Part One
The Bounty Hunter
Chapter One
I’ve played a lot of parts in my life.
My most frequent and famous role is that of Gemma Armina Merilde Ripley, crown princess of Andvari, also snidely known as Glitzma. I suppose Princess Gemma is who I am, for better or worse.
But it’s not all that I am.
Princess Gemma is just one part of my persona, a carefully crafted role that enables me to travel throughout Andvari and into the kingdoms beyond, spying on those who would harm my people, gathering intelligence on their schemes, and thwarting their plots both great and small.
Being a spy is much more useful and far more satisfying than being a princess. In recent weeks, I had masqueraded as everything from a miner to a jewelry maker to a gladiator. Right now I was playing a new part, one that just might be my most important role yet.
Bounty hunter.
I crouched down, eased forward, and peered around the side of a large wooden crate. Similar crates were stacked all along the riverfront, while thick ropes were curled up like coral vipers on the grimy flagstones. Small rowboats rested on the muddy shore in the distance, and the watery stench of fish filled the November air. Everything looked perfectly normal, and my gaze moved over to a ship tied to a dock that stretched out into the Summanus River.
The vessel was the biggest one along the riverfront, with masts that towered high in the air. The ship’s hull might have been a bright cobalt at one time, although the elements had weathered and dulled the wood to the same murky blue gray as the river. The only real bits of color were the bloodred letters on the side that spelled out the vessel’s name—The Drowned Man. I hoped the name was an omen of things to come, although drowning would be a much quicker and far more merciful death than what my prey deserved.
“Do you really think Milo is on that ship?” a voice murmured.
I glanced over at the woman crouching beside me. She was wearing a dark green cloak over a matching tunic, along with black leggings and boots, and a sword dangled from her black leather belt. Her long black hair was pulled back into a fishtail braid, and her emerald-green eyes and golden skin gleamed in the growing dawn, as did the dragon face with emerald-green scales and black eyes that adorned her right hand. All morphs had some sort of tattoo-like mark on their bodies that indicated what larger, stronger creature was lurking inside them.
Despite the burgeoning light, Lady Reiko Yamato, my friend and fellow spy, remained almost invisible in the departing shadows. Even though I was dressed the same way, in a dark blue cloak and tunic, I felt as exposed as a gladiator standing in the middle of an arena floor. But even if the noontime sun had been shining brightly, Reiko still would have found a way to blend in to her surroundings. She was simply that skilled a spy—the best, in my opinion.
Reiko and I had been watching The Drowned Man for more than half an hour. No one had approached the vessel, and no one had appeared on the deck. The riverfront was eerily quiet, except for the steady slap-slap-slap of water up against the ship’s hull and the whistling breeze that ruffled its dingy sails.
“Do you really think Milo is on that ship?” Reiko repeated.
“Let me see if I can find out.”
I drew in a deep breath, then exhaled, reached out with my magic, and scanned the ship. As a mind magier, I could sense when other people were nearby, especially if I’d had dealings with them before. Unfortunately, I knew Crown Prince Milo Maximus Moreland Morricone of Morta far better than I wanted to.
A few months ago, dozens of merchants, miners, and guards had been killed along the Andvari-Morta border. Some had died in a bandit attack. Others in a mine collapse. And several people had been swept away by a violent, sudden storm. King Heinrich and Crown Prince Dominic Ripley, my grandfather and father, had assumed the incidents were senseless tragedies, but the deaths of so many people so close together had struck me as extremely suspicious. As Princess Gemma, I had visited each site to offer my condolences to the victims’ families, and I’d discovered something deeply concerning—large amounts of tearstone had been stolen at every spot.
My investigation had eventually led me to Blauberg, a city near the Andvari-Morta border. As Miner Gemma, I’d gone undercover and realized that Conley, the mine foreman, was stealing and selling tearstone to Mortan guards. Conley had shoved me into a chasm and left me for dead, but I’d been rescued and taken to Myrkvior, the royal palace in Majesta, the capital city of Morta.
Despite the danger, being at Myrkvior had been a golden opportunity to figure out which Mortan was ultimately stockpiling the tearstone and why, so I had played yet another part—Armina, a noble lady and jewelry maker. But my disguise wasn’t as good as I’d thought, and Queen Maeven Morricone had revealed my true identity as Princess Gemma Ripley at her own birthday ball.
And then she had let Milo torture me.
The riverfront flickered and vanished, along with The Drowned Man. Suddenly, I was back in Milo’s workshop, staring down at my own unconscious body chained to a table. Whipped back, punctured hands, burned skin. Blood dripped out of my wounds and hit the stone, every soft drop-drop-drop blaring as loud as a bell in my mind. Even though the torture had happened a couple of months ago, my heart still picked up speed, my breath puffed out in ragged gasps, and sweat prickled the back of my neck.
Desperate to stave off more unwanted memories, I grabbed the silver pendant hanging off the chain around my neck and focused on the bits of black jet that glittered in the shape of a snarling gargoyle face—the Ripley royal crest. Tiny midnight-blue shards of tearstone formed the gargoyle’s horns, eyes, nose, and teeth, turning the crest into the face of Grimley, my own beloved gargoyle. The same jeweled crest was embedded in the light gray tearstone dagger hanging off my belt. Alvis, the Glitnir royal jeweler, had made the pendant and the dagger for me years ago, when I was first learning how to control my mind magier magic—something I still struggled with to this day.
I squeezed the pendant tight, making a dull ache ripple through my fingers. That uncomfortable sensation, combined with the sharp prick of the jewels against my skin, helped me force the memories away. Milo’s workshop vanished, and the riverfront snapped back into focus, although the abrupt change in scenery made my head spin.
“Gemma?” Reiko asked. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I lied.
I released the necklace. The soft, familiar thump of the pendant against my heart further steadied me, and my head slowly stopped spinning.
Reiko arched an eyebrow, clearly not believing my lie, but I ignored her concerned look. Compared to all the times when my magic threw me back into the distant past and completely immersed and overwhelmed me with memories, this brief glimpse of my own tortured self was a relatively minor annoyance.
“If you’re so fine, then why are you rubbing your hands?” she asked.
I had been massaging first one palm, then the other, trying to rub the dull aches out of my hands and snuff out the hot sparks of phantom pain twinging my fingertips. I froze mid-rub and lowered my arms to my sides.
Reiko’s face remained blank, but her inner dragon grimaced, and its black gaze skittered away from mine. Milo’s barbed arrows and lightning magic had scarred my hands, both front and back, as though someone had painted vivid red starbursts onto my skin.