Copper Veins

by Jennifer Allis Provost

  “I did.” Then I was in his arms, and I all but forgot about the crazy queens and unwanted politics that always found their way into our lives. Well, I forgot about them until Micah yawned, his hot breath cascading across my neck.

  “Have you slept at all?” I asked.

  “I’m fine,” he replied, avoiding the question. I wiggled free from his arms and drew the blankets up to his waist. “What are you doing?”

  “I’d rather you were rested for our first time,” I replied. He made a valiant attempt to glare at me, but it was cut short by another yawn.

  “I do not wish to keep you waiting,” Micah mumbled. “My wife, I love you so.”

  No matter how many times he said it, I always melted when he told me he loved me. I remembered his urgency when we’d fought, how fervently he’d insisted on us talking things through. But it seemed to have slipped his mind. I didn’t want to spoil the moment, or keep him awake for another second. “I love you, too,” I murmured, kissing his cheek. By the time I drew back, he was asleep.

  Since he’d been too exhausted to ready himself for bed, I pulled off his boots and pants, miraculously without waking him. After I’d tucked the blankets around his chin, I took a moment to look at him. I traced his silver brows, the bridge of his nose, his elegant cheekbones with the barest touch of my fingertips. Micah was beautiful, and he was mine. All mine.

  I pushed aside all my nagging thoughts about our arguments and Sadie’s refusal—after all, until Micah woke up, there wasn’t anything I could do about any of it. So I kissed him on the forehead, and then I rose and got myself dressed for the day.

  After a nice, solitary breakfast of hot buttered toast and eggs, I grabbed my coffee and went for a walk in the orchards. The way I figured things, Micah only needed three, maybe four hours of sleep before I could pounce on him in good conscience. It had already been an hour or so—I just needed to wait patiently and hope that I had some time to spare before my family’s plots and plans needed enacting.

  Luckily, it was still pretty early, and we Corbeaus are notoriously late risers. Even Sadie had struggled with her morning classes and usually worked the late shift at the university library. Just as I was congratulating myself on successfully avoiding all the assorted drama, I heard muttering coming from the far end of the orchard, near where the silverkin had recreated Mom’s brugh.

  Don’t check it out. It’s nothing important. Just go back inside.

  Of course, I had to check it out. What I found was my father, pacing, one hand rubbing his chin while the other rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Sara is a Dreamwalker, like Max,” he said. “Sadie is not. Look for someone named Raven. Sara is a Dreamwalker. Sadie is not. A brugh is a fairy hill.”

  What is he doing? It was like he was trying to memorize the details of his own family. Why would he need to do that?

  I pursed my lips and wanted to kick myself. Of course Dad needed to do this—he’d been gone for most of our lives. He’d been gone for most of the time he’d been married to Mom. When he said his piece about the brugh again, I stepped out of the trees and into the clearing.

  “You met Mom in a brugh,” I said, by way of greeting. “Her brugh, when she was the queen.”

  Dad turned to face me, his surprise melting into comprehension as he looked at the remains of his and Mom’s picnic lunch. “This brugh,” he said, and I nodded. Dad sat heavily and rubbed his temples. “No wonder Maeve was so mad.”

  “Did you forget?” I asked, though I didn’t see how that was possible. I mean, I could see forgetting a date, or maybe an obscure relative’s name, but who in their right mind could forget meeting the Queen of the Seelie Court?

  “Sara, my memory is not what it once was,” Dad replied. “All the spells I used during the war have taken a toll.”

  I sat beside him, awash in understanding. “Did you lose a lot of memories?”

  He laughed soundlessly. “More than I’d realized before I came here.” He raised his head, looking once more at the makeshift brugh. “I hardly remember meeting Maeve. I hardly remember marrying her.”

  “But you still love her,” I blurted out. “Don’t you?”

  “Of course,” he said, much to my relief. “My heart remains as true as ever. My head just can’t quite figure out how we got there.” He looked at the wooden table and the platters of food and pitchers of wine scattered across the chipped surface. “When Maeve brought me here, I just stared at the tables and the mound, wondering why she went through all this trouble just to eat outdoors. When I said as much, she looked like she wanted to kill me.”

  “She probably did. She was really upset.” Dad’s eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips—okay, so maybe those last comments weren’t all that helpful. “You know, you could use this as an opportunity.”

  “An opportunity for what, exactly?”

  “You get to fall in love with Mom, all over again,” I said. “Won’t that be exciting?”

  Dad was silent for a moment, still staring at the makeshift brugh as if he couldn’t imagine ever being in one, much less meeting his future wife there. “Sara, that is a wonderful idea,” he said at last.

  I grinned and hoped that Mom would think Dad’s re-courtship was a wonderful idea, too. Dad got to his feet, and then he helped me up. So, my walk had been waylaid by yet another Corbeau family crisis—what of it? At least this crisis was going to have a happy ending.

  As we walked back to the manor, a few nagging thoughts swirled around my mind. “Why didn’t you lose all your memories?” I asked. Dad raised an eyebrow, so I continued, “I mean, you remember plenty about the Mundane realm, and about the wars. You only seem to have forgotten about us.”

  “Sometimes magic demands a terrible price,” Dad replied.

  I shuddered—the more I learned about magic, the less I trusted it.

  11

  Dad and I re-entered the manor. After a bit of searching, we found Sadie in the kitchen watching Max, of all people, kneading dough. My day was getting curiouser and curiouser.

  “Um, what are you doing?” I asked. I glanced at Sadie, but she only shrugged.

  “Gonna bake some bread,” Max replied, then he gave the mass of dough a few punches. “Nothing like home-baked bread.”

  As if Max had ever had home-baked anything. If it wasn’t for the store-bought food we’d eaten as children, we would have either starved to death or been poisoned by Mom’s cooking. “Don’t we have silverkin for that?” I asked. The little guys were capable of cooking up everything from grilled cheese to twelve-course banquets.

  “Yeah, but I wanted to try my hand at it.” He wrestled the dough into a bowl, draped a towel over it, and placed it on the counter in the corner by the hearth. Yeah, we had one of those giant medieval fireplaces where we could roast an entire cow, for what reason I couldn’t fathom. I mean, up until a few months ago only Micah had lived here. “What’s up?” Max said as he wiped his hands on the hem of his shirt.

  “Why did you just leave it on the counter?” I asked. “Shouldn’t the dough be in the fridge so it doesn’t go bad?”

  “Sara, dough needs to rise,” he replied. After I’d blinked at him a few times, wordlessly communicating that all I knew about dough was that it eventually became bread, or better yet, pizza crust, Max continued, “So, what’s up? You have that face.”

  I scowled but ignored that little comment, mostly because Max had flour in his hair and eyebrows and I was not going to tell him. “Turns out that Dad has a few memory problems,” I said, then I told my siblings about our father’s memory loss, and about what had really happened with Mom at the makeshift brugh out back.

  “So that’s why Mom thinks you hate her,” Sadie murmured when I was through. Max glared at her, but she was unaffected. “What? She thinks he had a girlfriend or something.”

  “Gods,” Dad said, covering his face with his hands. “How am I ever going to fix this?”

  “You can begin by telling us what sort of spells y
ou used that altered your memory.” The four of us turned as one and saw Micah standing in the kitchen entrance. He still looked exhausted, as if those last few hours of sleep hadn’t happened. “If you explain to me the sort of magic you employed, I may be able to help you with the aftereffects.”

  Dad stared at Micah for a few heartbeats, though for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why he wasn’t leaping to accept the offer. Wouldn’t getting the memories of your wife and children back be a good thing? Eventually, Dad said, “Concealment spells, mostly.”

  Micah’s brows lowered as he sipped the tea a silverkin had so thoughtfully placed in front of him. I sat across from him, and an identical cup appeared before me. “In my experience, concealment spells merely obscure the caster. Only the darker magics require a sacrifice.”

  “It was war,” Dad ground out.

  “No one is judging you, Baudoin,” Micah said, though I wasn’t so sure he included himself in that statement. “I only wish to help you. I know that I would hate to lose a single memory of my Sara.” Micah reached across the table to grasp my hand, but I pulled it away. He acted as if he hadn’t noticed the slight. “Please, Baudoin, tell us how you actually lost your memories.”

  My father, while not a screamer like Mom, was not the sort of man you challenged. Even when he was mad enough to spit, Dad still wasn’t the sort to fly off the handle. Oh, he would look you square in the eye until you really thought he was going to rain down fire and brimstone. But never did he raise his hand, and never did he raise his voice.

  Of course, that was before Micah insinuated that he was lying.

  Dad’s face turned red, his mouth opening and closing as if he couldn’t get the words out. I clenched my hand into a fist so tightly I worried I’d break my fingers. Not this again. My dad clearly in pain, Micah not taking him seriously—I was about to reprimand him, but someone else got to it first.

  “What is your problem?” Max growled. “Who do you think you are, talking to my father that way?”

  “I am the one who owns this house,” Micah replied. “I feed you, shelter you, and occasionally come close to my own mortality as a result of the varied ill-advised decisions you and your relations make.” Micah’s gaze moved from Dad to Max and back again. “While you are both certainly welcome in my and my wife’s home, I will not abide anything less than complete honesty.”

  Max stood, his hands balled into fists.

  “Hey. Hey!” I rose, slamming my palms on the table as I glared between Max and Micah. “No one’s doing anything with fists. Got it?” Max nodded, then unclenched his hands and sank back into his chair. I turned to Micah. “I’m not going to let you bully my father,” I said firmly. “If you can help him, then help him, but don’t treat him like he’s an enemy.” I expected him to retaliate or defend himself, but Micah only nodded curtly, the expression on his face apologetic. His understanding made my heart swell—he was trying. Good.

  I turned to my father. “Dad, maybe you and Micah should talk about these spells. Alone.”

  Dad nodded, but Micah barely acknowledged his agreement. “We shall. However, first I must tell you all of my evening spent in the Golden Court.”

  Micah sipped his tea, seemingly content to make us suffer, before he continued. “Firstly, Oriana has at last confirmed what we have long suspected—those of copper were forbidden from speaking with anyone named Corbeau, but especially from speaking with the Inheritor. Forbidden by the queen herself.”

  “I knew it!” I blurted out. “But why?”

  “Well, there is the matter of the missing scroll,” Micah replied.

  “What missing scroll?” Sadie asked.

  “A scroll that details the lineage of the royal family that existed before Elementals. However, that is not why those of copper were forbidden from interacting with the Corbeaus.” Micah set down his teacup and fixed Dad in his gaze. “It would seem that when you, Baudoin, were gathering support for your war all those years ago, you were seen as a strong leader.”

  “Yeah? And?” Max demanded. Micah’s eyes flicked toward Max, but he otherwise ignored my brother’s rudeness.

  “Apparently, you reinforced your position as a leader by strongly suggesting that one of your children was the Inheritor of Metal, and that this child would lead in the Otherworld while you led in the Mundane realm,” Micah said.

  He let the words hang in the air while Sadie looked horrified, Max grinned, and Dad seemed as confused as ever. It all made sense now—Oriana, who had already been deposed once, was terrified that Sadie had come to the Otherworld to take over. Sadie, copper girl and the Inheritor of Metal, who also had outright refused the blood pledge to the queen not once, but twice.

  Oy.

  “Why did you do that?”

  We turned toward the whispered voice—Sadie, the girl in question, had risen to her feet and was staring at Dad, her face bloodless. “I was just a baby. How could you?”

  “I needed the Inheritor’s identity to rally support,” Dad said in a rush. Micah glanced over at me, letting me know that he and I had just come to the same conclusion—Dad’s memory was so shot, he had no idea why he’d done it. “I never would have put you in harm’s way, not then, not ever.”

  Sadie nodded, then she sank down into her chair. “This is really bad,” she mumbled.

  “It is,” Micah agreed, “but we shall overcome it.” Then he yawned so widely I worried his jaw would unhinge.

  “You need to rest,” I murmured. Micah didn’t protest as I pulled him to his feet and led him out of the kitchen. As soon as we were in the hallway, he wrapped his arms around me, something I didn’t protest, either.

  “Your sister is right,” he mumbled into my hair. “This is very, very bad.” Micah tightened his arms around me. “I do not know if I can withstand the might of the Golden Court should Oriana name us traitors.”

  “Do you think she will?” I asked.

  “She may. I have convinced her that Sadie is naught but a foolish child who knew not what she did. Mind you, that was quite difficult, what with Sadie’s obvious intelligence and her many supporters clamoring for her coronation.” Micah pulled back, then tucked a length of hair behind my ear. “We have a day, maybe two, before we must decide on a plan of action.”

  I took a deep breath. “Okay. So Sadie needs to suck it up and pledge to the queen.”

  “Yes, that would be best.”

  “Let me talk to her. She’s sufficiently freaked out, so it shouldn’t take much convincing to get her to pledge to Oriana. While I do that, you sleep. I need you sharp if we’re going to work our way out of this.”

  Micah smiled, but he was so exhausted it was more of a grimace. “As you say, love.” He kissed me, and again, and once more for good measure. Once I’d promised to join him as soon as my little talk with Sadie was complete, he staggered off to bed.

  I watched Micah climb the stairs to our bedroom, wishing I could join him. Before I could settle into bed with him, there was the matter of my sister to attend to.

  “No, Sara,” she said when I reentered the kitchen. Dad and Max were gone, so it was just us girls. “Whatever you’re going to say, no.”

  “Okay.” I sat across from her and picked at the wicker breadbasket. Of all the opulent creations in the manor, the silverkin had chosen wicker for a centerpiece. The little guys were cute, but lacking in style. “What did you think I was going to say?”

  “You’re going to try and convince me to be a leader like Dad,” she replied.

  “Nope.” I grabbed a slice of bread and spread some butter across it. “I’m going to convince you to pledge to the gold queen.”

  Sadie shuddered. “It’s so gross.”

  “Yep. And once you do it, it’s done. Never again.”

  She stirred her coffee for a moment. “What if there’s a new queen?”

  I stopped moving, my knife held mid-slather. “Huh?”

  “Come on. You can’t expect Oriana to be around forever. I mean, these
Elementals drop like flies, so even if she doesn’t randomly kill herself with a feather duster, someone will probably kill her. Then we’ll all have to pledge to the new ruler.”

  “Maybe, but—”

  “And what about the one after that?” Sadie continued, her voice going shrill. “And the one after that? This is a bloody, freaky, germy mess!”

  “It is,” I agreed. “And if you don’t participate in that mess, Oriana’s going to name us all traitors. All of us, even Micah.”

  Sadie’s lower lip trembled, and her head drooped. “Crap.”

  I stood and patted her shoulder. “Micah bought us some time, but only a day or two. Just think about it, okay?”

  She nodded, and I left her to her thoughts. Little did Sadie know that if I had to I’d knock her out and carry her to the Gold Court on my back in order to fix this mess. I loved my sister, but there was no way I was going to let Micah and our entire family be branded traitors.

  12

  My head was spinning.

  After I left Sadie mulling over her admittedly bad options—either get germy and pledge to the queen or be labeled a traitor—I went for a walk, hoping to sort out my thoughts. Unfortunately, the fresh air wasn’t as helpful as I’d hoped.

  As I walked, I put those thoughts aside and considered my father’s recent revelation. When Dad first told me about his missing memories, I’d been alternating between relief—since he really did still love Mom, despite constantly wandering away from her—to dread, wondering how we could fill in the gaps. Along with a fair bit of anger. I mean, I knew Dad was fighting a war and all, but why did he have to sacrifice his memories to power a spell? Why memories of us? He didn’t have any others he could have let go, like how to drive stick or pilot a helicopter?

  I wanted to help him. I had to help him—missing memories or no, Mom wasn’t going to put up with half a husband for much longer. And no matter how I approached this problem, I could only think of one person with the knowledge and resources to help—the crone who ran the apothecary down in the village.