair, those intelligent hazel eyes.
“Emir!” Mica screamed. She was vaguely aware that she had resumed her own face, or maybe it was her mother’s. But there was nothing she could do. Her brother was still on the ship.
“Look out!” called a voice she didn’t know, half choked by seawater.
The great oars had begun to move. The Muscles in the belly of the Silk Goddess were rowing, perhaps forced by the Fifth Talents. They could do little to resist the invincible fighters.
Mica swam away from the ship to avoid the oars, her self-preservation instincts taking over. With her eyes full of seawater and tears, she could barely see where she was going. Others were swimming around her, fleeing the huge, churning oars. Then Mica caught sight of a blaze of red. Jessamyn’s shorn hair. She followed it like a beacon.
The princess and Banner led the retreat as they swam deeper into the harbor, avoiding the tangle of the other ships. The battle seemed to be winding down, but they were still a long way from the docks.
The ship the Arrow had rammed was sinking. Fires blazed from its mast and upper decks as it listed sharply to the side. Another ship, likely one of the attackers, was speeding out to sea, paying little heed to the survivors struggling in the water.
Mica couldn’t tell what was happening in the city itself, and she didn’t much care. The Silk Goddess was sailing away too—and her brother was still aboard. She didn’t know whether or not he lived. He could be lying bleeding on the deck. Or he could be fighting still, refusing to surrender.
No, Emir is smart, she told herself. He has more sense than the rest of us combined. He won’t keep fighting when there’s no hope.
For Mica saw it clearer than ever before. As long as there were Fifth Talents in the world, there was no hope for the rest of them.
Chapter Sixteen
Mica struggled to keep up with Jessamyn and Banner. Either the princess was a much stronger swimmer than she had demonstrated in the river, or the adrenaline of the battle was taking over. Mica couldn’t move as fast as Jessamyn could, couldn’t summon the energy to battle the waves when she was leaving her brother behind.
He can’t be dead.
If she hadn’t paused to try to throw her knife, if she had listened to him and jumped right away . . .
He can’t be dead.
It was becoming harder to hold her head above water. Mica felt as if her clothes had turned to lead and her lungs to glass. It was very cold. She couldn’t keep going, couldn’t swim any farther.
So cold.
Jessamyn turned then and saw that Mica had fallen behind. The princess pulled out of Banner’s grasp—he was probably doing more harm than good by trying to hold her close—and swam back to join Mica.
“You haven’t given up yet,” Jessamyn said, “and I won’t let you do it now.”
Mica’s every breath hurt. “My brother.”
“Swim,” Jessamyn snapped. “That’s an order. We’ll figure the rest out later.”
“I can’t.”
A swell rose beneath them, knocking them into each other.
“Did I ask if you could?” Jessamyn said, spluttering as seawater filled her mouth. “Really, Micathea, it would be terribly selfish of you to drown now.”
Mica glared at her, and a familiar anger bubbled up inside. With the anger came a burst of energy.
“We don’t have all striking day.” Jessamyn grabbed Mica’s arm and squeezed hard, her nails digging deep enough to draw blood. “Now, move!”
Mica moved, forcing her limbs to churn, to carry her onward.
He has to be all right.
She swam.
He’s injured. That’s all.
The waves tried to push her off course, making every stroke a challenge, but she followed the princess through the water. It was the hardest thing she had ever done.
They’ll take him prisoner.
She clung to that hope as if it were a life raft. Those Talents wouldn’t kill injured prisoners, not when they were no danger to them. They had taken the ship far too easily to worry about one injured Blur.
Injured, not dead. He has to be.
The fight on the Silk Goddess came back to her in flashes as she swam. The three men swarming up the side of the ship. Captain Pol falling. Blood spattering the deck. Men screaming. The arrow flying at her brother’s back.
“Help!”
Mica’s reverie was interrupted by a shrill voice.
“We’re over here!” Jessamyn was shouting and waving her hands above her head. “Help us!”
Banner echoed her, his usually melodious voice ragged as he too called for help.
Mica looked around, trying to get her bearings. They were still a long way from the docks. The only ships near them were in as much distress as they were. Jessamyn and Banner were trying to get the attention of a smaller boat cutting through the water ahead of them. It bobbed in and out of view as the waves rose and fell, revealing a dozen men manning the oars and one standing tall in the prow.
“Over here, you big dumb oaf!” Jessamyn screamed.
The boat made a wide turn, bringing it nearer to where they floundered, half-hidden in the swells. Mica recognized the man standing in the prow. He was searching the carnage-strewn waters where the Silk Goddess had been, the wind blowing his hair back from his square face.
Caleb.
His eyes were bright in the morning sun, energy in every line of his body.
Caleb is alive.
Mica felt herself drowning in relief as surely as she’d been drowning in the sea. It was an overwhelming sensation, at once painf
ul and ecstatic. She was too relieved to join the cries for help.
Caleb is coming for us.
He spotted their waving arms and leapt into action, shouting orders to his men to turn toward the three bedraggled survivors. Mica had just enough presence of mind left to resume Sapphire’s face, knowing it wasn’t safe to look like the princess yet.
The boat pulled in close to the trio struggling in the swells. Caleb hauled Jessamyn aboard first, giving her his coat so she could hide her scars. Stievson helped Banner scramble into the boat beside her.
Caleb reached into the sea to rescue Mica last and lifted her onto the boat with what was clearly a burst of Muscle strength.
“Caleb,” she gasped, remembering her current face. “It’s me, Mic—”
Before she could get out the rest of the sentence, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Thoroughly.
Their last kiss had been gentle. But this one. This one was borne of desperation and relief and pent-up passion. Mica’s heart was a riot of emotions she couldn’t begin to name as Caleb lifted her right off her feet. Her arms locked around his neck, and she clung to him, a life raft, an anchor. As he kissed her more deeply still, her face contorted, possibly into her own face, possibly into a puddle of disparate features, and she didn’t care one bit.
“I thought I lost you again,” he said against her mouth—and then resumed the kiss before she could respond. She wasn’t capable of a coherent response right now anyway.
“Ahem.”
Mica recognized that little cough, but even that didn’t matter to her now. Let Jessamyn wait on her for once. She was busy being good and kissed.
But they were still on a small boat in the smoky aftermath of a battle, so they had to release each other eventually. Caleb set Mica back on her feet and cupped her face—her real face—in his palms. They didn’t say anything. Just stared into each other’s eyes for a brief, burning moment.
“Are you quite finished?” Jessamyn said.
Mica turned and found she couldn’t read the princess’s expression at all. Was that anger? Jealousy? Glee? She didn’t even bother trying to figure it out.
Caleb’s men looked pleased, if a little confused, that their lord had plucked a random woman they had never seen before from the sea and they were already getting along so well.
“The fighting looks to be over, my lord,” Stievson said. “What are your orders?”
“We’d better find the Lord of Silverfell and find out how bad the damage is,” Caleb said.
“Shouldn’t we keep searching for the princess?”
“Huh?” Caleb stared at Stievson, his reaction times slower than usual. Mica felt some of the same haze.
“I saw the princess being taken aboard another rescue boat,” Banner said, covering for all of them. “She is probably waiting for us on the docks.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Caleb said. “Let us check for any more survivors and then return to the city.”
They sat as the boat began a wide loop around the harbor to scour the water for others who had been forced to abandon ship. While the boat rode atop the swells, Caleb and Mica sat together on a hard bench, bodies pressed close, as if they could no longer stand to have a breath of air between them.
Jessamyn took the seat opposite them. “How long has this been going on?” she demanded.
And for once Mica had no desire to please her. She had given up so much of herself for Jessamyn. But this moment, in the midst of carnage and death and loss . . . this moment was hers.
“Well?”
Mica slipped her hand into Caleb’s, their fingers entwining like tree roots, and ignored the princess entirely.
Chapter Seventeen
The smoke hanging over the water looked wan in the morning sunlight. It was hard to believe that it wasn’t yet noon. Everything had happened so fast since Mica and Jessamyn left their cabin that morning.
They had pulled a few more people from the water, sailors who’d been at work on a civilian trading ship when the attack began. As they reached the dock, where more survivors of the harbor battle were milling about, they began to piece together what had happened from snippets of overheard conversations.
“They came out of nowhere, just before dawn.”
“They had three ships at least. Maybe more.”
“Aye. Never thought they’d hit the striking harbor.”
“We held our own aboard the Keith.”
“The old Silver’s Revenge didn’t fare so well.”
“’Twas those fighters.”
“Aye, something wasn’t right about them.”
The sailors murmured anxiously to each other, something about freakishly strong and fast enemies. A few city residents had come out on the docks too now that the fighting was over, looking pale and frightened. They stared, bewildered, at what was supposed to be one of the calmest and most picturesque port cities in the empire. It was still burning in places.
Mica resumed Jessamyn’s face in the confusion as they came ashore. The impersonation was harder this time, as if she wanted to cling to her own self in the wake of what had just happened. She kept hearing a tinny ringing in her ears that had nothing to do with the noise of the battle. Emir had stood no chance against the Fifth Talents—and she didn’t think the rest of them did either.
But she was prepared to take control once more. These people needed a leader, and while Mica was the princess, that had to be her.
Captain Karson hurried over to join them, relieved to see that the princess had survived. He kept his report quick and professional. The Arrow had managed to sink one enemy ship and severely damage another, but they had taken heavy losses.
“We were boarded by another Talent like the prisoner we took back in the Channel,” he said. “One woman with all four Talent abilities.”
“We saw some like her too,” Mica said.
“More than one?”
“Three men. All with four Talents.”
Captain Karson swore then immediately apologized. “No wonder the Silk Goddess is lost.” He scanned the bedraggled group unloading from Caleb’s boat. Caleb and Fritz were helping a wounded man climb onto the dock from the gently bobbing vessel. “Soldier Grayson?”
“He fell,” Mica said, “saving my life. He . . . he may be injured, but I don’t know for sure.”
Captain Karson’s mouth tightened. “He would be honored to die for you, Princess.”
Mica swallowed, unable to meet his eyes.
“Where is Lord Aren?” Jessamyn said suddenly, her face still half hidden by Caleb’s coat.
“I saw him organizing care for the injured, Miss Irondier,” Captain Karson said. “He lives.”
Jessamyn gave a brisk nod and pulled her collar up higher so Mica couldn’t see her expression. But her posture showed the kind of desperate relief Mica had felt when she saw Caleb.
Around them, the docks shuddered with the cries of the injured and bereaved. Mica catalogued their features: bloodless lips, reddened eyes, bruised and broken skin. The aftermath of war was ugly. Mica hated to think what would have happened if the Arrow hadn’t arrived. But what did the attackers want? She had thought they must be rebels from the Twins, like the man she met back in Carrow, but would Lord Ober truly have given them the ability to create invincible Talents? That seemed generous even for their supposed benefactor.
Something didn’t add up. Could Ober himself have decided to deploy his perfected creations? If so, why?
Speculating was useless. She needed information so she could figure out how to meet this new threat.
News of their arrival had gone on ahead of them, and a carriage soon appeared to whisk the nobles to safety. Lord Aren was busy with a few of his men who’d been injured, and he waved for them to go ahead without him. Jessamyn looked him over once from across the dock, but she made no move to throw her arms around him or insist he accompany them. The princess had been quieter than usual since they were rescued from the water, and Mica wondered if she wa
s still trying to decide how to react to the passionate moment she’d witnessed between her imposter and her friend and potential consort.
But when Mica paused to ask if she was okay, Jessamyn raised an eyebrow as if to say, “What are you waiting for, Micathea? I don’t have all day.”
They climbed into the carriage, salt water still dripping from their clothes, and settled onto cushions embroidered with silver roses. Banner joined Jessamyn, Mica, and Caleb inside, and Fritz rode in front with the carriage driver. He bounced up and down in his anxiety to see his bride, perhaps not quite believing that all the fighting had happened in and around the harbor. He had to see Lorna’s face for himself.
As the carriage set off and they relaxed a bit, the cold hit Mica with a vengeance. She shivered violently, and even Caleb’s hand in hers wasn’t enough to keep her warm. Jessamyn fared a little better. Her simple tunic hadn’t retained as much icy seawater as Mica’s thick satin gown. Both of them would have to tough it out, though. They had intelligence to gather before they could retire.
Mica distracted herself from the cold by admiring the magnificent sights passing by the carriage window. Silverfell City was almost as awe-inspiring as Jewel Harbor in its own way, even in the aftermath of a deadly assault.
Silverfell was the wealthiest island in the Windfast Empire, despite its small population, and its unique prosperity was all thanks to the silver mines. The citizens had poured their wealth into beautifying their city. Where Jewel Harbor was cramped and chaotic, Silverfell City was pristine, with planned avenues, cultivated plants, and marble buildings that were elegant rather than opulent. The people all looked remarkably clean, and the air smelled of apple blossoms and pine trees beneath the layer of smoke from the harbor.
“Have you been here before?” Mica whispered to Caleb through chattering teeth.
“Yes. It’s halfway to my home.”
“Have ‘I’ been here before?” She nodded at Jessamyn, who still wouldn’t speak to either of them.
“Several times.” Caleb smiled. “But it’s okay to gawk. There’s nowhere in the world like Silverfell City.”