Copper Ravens

by Jennifer Allis Provost

  COPPER RAVENS

  JENNIFER ALLIS PROVOST

  Spence City

  © 2014 Jennifer Allis Provost

  Sale of the paperback edition of this book without its cover is unauthorized.

  Spencer Hill Press

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. Contact: Spence City, an imprint of Spencer Hill Press, PO Box 247, Contoocook, NH 03229, USA

  Please visit our website at www.spencecity.com

  First Edition: May 2014.

  Jennifer Allis Provost

  Copper Ravens: a novel / by Jennifer Allis Provost – 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary:

  In a strange land whose customs she doesn’t understand, Sara struggles to find her place in Micah’s world.

  Cover design by Lisa Amowitz Interior layout by Jennifer Carson and Marie Romero

  978-1-939392-85-5 (paperback)

  978-1-939392-89-3 (e-book)

  Printed in the United States of America

  For those who never lost sight of their goals

  1

  My name is Sara Elizabeth Corbeau, and I’m an Elemental.

  I’m also a fugitive.

  For most of my life, I did everything I could to appear ordinary. I avoided magic like I avoided large spiders and stepping on cracks, and not just so I wouldn’t break my mother’s back. After the Magic Wars had ended, in which magic had been the definitive loser, it was just too dangerous to be caught using. That was how my brother, Max, got arrested and turned into a science experiment at the Institute for Elemental Research. That, coupled with the fact that my father had gone missing during the wars, meant that I went through life claiming a total and complete ignorance of magic.

  Then Micah appeared in my life (technically, he first appeared in my car, even though I was dreaming at the time), and everything changed. And I mean everything. Micah is a metal Elemental like me, although he’s of silver whereas I’m a copper girl. Together, we rescued Max, destroyed the Iron Queen, and put a serious dent in the military branch of the Mundane government’s (the inappropriately-named Peacekeepers) operation. So, yeah, that would be how I became a fugitive, along with the rest of the Corbeaus.

  All of that had happened about three months ago. Micah, kind soul that he is, had offered my entire remaining family—Mom, Sadie, Max, and even the Raven—sanctuary at his home in the Whispering Dell. So far, no one had died, though a few of the silverkin had come perilously close. Officially, we all understand that the silverkin are manifestations of the massive vein of silver that runs below the Whispering Dell and only exist to serve Micah, the reigning Lord of Silver; I had called Micah a king once and had been rewarded with one of his rare frowns.

  While not truly sentient, the silverkin are the most well-meaning of creatures. However, the critters do come up short in the common sense department. A prime example of their lack of self-preservation skills was when they had insisted upon bringing Mom a few snacks and a cushion while she was meditating in the garden, despite her many refusals.

  Luckily, Micah was able to mend the dented ’kin, and, after a stern lecture, the silverkin agreed to only speak to Mom when spoken to, and Mom—amazingly—agreed to not damage any more of the servants. For now.

  Destruction of the help notwithstanding, Mom was having a far easier time adjusting to our new life in the Otherworld than Sadie or Max were. Now, I could understand Sadie’s issues, being that she had been ripped from her safe, boring life as a college student (studying to be a librarian, of all things), informed that she was the Inheritor of Metal, and thrust headlong into the magical reality that was now our lives. Yep, I understood how that could be a bit disconcerting.

  Max, on the other hand, had no such excuses. He’d lived in the Otherworld for more than ten years now, and all of this strangeness should have been old hat to him. Yeah, so what if most of his time here had been spent in the Institute? He was still here. He should know something.

  I wish I could say that I was gracefully taking on my new role as Micah’s consort, but that would be a lie. And fey don’t lie, you know? Not that I’m a fairy. Well, not completely, and only on my mother’s side.

  Anyway, it turned out that politics in the Otherworld were just as maddening as politics in the Mundane realm; if anything, the addition of magic and factions of perpetually bickering Elementals made it more so. Not that anyone cared what I had to say, mind you. I was expected to appear on Micah’s arm at these varied events, perfectly coiffed and perfectly silent, since, as a mere consort, I was viewed as little more than a decoration. A mute, compliant decoration.

  Yeah. I’m about as mute and compliant as a howler monkey.

  I didn’t blame any of those misconceptions on Micah. He had never treated me as anything other than his lover and his equal, but the fact remained that I was not Lady Silverstrand, nor would I be until I bore him a child. Which I hoped wouldn’t happen for a long, long time.

  What’s worse, these events that demanded our presence were becoming all too frequent, since the sudden death of the Iron Queen had left a gaping void in the Elemental power structure. Being that we were responsible for said royal demise (technically, I’d cashed in a favor owed to me by the Bright Lady of the Clear Pool), Micah’s attendance was required at each and every Gathering of the Heavies, as Sadie had so eloquently termed these functions. His opinion was sought out in all matters, while I was only expected to stand there and nod. Couple that with the strange and varied formalities that I was required to commit to memory, and it was enough to drive one mad.

  “How was I supposed to know that Old Stoney couldn’t drink wine?” I grumbled after one such gathering. Old Stoney was the de facto ruler of the earth Elementals, at least until the as yet unknown Inheritor of Earth surfaced. Speaking of surfaces, Old Stoney was of granite, specifically. Apparently, those of earth—or granite, at least—do not ingest liquid refreshment, since it rolls right on out of them like so much rain on asphalt. Little things like those were what I was expected to know, and I managed to come up short more often than not. Exasperated, I flopped down on Micah’s bed. I was still a little weirded out calling it our bed.

  “Old Stoney?” Micah repeated, quirking a silver brow.

  “I can’t remember all these foolish names,” I muttered. Old Stoney’s actual name was Something Greymalkin, or maybe it was Something Greymountain. “Why isn’t anyone named Todd or Jim?”

  “Because we are not denizens of the Mundane World.” Micah crawled onto the bed beside me and smoothed the hair back from my face. It had been done up in one of those elaborate confections that were a silverkin specialty, but by now it looked less like sleek waves and more like a bird’s nest. A ratty, lopsided bird’s nest. “You think those of the Otherworld do not have trouble with Mundane names?”

  “There are no Mundanes here, besides me and my family.” I snuggled up to Micah, enjoying a moment’s peace. “I really screwed things up, didn’t I?”

  “Between me and Old Stoney?” Micah asked. I laughed, hiding my face against his throat. “Not likely. Remember, we of metal still have the upper hand.” Micah wrapped his arms around me; as I moved to encircle his waist, my hand bumped his sword belt.

  “Can you really use a sword?” I asked. I’d seen Micah perform a few incredible feats—such as ripping the head off an iron warrior with his bare hands—but I’d never seen him in a swordfight.

  “I can,” he replied.

  �
�I bet you’d look pretty hot chopping someone’s head off,” I murmured. Micah, who struggled with Mundane idioms as much as I struggled with Elemental names, rolled me onto my back.

  “Hot is good?”

  “Very good,” I affirmed. Micah laughed, the gentle rumbles in his chest once again making everything right in the world. After a fair bit of snuggling, I asked, “Have you heard anything new about the queen?”

  Oriana, the Gold Queen, had been captured by Ferra, the Iron Queen (the one we had, um, rusted), and had spent the past few years as a prisoner in the Iron Court. After Ferra’s demise, Oriana had been promptly rescued, but her health was hanging on by a thread.

  “She is convalescing,” Micah said, to my relief. If Oriana died, my life would become immensely more complicated. You see, next in line for the metal throne is Micah Silverstrand, the man whose bed I sleep in. And I do not want to be a queen.

  2

  Once I’d extricated myself from the rest of my formal attire and dragged a brush through my copper-colored hair, I made my way downstairs, intent upon visiting with my family. All these formal events Micah and I had attended of late had really only served to remind me that I was a stranger in this very strange land. Not to mention, very few of the Elementals that I had so far encountered welcomed me as one of their own. Most saw me as a weak mortal, an outsider who should have stayed in her home realm.

  And you’re welcome for getting rid of the Iron Queen.

  What these haughty Elementals don’t know is that my mother, Maeve Connor Corbeau, was once the Queen of Connacht and had gone on to become Queen of the Seelie Court. Since Mom gave up her fairy ways when she married Dad, we’ve been trying to keep her Irish heritage quiet. Still, I wonder how those snooty jerks would react to learning of my own royal lineage.

  As I passed a large window, I spied Mom in the garden, leaning against one of the apple trees. It was in full bloom as well as heavily laden with fruit, as only an Otherworldly tree can be. I debated joining her, but she was wearing that wistful expression that had begun appearing often after Dad disappeared. Mom had originally fought with the government for information about Dad’s fate; she’d screamed at them so loud and often that my ears rang for years. Then the Peacekeepers had arrested Max, and the loss of her husband and her son was just too much for Mom. Within a few weeks of Max’s arrest, she had given up her weekly—sometimes daily—shouting matches with the local Peacekeepers and had taken up vegetable gardening. She doesn’t even like vegetables.

  Well, we’d managed to find Max, so finding Dad couldn’t be too difficult. Not that we had any idea of where to look for him, or any leads, but we hadn’t had those with Max, either. Our big break had come when I’d decided to dreamwalk to Max, all by myself. Yeah, that wasn’t the brightest plan. Still, I had found him. Not bad, for my first solo dreamwalk.

  Both Max and I had since tried dreamwalking to Dad, but we both came up short. We’d been terrified at first, thinking our lack of success meant that Dad was gone, but Micah had assured us that this wasn’t necessarily the case. Most likely, Dad was being held somewhere that was warded against dreamwalking.

  “Or perhaps,” Micah had amended, seeing my horrified face, “he has made himself unreachable.” Well, that was certainly a more attractive concept than Dad being surrounded by wardsmiths strong enough to keep out Dreamwalkers.

  When Mom had first heard the news that her husband was probably alive and possibly being held by evil sorcerers, she tried every trick she knew to find him—charmed maps, locator spells, you name it, she conjured it. And, none of them worked.

  After her hundredth failure, she had started these daily meditations in the orchard; at first, we thought she was trying to come up with a new spell. When Max had offered to help her with said spell, she confirmed that she was merely trying to clear her head, along with my worst fears. Just like she’d done in the Mundane world, Mom was withdrawing into herself rather than admitting that she needed help. It was a supreme irony that the individual most capable of freeing Dad from any sort of evil magic was the one hiding in the back yard.

  I sighed, and decided that leaving Mom alone with her memories was the best course of action, for now at least. I continued on to the ground floor of the manor and found Sadie in one of the many empty rooms.

  My kid sister was seated on the floor, smack in the middle of the room, intently staring at a few lumps of metal. Mustering all my stealthiness, I hung back and watched as she coaxed the metal into long ribbons, up and up and over her head, stretching and curling before her in a serpentine dance. They curled into and out of spirals, perfectly symmetrical, like tiny metal clouds bouncing across the sky. I was impressed; she had excellent control of the metal, but then again, she’d been practicing. Give Sadie a structured lesson plan, and she could move mountains.

  “Very good,” I murmured, only to watch the ribbons fall to the floor and shatter.

  “Sorry,” I offered as I plopped down beside her. “That was really cool, though.”

  “Yeah.” Sadie fingered the broken metal; she’d stretched it so thin it was translucent, like a fine china teacup. “How was the Gathering?”

  “Long and frustrating. Where’s Max?”

  “Out.” She didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask. Not having specific knowledge of Max’s extracurricular activities had always served us well.

  “You know, as the Inheritor you should really be going to these Gatherings with me and Micah,” I said.

  “And do what? Show off my party tricks?” Sadie’s head drooped, and she covered her face with her hands. “I’m useless.”

  “You’re not. You’re just new at it.” Sadie nodded but remained silent. I idly poked at the bits of metal scattered across the ground; she’d been working not only with copper but with a few hunks of silver, too. I squinted and probably screwed up my mouth in the way that always makes Micah laugh. Since working with metal was also new to me, I tended to overcompensate.

  Slowly, the copper and silver pieces worked themselves into segregated piles, then they morphed and melted and stretched into long wires. After wiggling them this way and that, I willed them toward each other and twisted them together in a single fluid motion. A moment later, a heart formed of the two metals floated onto my lap.

  “Thinking of Micah again?” Sadie said with an eyeroll. I shoved her in retaliation, but it was playful. Undeterred, Sadie took the heart and ran a finger along its curves. “You really love him?”

  “Yeah.” My belly warmed just thinking about him. “I do.”

  “So, what’s all this heir business?”

  I sighed and took the heart back. I remembered one of the first talks Micah and I had had about heirs—children, I mean children. His and my potential children. Babies.

  My hands trembled just thinking about it.

  We hadn’t started out discussing babies, though. It had been two days after Micah had rescued me from the Institute where Max was held, the morning after the first night I’d spent in the manor. I was wearing the silverkin’s first attempt at jeans—a noble effort on their part, but so very, very wrong. The pockets were too low on the sides of my legs, so I couldn’t stuff my hands in them, and they were way too loose. Still, I had appreciated that they had tried, so I had worn them.

  We won’t discuss the monstrosity of a sneaker they produced.

  Baggy denim notwithstanding, I was on cloud nine. Micah was all warm and snuggly in the morning; I’d worried that our first morning together would be awkward, all bed head and bad breath, but it wasn’t. Micah had asked the silverkin to serve us breakfast in bed, and we had lazed around, getting crumbs and tea stains on the sheets, for the better part of the morning. We had decided to get up shortly before noon, really only so someone else could deal with all those crumbs and tea stains, and Micah had taken me on a tour of the manor’s gardens. They were vast, lush, and colorful, packed with flowers and herbs and beautiful vine-covered nooks where we could while away the day.

&nb
sp; And the orchards! The gardens were surrounded by trees bearing every sort of fruit, from standard apples and pears to fruits that I hadn’t even known grew on trees, such as mangoes and star fruit. I’d never even known that something called star fruit existed, which is further evidence of the Peacekeepers’ stellar nutrition policies.

  We’d been walking through one of the orchards—plum, I think—when I asked, “When do you think it will be safe for me to go home?”

  Micah’s brows quirked. “Love, you are home.”

  I stared at him for a moment, wondering where my voice had gone. “You want me to live here? With you?” I whispered at last.

  “Of course. You are my consort.” He brushed his warm fingers across my cheek, neck, shoulders, his hands coming to rest at the small of my back. “Do you not wish to stay?”

  “I do,” I whispered, leaving off the part about this all being so sudden.

  “Good,” he murmured, kissing me lightly. “I’d be lost without you.” I wrapped my arms around his waist, happy and content and more than a bit elated about my new home. Then, to my utter horror, he brought up babies.

  “I hope that you’ll soon be with child,” he said, his fingers coming around to caress my belly.

  “Your heir,” I murmured, pressing my face to his chest so he couldn’t see its bloodless state. “An heir is very important to you, isn’t it?”

  “Heirs are important to every house, but more so here. I am the last Silverstrand.”

  I hadn’t even considered this. I knew that Micah didn’t have any siblings (and thus will never know the joys of an elder brother covering him with shaving cream while he slept, or a younger sister crawling into bed with him when she’s sick, only to puke on his favorite pillow), but I’d thought there were more Silverstrands somewhere. Maybe a few cousins, or a wacky aunt, even. But no, it was just Micah, lording over all the silver, all alone.

  “And, you want me to produce this heir?” I pressed. Micah laughed and tightened his arms about me.