by Jordan Rivet
“Stievson was the one who gave me this.” Caleb touched his side, where Mica knew a puckered scar marred his occasionally impervious skin. “I got frustrated when I thought he was going easy on me. I challenged him and learned the hard way that not only was he a better swordsman, he wasn’t afraid to cut me up to teach me a lesson.”
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen and stupid.” Caleb grinned. “Jessa teased me for a year and sent me a new flower arrangement every day because she thought my room was too ugly.”
“She does love pretty things, doesn’t she?” Mica said drowsily. She was so tired she could barely keep her head up, but she didn’t want to retire to her own blankets yet. She and Caleb had precious little time to be alone.
When the flames began to die down, Caleb rose to put more wood on the campfire.
“I’ve been thinking about something,” he said as he tossed a large branch onto the fire, sending sparks up to the stars. “I understand Emperor Styl wants Jessa to get married to help strengthen ties across the empire.”
“She told you that?”
“She did. And it occurred to me that if she insists on keeping up this imposter charade permanently, that, well, maybe a link with the Pebble Islands could help.”
Mica raised an eyebrow. “Is that a proposal, my lord?”
“I guess I’m proposing a proposal.”
“Romantic.”
Caleb laughed, and Mica was surprised at the joy that flooded through her at the sound. It had been too long since she last heard that rich, full-bodied laugh.
“The idea has crossed my mind too,” Mica said. “Did you know you’re the emperor’s first choice for Jessamyn’s consort?”
“Me?”
Mica grinned at the guileless surprise on his square face.
“You’re nicer than her other suitors, and he said a link with the farthest islands in the empire would have symbolic significance.”
“Huh. Guess I’m cleverer than I thought.”
Caleb sat down beside her again, regarding her with that open curiosity that had appealed to her so much the day they met on the cliff top—and every day since, really. He took her hand.
“Couldn’t something good come of all this for you and me?”
Mica’s pulse quickened at his gruff, heartfelt tone.
And for the second time, she imagined what would happen if she took Jessamyn’s place for good. A wedding in the Pebble Islands. A silver crown on her head. A blue-eyed lord on her arm.
She pushed away the image.
“I don’t think Jessa plans to use an imposter forever.” She didn’t bother mentioning Lord Aren. She understood that Caleb was not talking about marrying the real Jessamyn. “In fact, I hope she doesn’t.”
“Oh?”
She met his gaze, surprised at the nerves that stirred in her belly. “If you want me,” she said softly, “it’ll have to be as myself.”
“I want you,” Caleb said. No hesitation, no hidden agenda. As straightforward as ever. “But if you stay the princess, it’ll save us the fit my parents will throw when I tell them I’m in love with a commoner.”
Mica felt as if her heart had struck up a waltz in her chest. She wanted Caleb to be hers more than she had ever wanted anything. He was within reach now, even though none of the barriers between them had actually fallen.
Mica forced her own features onto her face and crawled toward Caleb across the bed of pine needles.
She paused, hovering with her face an inch from his, savoring the way he drank in her true features, the way his breath quickened against her mouth. She got closer, closer.
“Mic—” She pressed her lips to his.
The fire crackled beside them, a sputtering flame that was no match for the heat that flared in Mica’s body as Caleb’s mouth moved in time with hers. After a few breathless, heated moments, they drew apart to look into each other’s eyes, their heartbeats whispering into the flickering darkness. Despite the strangeness of their circumstances and the near certainty that this could never work between them, Mica wasn’t sure she’d ever been happier.
“My brothers will never let me hear the end of it when I tell them I’m in love with a fancy lord.”
Caleb grinned, and somehow his smile made her happier still. Then he buried his hands in her nut-brown hair and pulled her in again.
Chapter Twenty
When they awoke the next morning, Caleb was too exhausted to stand. Mica had drifted off to sleep with her face pressed into his chest, his cheek resting on her head. Caleb had carried her to her bedroll and covered her face with a blanket so she would have time to resume Jessamyn’s appearance before anyone saw her in the morning.
Now she knelt beside him as he fought to keep his eyes open.
“Did you use your Muscle strength last night?” she asked him quietly.
“Shield,” he said. “Holding . . . Mica.” Then his eyes fell shut, and he slumped back onto his bedroll.
Mica went still as she realized what he meant. As Caleb held her close in the warmth of the dying fire, his skin had become impervious, as if he was determined to shield her from all the danger and uncertainty they faced in the world.
It was very sweet, but it meant he would be vulnerable as they neared the barren fortress.
“You’ll have to tie him to his horse,” Mica said to Fritz and Ed, making her tone brusque.
“What’s wrong with him?” Ed said.
Mica hesitated. Would the truth help him understand the cost of his precious new Talents? She couldn’t count on it.
“He needs sleep,” she said. “Well? We don’t have all day.”
Mica checked on Caleb often as they rode deeper into the mountainous western region. He always looked younger when he slept, and she couldn’t help brushing his tousled hair back from his face and making sure his cloak was wrapped tight to keep him warm.
Fritz noticed what she doing, but when he started to comment, she frightened him into silence with one of Jessamyn’s best death stares.
Caleb slept for most of the second day’s journey, his condition slowing their progress. They had to stop often to retie the bonds keeping him in his saddle, and they couldn’t ride as quickly as they had the day before. Ed grumbled that they would arrive at Birdfell later than planned, but he knew better than to suggest they leave Caleb behind.
They climbed higher and higher through remote passes and across long stretches of untouched wilderness, the cold harrying them like a beast at their heels. The mists cleared as they climbed, and the sun was a high, cold crystal above their heads.
When late-afternoon shadows again stretched across their path, they reached a crossroads marked by a faded sign. The letters looked as though they’d once been silver, but the precious metal had been dug out long ago, leaving behind deep grooves in the wood.
“Birdfell is over the next ridge,” Ed said. “We’ll be there by noon tomorrow.”
“Wait.” Mica was looking at the sign for the other fork in the path, where she’d spotted a familiar name. “Do you know anything about a place called Dustwood?”
Ed shook his head. “Can’t say that I do.”
“My friend told me about a sailor from there.” Mica thought back to when she and Peet had chatted over bread and Redbridge cheese about the man on the docks with multiple abilities—and the cousin who kept him on.
He’s from a village called Dustwood . . . spent ages telling me about their pear orchards.
“What of it?” Ed said.
“The sailor was a little strange,” Mica said. “Maybe even mad.”
“Lorna told me about Dustwood,” Fritz said suddenly. “It’s an old mining village.”
Mica blinked in surprise. She hadn’t expected any help from him. “What made her bring it up?”
“The people aren’t right there,” Fritz said. “There are some eccentric folks who come from Dustwood to work in Silverfell City. She hired a painter from there to redo her bedroom a few
times. He tells strange stories about the place.”
“This is all very interesting,” Ed said, “but shouldn’t we be moving along? We need to make camp before dark.”
Mica looked at Caleb, who was still fast asleep astride his horse. She had a hunch. It wasn’t much to go on, but she wanted to know for certain.
“Let’s stay in Dustwood tonight,” she said.
“Princess?”
“I’m sure they’ll have an inn, and it won’t take us far out of our way.”
“What if someone recognizes you?” said Fritz.
“Then we’ll tell them we’re risking our lives to help their Lady Lorna. And perhaps they can tell us what it’s like to live so close to Birdfell.”
Ed shrugged, his beard shifting from blond to dark brown. “If you insist, Princess.”
“I do.”
* * *
Dustwood was strange. There was no other way to put it. Comprised of perhaps thirty cabins set amongst mature pine trees, it had an eerie, unhealthy smell, like mold, camphor, and rust. Unsettling sounds came from some of the cabins, whimpers and laughter and the crunch of breaking furniture.
As they rode past the first houses, they glimpsed swift figures flitting among the trees. They were as fast as Blurs, but their movements lacked the purposeful speed Mica was used to from Blur messengers and fighters. These people seemed to be moving very fast for no reason whatsoever.
Mica began to doubt whether they’d really find an inn as they got farther into the village. Dustwood felt forgotten, a place few travelers would visit willingly. Even the houses looked dilapidated and cheap compared to the ones they’d seen closer to Silverfell City. Her nerves tingled, as if a spider were crawling up and down her spine.
“I don’t like this place, Princess,” Fritz said, riding up beside her. “Why are the people—?”
Suddenly, a thunderous crash sounded behind them. Mica whirled around, and Fritz reached for his jeweled dagger. A tree had fallen directly across the road. It rested at an angle, held up by cracked branches. A tiny figure darted away from the uprooted base, disappearing amongst the run-down cabins.
“Did you see that?” Fritz wheezed. His scar stood out against his bloodless face. “Did that child push that tree down?”
“Maybe it doesn’t know its own strength,” Mica said.
Fritz gaped at her. “Its own . . . We should definitely go.”
“Wait,” Mica said. “I think we have to see this.”
Something in Ed’s face had caught her attention. Despite being essentially invincible, the Fifth Talent looked deeply unsettled. His head kept whipping around unnaturally fast, following the progress of those strange, aimless Blurs.
“That one was changing!”
“What?” Mica approached him warily, leaving Fritz to watch over Caleb. Ed sounded a little frantic, and she couldn’t predict what he would do if he felt threatened.
“That Blur. Its face was shifting faster than any Mimic I’ve ever seen.”
“Like what you can do?”
“Yes, but—there it goes again!”
Mica couldn’t follow whatever Ed saw, but she remembered the shifting face of the mad Talent at the anniversary ball. He had tried to warn them. More people had suffered at Lord Ober’s hands than they had yet seen. And if her hunch was correct, they had found some of them.
“Excuse me.”
Mica jumped. A woman had appeared on the path ahead, startling them and their horses. Another Blur.
The woman waited patiently as they got their horses under control. Her features (wrinkles, freckles, and a bony nose) remained unchanged. She wore a thick woolen skirt and a green scarf looped around her thin neck.
“We don’t get many travelers up here.” Her voice was scratchy but pleasant. Mica guessed she was in her late forties or early fifties. “Why have you come to Dustwood?”
“We seek an inn for the night,” Mica said. “We’re on our way to a place called Birdfell.”
The reaction was brief but clear. The woman’s lips thinned, and the lines in her forehead became more pronounced. She knew the place.
“Why do you want to go there?”
“My friend’s lady love was kidnapped.” Mica gestured to Fritz, who looked almost as spooked as the horses by the woman’s abrupt appearance. “We want to rescue her.”
“She will be changed,” the woman said sadly. “No one comes back from Birdfell the same. If they come back.”
Mica felt that cliff-top sensation again, as if she were poised to leap into greater understanding.
“Have you been there?” she said, fighting to keep her voice calm. “Can you tell us more?”
The woman went still for a moment, giving them an appraising look. Then she plucked a knife from her sleeve.
Ed whipped the sword from his belt with lightning speed, but the woman didn’t flinch. She drew the knife, a plain, workmanlike blade, across her freckled arm, from hand to elbow. It didn’t leave a mark.
Shield.
Then the woman walked forward to Mica’s horse. Mica tensed, but the woman simply patted the horse on the neck, murmuring soothing sounds, and continued past it to the tree that had fallen behind them. She bent, her joints popping, and lifted the log as easily as if it were a bolt of cloth. She moved the tree off the path and dropped it to the ground out of the way, more branches snapping under its weight.
Muscle.
“I have been to Birdfell,” the woman said. “Long ago. But I think you know what that means.”
“You have three Talents,” Mica said. “Can you control them?”
“Aye,” the woman said. “But they cause me great pain. It is not as bad for me as for some. Come. The inn burned down last winter, but I can offer you shelter.”
She turned and walked off the path into the village, beckoning for them to follow.
The Blurs continued to dance around the edges of their vision as they followed the strange woman deeper into Dustwood. Other people came out to watch them pass as news spread of their arrival, including many who moved at regular speeds. The people of Dustwood gawked at the strangers from the safety of porches and the shelter of the trees, murmuring suspiciously to each other. Mica noticed several villagers missing limbs, a hand here or a leg there. She shuddered, remembering the Talents they had rescued from Ober’s warehouse back in Jewel Harbor.
“What is this place?” Ed demanded, still watching the shadowy figures with wide eyes.
“A place for leftovers,” the woman said. “For false starts and failures.”
Ed rubbed at his chin. His beard had become snowy white. “What does that mean?”
“He experimented on them,” Mica said bitterly. “Your precious benefactor. His potion didn’t always work so well. He had to try it out on people first.”
“You mean all these people—”
“Talents are gifts,” the woman said sharply. “They should have been left as given.”
She led them to a small cabin and paused on the threshold.
“There’s always a cost,” she said. Her gaze flitted to Ed for a moment, as if she knew exactly what he was—and exactly how many people had suffered to make him so.
Then she disappeared inside.
* * *
The woman’s name was Tallisa. She answered their questions willingly enough, but she wasn’t what Mica would call friendly. She had lived in the shadow of Birdfell for her entire life, and she confirmed what the mad Talent had hinted at back at the anniversary ball. Many had suffered in the name of Ober’s work, and they’d been left in this remote village, ignored by the empire for over a decade.
“My pains started eight years ago, after my own visit to Birdfell,” Tallisa told them over mugs of weak tea, boiled pears, and food shared from their saddlebags. They sat in front of her fireplace in pinewood chairs, listening to her scratchy voice as darkness fell outside. “Sometimes the Talents work perfectly. I used the Muscle strength to build this cabin with my own hands.”<
br />
“So you always have the Talent then?” Mica asked.
“Correct. My pain comes and goes. Others suffer from delusions or exhaustion.” Tallisa glanced at Caleb, who was slumped on the rug in front of the fire. He hadn’t even stirred when Ed carried him inside. “It took us too long to realize Birdfell was the source of these strange maladies. Some people were snatched from the mountain paths and returned with no memory of what had happened. Others went willingly to perform odd jobs at the tower.”
“And you?”
Tallisa lifted her mug of tea in hands that, though wrinkled, were free of calluses, evidence of her impervious skin.
“I did not go willingly.”
Mica wanted to know exactly what had happened, whether she too had nearly drowned in a murky pool of poison, but she sensed that Tallisa didn’t want to go into the details. She bit her lip to keep from asking and waited for the woman to go on.
“We soon realized the source of our curse, but by then, it was too late for many of us. Victims are brought from other islands too. We take them in when they’re discarded.” Tallisa looked at Caleb again. “He’s welcome to stay. We look out for our own.”
“We’re taking care of him,” Mica said.
Tallisa raised an eyebrow at her aggressive tone, and Mica cleared her throat.
“Have you ever seen the tower’s owner?”
“Not that I can recall. An old man with wild hair and a scarred face was there often, but I don’t think he was the top authority.”
Haddell.
“He was the one who oversaw my own . . . visit eight years ago, and he came here sometimes to check on the results of his work in the early days. He abandoned the tower about two years back.”