Copper Ravens

by Jennifer Allis Provost

  “Why did they strip you?” I mumbled. Until now, I’d had no idea that my dreamself could blush.

  “Looting, most likely,” he replied. “Ah. Here it is.”

  We slipped through another door and found ourselves in a larger, cleaner version of Micah’s cell. Mom was tied to a chair, thankfully with her clothes on, and surrounded by several small creatures, squat and gray-skinned and so ugly I couldn’t stop looking at them. Micah, after laughing at my description, agreed that they were orcs, though these few were smaller than those in the Whispering Dell. Then again, those orcs had been mostly beer belly.

  “Again, where do we send the message?” the smallest orc, standing on a table in order to be at Mom’s eye level, shouted in her face.

  “Again, I do not know!” Mom spat. Her blue eyes blazed, and I almost felt sorry for the orcs. They had no idea what they’d gotten themselves into. While her children were being held, Mom would pretend to play their games, but once she knew we were safe, they would feel the full wrath of the Queen of the Seelie Court.

  “What message?” I whispered to Micah, though only he could hear me.

  “They wish to send a ransom note to your father,” Micah replied. “They believe Maeve knows of his location.”

  Stupid orcs. They knew nothing of the Corbeau family dynamic. “Will they hurt her?”

  “Perhaps, but not seriously. If they kill her, not only will they risk Baudoin’s wrath, but they won’t receive their coin.” I nodded, and we withdrew to the corridor, mostly because I could hardly hear over Mom shrieking curses in Gaelic.

  “So, what’s our plan?” By the time I’d finished speaking, we were back in the harem room with Max and Sadie. Oh, and my body, too.

  “You will wait here, and I will come for you,” Micah replied.

  “Micah.” I placed my hand on his arm, which was foolish. I couldn’t stay his dreamself like I could his physical form. “Are you… Will you be able to make it here?”

  “Of course.” He brushed his thumb over my cheek, catching a tear. “I am nearly healed. Once my dreamself returns, I will wake, and then I will come for you.”

  Infuriating man! So calm and confident, while I was terrified for his life. Since our captors hadn’t gleaned his identity, Micah was the least safe among us, the expendable one. I could deal with being captured, my mother being interrogated; hell, I could even deal with a crazy queen and Old Stoney’s hatred. What I could not deal with was Micah being expendable.

  “If you die, I will kill myself and follow you to the underworld,” I declared. “If you dare leave me, I will torment your soul until the end of time.”

  The bastard smiled. “Good.” Then he kissed me, lightly at first, but when he would have moved away, I threw my arms around him and held him fast. Since he wasn’t wearing anything, I was very aware of how much he enjoyed that.

  “Sara,” he began, but my kisses silenced him. Right then, I needed him more than I’d ever needed anything, more than breath or water or sunlight. Micah drew me to the far side of the room, down onto a heap of the oversized floor cushions. We’d only made love once before while dreamwalking, and it had been amazing, so amazing that I hadn’t wanted to repeat it, in case that one time had been a fluke.

  It wasn’t.

  Afterward, Micah stroked my back while I lay on my stomach, watching my slumbering body. “My body’s wearing clothes, but my dreamself isn’t,” I mused.

  “Did you think your clothes would just disappear?” he asked, and I laughed. We cuddled a few heartbeats longer, then Micah went from teasing to grave.

  “I must go now. We’ve dallied long enough.” He rose then and murmured a few words that extinguished the drug-laced incense. Someday, far from here, he was going to have to teach me a few of these tricks. I was starting to think he was leaving all the good stuff out of Sadie’s Magic 101 lessons. “By the time your body wakes, I will be here.”

  “If you’re not, I will come for you,” I promised. “We will leave this place together.”

  “I am counting on it.” Micah squeezed my hand, and then he was gone.

  23

  Vibrating again…

  I opened my eyes—my physical eyes this time—and saw Micah’s hands gently shaking my shoulders; once again, he was the source of my seismic event. I opened my mouth to speak, realized that that wouldn’t be happening, then rolled onto my hands and knees and retched violently. Aw, I ruined the pretty silk pillows.

  “The incense,” Micah murmured as he rubbed my back. The nausea passed soon enough, and Micah went on to wake Sadie and Max. They had similar, disgusting, reactions to the smoke.

  “What was in that stuff?” I rasped. Sadie had gotten over it fairly quickly, but Max’s skin had taken on a grayish cast. He was coated in a thin sheen of sweat, and he couldn’t stop puking. “Will he be okay?” I asked, jerking my chin toward Max.

  “He will,” Micah assured as he helped me to my feet. I saw that he wasn’t naked any longer, but had covered himself in dark iron armor. He’d even fashioned himself a short sword, complete with a belt.

  “The manacles and hinges?” I asked, to which he nodded. “Did any guards see you?”

  “They won’t be following,” he said flatly. As a rule, Micah avoided violence, mostly because I couldn’t stomach it, but since these people—goblins, orcs, whatever they were—had captured us, I was fine with Micah doling out whatever punishment he saw fit. And after the beating they had given Micah, I wouldn’t mind seeing this place razed to the ground.

  Once the smoke had dispersed and Max’s stomach was somewhat calm, Micah informed my siblings of our recent capture and Mom’s interrogation over Dad’s whereabouts.

  “I don’t remember being captured,” Max protested, rather weakly, since our current situation proved otherwise.

  “I remember you walking into a deep shadow, then the shadow moved,” Sadie whispered. “Mom yelled for you to stop, but you were too far ahead to hear her. Then, we woke up here.”

  Micah nodded. “They took Max first, as an enticement for Maeve,” he said. “They could not risk her flight.”

  Max pushed himself upright, wobbling only a bit. “All right. Let’s get Mom and get out of this hellhole.”

  Our progress toward Mom was ridiculously slow, being that Max needed to vomit every few minutes, the retching punctuated by some Olympic-caliber belches. I wondered if, as the first one captured, he’d been exposed to some other drug along with the smoke. Whatever it was seemed to be working its way out of his system, albeit in the most revolting way possible.

  “Maybe you should sit,” Sadie suggested after he yakked on her feet.

  “Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Then puke on a bad guy next time!” she huffed.

  Eventually, we made it to the last bend in the corridor before Mom’s cell. We’d only encountered two guards along the corridors, both of whom Micah had quickly and quietly dispatched.

  “Wait here,” Micah murmured, then he crept forward and peered around the corner.

  “Hey, sis,” Max rasped, his rampant puking having wrecked his throat. Not to mention his breath.

  “Yeah?”

  “Next time you want to get it on with your boyfriend, get your own room.”

  My mouth fell open, while my face went flaming hot. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I’m a Dreamwalker too, remember?”

  I banged my forehead against the slimy stone wall; no, at the time I’d forgotten all about Max’s supernatural abilities. Sadie started pestering Max for information, wanting in on the torment of me, when thankfully Max puked again. Wow. I’m glad that Max puked. That smoke must have made me as nutty as Oriana.

  Before Max could recover himself, Micah returned, wearing an interesting look on his face. When I asked why, he replied, “That guard happens to be the fellow who stole my belongings. I’d rather like them back.”

  I peeked around the corner and
looked at the goblin, who was standing guard about half the corridor’s length away, monitoring the final turn before Mom’s cell. Like the one who’d approached Max at the fountain, he was short and stout, with the same generous paunch and waxy yellow skin. He had crammed his bowed legs into Micah’s pants, the leather bunched up around his ankles, and Micah’s sword, the point of the scabbard scraping the floor, dangled from his belt. I saw a crumpled shirt and pair of boots behind the creature, as if he’d tried to wear them but had long since given up. Clearly, goblins and elves did not frequent the same tailors. I opened my mouth to question if, since Micah’s things were already ruined, this distraction was worth it, when I saw the token I’d made for Micah hooked onto the creature’s belt.

  “Kill it,” I said. Micah grinned and pressed a kiss to my forehead before returning to the corridor.

  “My friend,” Micah announced as he stepped into view. “Do you remember me?”

  The goblin’s jaw went slack, his curved, cracked toenails scraping the floor as he backed away, trapping himself between Micah and the wall. Micah grabbed him by his loose, wrinkly throat and slammed him into the stone wall once, twice, thrice. As the goblin’s body slid downward into a pool of blood and filth, Micah retrieved his sword, his shirt, and, most importantly, his copper token.

  “I did like those boots,” Micah said wistfully, toeing the heap of ruined leather.

  “I’ll get you new boots,” I promised.

  He smiled at that, then he turned and beckoned us to follow. We rounded that last turn, then we were outside Mom’s cell. Presumably, the guard who was supposed to be stationed by the door had heard the commotion down the hall and abandoned his post, probably to round up reinforcements, so we needed to make this rescue quick.

  Things inside the cell were much the same as when Micah and I had dreamwalked in; Mom was still tied to her chair, and the orc in charge was still on the table, but now he was jumping up and down as he bellowed threats in Mom’s face, threatening her family’s lives as spittle sprayed everywhere. Not wise behavior on Mr. Orc’s part, not wise at all.

  At our entry, the orc spun around, his spindly arms flailing as he called for his goblin guard to apprehend us. Little did he know his guards had either taken off or been more permanently relieved of their positions. And the rest of the orcs in the cell seemed content to let him handle us newcomers.

  Mom leaned to the side, saw that the four of us were relatively unharmed, and stood as her rope bindings fell away. The head orc fell silent for a moment, but only one; then, he resumed screaming and hopping. Mom, who’d long since had enough of this nonsense, leaned forward and clapped a hand on the orc’s bald little head.

  “Silence!” Mom commanded, and the orc’s mouth was instantly replaced by a smooth patch of skin. This only got the little critter even more worked up, so Mom yelled, “Cease, or I’ll do away with something far more dear!”

  At that, the orc stilled himself. “I don’t know if this feeble, ill-advised plan was your doing, or if someone else has directed you,” Mom continued, “but risk coming after a Corbeau at your peril. We are not to be trifled with.” She glared in turn at each of the orcs, most of whom were now cowering against the back wall of the cell; I noticed that some were missing ears or noses. Mom’s curse had affected more than just the orc in charge, then. Good.

  “You’re going to let them live?” Max asked, looking over at the furious, grunting creature. Despite his lack of an orifice, he still had a lot to say.

  “It sends a message,” Mom replied. “Attack my family, be horribly maimed. Attack my family again, and you will perish.”

  “Won’t he starve?” Sadie asked, glancing over her shoulder at the mouthless orc.

  “The curse only lasts forty-eight hours. Though he still has his teeth and may well gnaw his way through before then.”

  Sadie, now a lovely shade of green that coordinated nicely with Max’s sickly pallor, placed a hand over her mouth as she nodded. Mom patted her youngest’s shoulder, then turned on her heel and marched us out of the cell. Disheveled and filthy, she nevertheless walked down the murky corridors like the queen she was, with her head held high. We encountered no guards, goblin or otherwise, though if they had any sense at all, they’d long since fled.

  When we reached the public areas of this fine establishment, I saw that Micah’s assessment was correct—we were in a brothel. Not one of the nicer brothels, either, if nicer versions of that sort of place existed. Based on the jaded faces of the workers, and the empty eyes of the patrons, this was nothing more than a study in hopelessness.

  Heads swiveled toward us; wouldn’t you know it, all the workers, and more than a few patrons, recognized the Lord of Silver, despite the fact that Micah was clad in iron. I was definitely going to have to ask him about this notoriety. Thinking that they were about to be shut down, apprehended, or worse, all the patrons and workers fled at once, out of doors and windows or any other conveniently placed opening. Once the place had emptied, we made our way outside into the welcome sunshine.

  It was just after dawn, which meant that we’d spent half of yesterday and the entire night as the orcs’ captives. We quickly navigated our way back to the square and soon reached the obsidian fountain where this little adventure had begun. Now that the adrenaline high of our escape was wearing off, we took a moment to rest. Sadie moved to dip her hands in the water, attempting to wash up, but Micah stayed her. By way of explanation, he dropped a pebble into the water, which hissed and smoked as it dissolved.

  “Oh,” Sadie croaked. “I guess I’ll stay filthy.” The dissolving stone reeked something awful, and Max retched. Again.

  “Now what do we do?” I asked. “Clearly, that wasn’t the way to Dad.”

  “Dad never dealt with orcs,” Max said, wiping his mouth on the hem of his shirt. “No matter how deep in hiding he was, he never compromised his morals. Dad just wouldn’t do that.”

  “This was some fool’s notion of a way to earn coin,” Micah said. “They saw Baudoin’s son, and assumed—rightly so—that the son sought his father. The orcs attempted to intercede, but their sloppy kidnapping failed. Like as not, Baudoin has not set foot in this market for a long, long time.” Micah looked at Mom while he spoke. Mom didn’t acknowledge him, instead she stared at the fountain, scrutinizing the trail of noxious bubbles. All that remained of the once-solid stone.

  “So, where could he be?” Sadie asked. She went on to ask Max what else he remembered, when Mom shook her head.

  “Perhaps he isn’t anywhere,” Mom said. “Perhaps…perhaps when he stopped meeting Max, it was because he was…gone.” I slipped my hand into Mom’s and squeezed. She’d been holding onto Dad’s memory for so long, I wondered if it had ever occurred to her that he had died, maybe quite some time ago. Rationally, we all knew that his death was a possibility, but out loud, we had always denied it. Out loud, we claimed that Dad was in hiding, and that he would come back.

  Gods. Why were we always wrong about these things?

  “What I do not understand,” Mom said, blinking from something other than the rising sun, “is how they managed all of this so swiftly. It is not like we frequent the Goblin Market. Well, most of us don’t,” she added, with a withering look at Max.

  “Maybe they were waiting for Max,” I offered, but Max shook his head.

  “I never come to the fountain anymore,” he said. “I stick to the bars and the gambling dens. This square is too exposed.”

  “Makes no sense,” Mom muttered.

  “Come,” Micah said, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. The iron armor he’d fashioned from his manacles was certainly not his finest work, and it had rough edges that bit into my flesh, but I didn’t mind. At least he was with me. “Let us leave this vile place.”

  24

  We trudged back up the hill and away from the Goblin Market, silent save for Max’s occasional bouts of nausea. It had been proven, far, far beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Dad was not anywhere nea
r us, not in body, or spirit, or…Well, let’s just stop there. As much as the evidence pointed toward the obvious, I was not ready to consider my father as passed on. Not now, and maybe not ever.

  I squeezed Micah’s hand, grateful for his calming, solid presence. When I called him my knight in dirty armor, he didn’t get it, but he smiled anyway. His battered leather shirt was tossed over his shoulder, and he was once again wearing the token I’d given him. Since he’d regained his own sword, he’d given me the iron one he’d made on the fly. It was a lot heavier than the one Ash had made me, and nowhere near as beautiful, but the edge was razor sharp; it seemed that Micah had been wrong in sending me to the blacksmith, since he managed to create quite fine weapons all on his own. I only hoped I wouldn’t need it.

  I also hoped that Mom would be okay. Since we’d left the Goblin Market, she’d done nothing but mutter away to herself. I wondered if Dad’s lack of presence at his last known haunt, coupled with the years of mistreatment by Peacekeepers, had finally done her in.

  “Do you think she’ll be all right?” I asked Micah, my eyes on Mom. He didn’t answer, so I tugged at his hand. When he still didn’t answer, I followed his gaze down the road and gasped.

  Iron warriors blocked our path.

  “Stand aside,” Micah boomed, for all the good it did him. The iron warriors, true to their nature, remained immobile. I counted seven standing shoulder-to-shoulder across the road, and a group of at least ten behind them, clustered together as if they were shielding someone important. That someone was probably the person in charge of this little event.

  Micah, frustrated that the warriors refused to move or even acknowledge him, the Lord of Silver, raised his arm to fling them aside. They wobbled a bit, and one toppled over, but they remained on the road.

  “You think you’re so strong,” came a gravelly voice from behind the cluster of warriors. “All you of metal, thinking you’re so much better than the rest.” In another moment, Old Stoney stepped around to the front, a pair of orcs flanking him. The very same orcs that had been in the Whispering Dell’s tavern the day Max and I were attacked by that iron warrior.