“Aye, and before, when I was Queen of Connacht.”
Having figured out why Mom was digging through the branches, I ventured, “Micah said I should begin with hand-to-hand combat.”
“Why? So you can get your head lopped off?” Once she found a second branch to her liking, she set about stripping away the smaller twigs and leaves. Not knowing what else to do, I followed suit with my own branch. Once both branches were as swordy as they were going to get, Mom began instructing me on how to hold a sword and on proper fighting stances. No more yoga poses for Sara.
“So,” I ventured, after a few practice swings, “are you a fairy or a human?” Mom cocked an eyebrow, but answered me anyway.
“Truly, I do not know,” she replied. “I was born human, that’s true enough.”
“But then you went under the hill,” I prompted.
“Yes, I went into the brugh to escape a few… Well, to escape. And I reigned as the Seelie Queen for far longer than any queen of Connacht had ever reigned. Or king, for that matter.” Mom motioned me toward a tree and pointed toward the trunk at the approximate height of a man. “Since you’re on the smaller side, you need to aim your swing slightly upward, toward your opponent’s head.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to hit an opponent in the chest?” I asked. “Bigger target and all.”
“Aye, but not all beasties carry their hearts where we do. Decapitation is the surest way to halt any foe.”
A childhood memory of Mom hacking up an innocent chicken in the Raven Compound’s kitchen appeared behind my eyes; her one home-cooked meal was fried chicken. She had always been so fast and efficient, her knife lightning-quick with an economy of movement; I used to wonder if she’d ever worked for a butcher. “You learned this when you were the Seelie Queen?”
“Aye, and before,” she replied, with a blood-chilling smile. After I practiced my swing until my shoulders ached, I returned to the subject of mortality.
“So, is it true that fairy wine takes away your humanity, the more you drink it?” I asked, remembering one of the few tidbits of information she’d once shared about the brugh.
“It does, indeed,” she replied, with a sideways glance. “What’re you after, Sara?”
“I was wondering if I’m a fairy.”
“Hmm.” Mom dropped her eyes and became engrossed in her tree-branch sword, two signs that meant that sharing time was over. I understood her reticence to speak of her past, since she had apparently just wandered away from the brugh with Dad, leaving her throne and her people behind. Still, we were in the Otherworld now; shouldn’t she be able to speak of those things without fear?
Or, I thought, considering a few of the more unusual things I’d witnessed of late, maybe that fear is well-founded.
“You know, a sword never was my favorite weapon,” Mom murmured. “During raids, I always wielded an axe.”
“Really?” I asked. “Was that because you couldn’t touch iron?”
She gave me a knowing look. “Sara, I’m not feyborn. Iron does not harm me.”
There’s an advantage for the Seelie Queen. “Wasn’t an axe heavy?”
“Aye, but a heavy weapon flies truer and is better at splitting through armor. You don’t want to waste precious time on the battlefield trying to hack through your foe’s helmet.” She hefted the branch as if it were an axe and took a practice swing at an innocent tree. I refrained from mentioning that she looked like a baseball player. “Not to mention, an axe is much better at chopping through bone.”
“Huh.” I wondered if Ash could make Mom an axe. Now there’s an unusual Mother’s Day gift.
“If any of my fey blood yet remains, it has certainly gone on to you, Sara,” Mom said; I almost asked her what she was talking about.
“You really think so?”
“I do.” She tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear and patted my cheek. “You’ve always taken after me, just as surely as Sadie and Max take after your father.”
“But we’re all of copper,” I pointed out, rather unnecessarily.
“And Sadie’s the Metal Inheritor, yes. You, however, you have a strength about you that’s not just fey or Elemental, but a bit of both. You, Sara, are the one to be wary of.”
Me? Regular old Sara, strong and wariness-inducing? I’d never done anything particularly strong or amazing. I mean, I did find Max, but that wasn’t a very well thought-out plan. I had destroyed the Institute, too, but that was only because I was mad. It’s not like I’d done those things on purpose. My inner struggle must have been obvious, since Mom continued, “You’ve tried to be ordinary for so long that you’ve never really learned how to blossom. All of this—you living in the Otherworld and being with Micah—this is your chance, my darling.”
I blinked back tears, awed and shocked and so proud that my mother—a queen twice over—would say such things about me. Before I could blame the tears on the sun being in my eyes, Mom spoke again.
“Now that I’ve filled your head with ideas, let’s work those muscles. No victory is worth having unless you’ve fought for it, and, without good, sweaty training, you won’t be winning much of anything.”
I dropped back into my modified yoga pose and raised my branch. “All right. Show me how to take a brugh.” Mom laughed at that, and we spent the afternoon hacking away.
12
That particular gathering of magistrates and such must have been quite the meeting, since Micah didn’t return to the manor until long after I was asleep. When I woke, I found my elf snuggled around me and the usual disarray of clothing that accompanied his return. No matter if they’re human or elf, boys do tend to be messy.
I wondered how Micah would react if I told him he had some common traits with Max. He is cute when he frowns.
Since he’d obviously returned very late, I decided to let Micah sleep in. I took care to gently unwind his arms from around me and made my way to the kitchen, intent upon securing breakfast. I’d hardly touched my third cup of coffee when the elf himself joined me.
“Oriana would like to meet with us,” Micah announced, his eyes bleary and his hair even wilder than usual. His left hand clutched a scrap of parchment, which I assumed was an invitation from the Golden Court. Leave it to the silverkin to hand-deliver the mail despite the fact that their master should be sleeping. “Today.”
“The Gold Queen?” I considered my present self—unbathed, unbrushed, and with a liberal coating of toast crumbs. “Right now?”
“Not quite yet. We are to attend her midday meal.” Well, that was a relief. “Our queen desires to meet with all of the remaining metal lords, in private, before making her first public appearance.”
“All of the metal lords, all at once?” Now, please believe me when I say that ruling anyone—and I mean anyone—was far, far from my mind. However, I still hadn’t met anyone of copper, save for members of my family, and I couldn’t help but wonder who was ruling them. I mean, there had to be someone, right? Or, were they all on their own out there, scattered across the Otherworld like pennies in a wishing well? Then I considered the heap of gifts left languishing away in the atrium, and my morning toast became a ball of lead in my stomach.
“Not all at once,” Micah replied. “Such a gathering would likely be too much for Oriana’s delicate nerves.” His voice carried no inflection as he said that last bit, but I couldn’t help wondering exactly how loony this woman was. And she was supposed to be our leader?
I let the question go unasked, since I’d be witnessing her looniness in person soon enough. After a long bath (that’s right, the silverkin had not only figured out how to manage espresso, but indoor plumbing as well; sadly, showers remained beyond their abilities, so I was doomed to whiling away my time in a deep, comfy tub) and an even longer time spent in my dressing room, I still wasn’t ready.
Okay, the first thing that bugged me was that I had a dressing room. Back home I’d had a single closet that held every item of clothing I owned, along with a small cabinet for my unmentio
nables. And socks—lots and lots of socks; really, one can never have too many pairs. Now that I’m the reigning consort to the mighty Lord of Silver, my wardrobe situation has changed.
My dressing room—an entire room—was stuffed full of dresses and gowns and frocks and whatever else came with an attached skirt. It also contained all the assorted extras—shoes, hats, petticoats, corsets, and various other torture devices. And the worst part of all this frippery wasn’t the itchy lace or stiff crinolines, but that Micah loved nothing more than the sight of me in a dress.
I sighed and gazed longingly at the neatly folded stack of jeans. I was resigned to my fate, at least for today, since a visit to the Gold Queen was certainly a dress-worthy event. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the silks and velvets and whatnot; in fact, my wardrobe was gorgeous. And I liked dressing up. I just wasn’t accustomed to such finery, and the yards and yards of fabric made me feel like nothing more than a little girl playing in her mother’s closet.
Well, if I’m gonna play dress up, at least I’ll dress well. Eventually, I selected a bronze silk gown. The bodice and sleeves were edged with vines, skillfully embroidered in emerald green. It involved a corset, as all these costumes inevitably do, but only one petticoat, and delicate green shoes that matched the embroidery. The silverkin had coaxed my copper-colored hair into elegant sweeps and curls, but I disappointed them by refusing to wear any jewelry other than Micah’s token.
When Micah had first given me his token, a silver oak leaf and amber acorn strung on a delicate silver chain, I hadn’t known what a token really meant. I’d thought it was just a nice piece of jewelry, not something that bound me to him. What I also hadn’t realized was that I’d already fallen, hard, for this handsome silver elf, but then again, that had become apparent when I’d rushed out to make Micah my own token, the copper cuff studded with malachite and amber that I was so pleased with. He wore it, proudly, each and every day.
I’d never seen my mother wear any jewelry save her wedding rings, and a set of earrings Dad had given her right before he disappeared, despite the fact that her jewelry case back at the Raven Compound was huge, packed with gold and platinum and gems in every color. Jewelry should be given with love, she’d say if we asked her why, and no ever loved me as well as your father did. So, since I can’t really imagine loving anyone other than Micah, I guess I will only wear his token, until he decided to give me something else.
Once the silverkin had gotten me as good-looking as I was going to get, I exited my dressing room and found Micah waiting for me in our sitting room. Yes, our little corner of the manor, which comprised the requisite bedroom, along with a sitting room, bathing chamber (bathroom just sounded so utilitarian, whereas this space was nothing if not devoted to luxury), and a dressing room for each of us, was quite spacious, indeed.
Anyway, I found Micah reclined on the window seat, gazing toward the orchards. Since I was carrying my shoes, I almost managed to sneak up on him. I wondered if he’d yelp like a little girl.
“My Sara,” Micah said, turning to greet me at the last moment. I vowed that, someday, somehow, I would catch him unaware. Maybe I would even tickle him. “As always, you are lovely.”
I blushed as I murmured my thanks, then looked over Micah’s attire. He wore a white shirt that laced up the front, topped with a dark-blue velvet coat, along with his usual leather leggings, though these were black instead of tan, and black boots. Yep, he looked pretty darn good. I let my hand stray to the hilt of the sword that hung at his side.
“Mom and I did some practicing yesterday,” I said. “She’s pretty good with a sword.”
“Is she?” Micah noticed the shoes I was holding and motioned for me to sit. “Let me.” Not one to refuse assistance of the Prince Charming variety, I plopped down in a nearby chair and offered him a foot. In case you were wondering, the silverkin had painted my toenails a shade of emerald green that coordinated nicely with my spiky-heeled, open-toed shoes. After murmuring his approval of the color, Micah knelt before me and proceeded to kiss my ankle before placing the shoe on my foot. After he repeated the process, kissing included, with my other foot, he smoothed down my skirts and smiled up at me.
“Is it time to go?” I asked in a rush. If he kept looking at me that way, we weren’t going anywhere, and I didn’t think the Gold Queen would take kindly to us standing her up.
“It is.” Micah helped me to my feet and kept his hand on the small of my back while we walked through the manor. It was devious of him, since my mark, already aroused by that little shoe incident, flared at his touch.
“Stop that,” I said, wiggling away. “You’ll make us late.”
“I will do nothing of the sort.” He replaced his hand and rubbed. Oh, if you could die from pleasure. “I’m merely thinking of later.”
“No thinking,” I said, forcibly removing his hand from my back and lacing my fingers with his. “For now, just going.”
He grumbled at that, but remained on his best behavior as we descended the stairs and stepped outside to the metal pathway. Thanks to Micah’s excellent navigational techniques, in a few short moments, we stood before Oriana’s estate.
The Golden Court was, well, gold. It looked like the standard-issue storybook castle, straight from the old-time illustrations, right down to the drawbridge and the turrets. The midday sun caught the light of dozens of stained glass windows, turning them into blazing jewels. Warriors, not like the metal monsters that had guarded Ferra’s home, but actual men—perhaps they were even Elemental men—clad in gold-washed mail guarded the entry. Also unlike Ferra’s iron warriors, not one of them made a lewd comment or even hazarded an inappropriate glance in my direction. And they say chivalry is dead.
Once we were inside the courtyard, I saw the court’s occupants going about the varied routines of sustaining such a grand establishment. To my left, a maid carried a stack of linens, a porter scurrying behind her with cakes of soap. Someone from the kitchens, likely the cook’s apprentice, inspected a cartload of vegetables, while another haggled with a wine merchant. I spied a few grooms off the side, who sang while they cleaned and oiled a set of tack. The horse looked on, politely munching his hay. Everything seemed to be in perfect order.
And yet, it wasn’t, not by a long shot. Now, don’t get me wrong, the Golden Court was nothing at all like the Iron Court, what with the latter’s flagrant debauchery and rampant lack of boundaries. No one had smiled in the Iron Court, unless they were caught up in the moment of harming another; far more common had been cries of hopelessness and despair.
However, the Golden Court, for all its smiling inhabitants and cheery decorations, was far from welcoming. It was a sterile, falsified happiness, as if all the denizens were actors who had missed out on the roles of their lives and were doomed to go through the motions at a community playhouse. I really shouldn’t have been surprised at all the forced cheer, since Oriana had spent five long years as Ferra’s favorite pet.
I didn’t know, not specifically, anyway, what sort of tortures Oriana had endured at the Iron Court. No one still living did, save Oriana herself. But I had some strong ideas. So did Micah, and I suspect that others did as well, since a generous allowance was being given toward Oriana’s lunatic behaviors. Since she had been rescued, she’d alternately insisted upon sleeping out of doors in the rain, in a pool of mud, and once in a stable covered with hay. And there was the singing. Oriana had taken to singing, or, based on Micah’s descriptions, wailing, instead of talking. Apparently, she was also tone deaf.
Her eating habits had also been affected by her captivity. Reportedly, Ferra had only fed her stale bread and dungeon mice. As a result, Oriana had subsequently banned all baked goods from the Golden Court, from bread to cookies. Rodents, however, were still allowed on the menu.
Are there any vegetarians in the Otherworld?
The possibility of rodent fricassee notwithstanding, I was on my best behavior as Micah and I approached Oriana’s steward. After a few brief
introductions, we were ushered into a grand dining hall by two smiling, perfectly-appointed servants, and I saw Oriana for the first time since she’d been hauled out of the oubliette. Her element had, indeed, been restored, and I noticed that her mark showed upon her hands, with her fingers being robed in solid gold. The metal then twisted and twirled around her hands and up her arms like so many shining ribbons. That, coupled with her wavy golden hair and sky-colored gaze, made the Gold Queen look like a true fairy princess.
“Micah,” she exclaimed, rising to greet us. Thank the gods, she was speaking instead of singing. Oriana approached Micah and extended her arms as if to grasp his hands, only to withdraw at the last moment. I recalled the effect that Micah’s touch had had on my own mark and wondered if Oriana’s brought her more pain than pleasure.
Unperturbed, Micah bowed. “My lady,” he intoned, then he drew me beside him. “I have brought my consort for you to meet. Allow me to present my beloved, Sara Elizabeth Corbeau.”
“My lady,” I said as I curtsied, rather elegantly if I must say so myself. Sadie and I had been practicing.
“Consort?” Oriana repeated, her head cocked to the side in an avian manner. “And a Raven fledgling, at that. Micah, when did this happen?” Huh. Were consorts supposed to be cleared with the queen? Oops.
“Shortly before your rescue,” Micah said smoothly. “Sara and her family were instrumental in Ferra’s demise.” Oriana’s gold brows peaked; I hoped Micah had just won me some points. “Are you ready to dine, or would you care to walk first?”
“Walk. Let’s.” With that, the Gold Queen turned on her heel, leaving Micah and me to follow. She led us on a meandering path throughout her estate, passing through the same rooms two and sometimes three times. The floor in her throne room was gold, as were the floors adjacent to it. After a few twists and turns, the floor took on a pinkish hue, then it deepened to crimson. Oriana seemed unperturbed by this, but when a black floor loomed ahead she cried out, then scurried in the opposite direction. She’d learned a thing or two from the rodents.
Copper Ravens Page 10
