Copper Veins (22 page)

“Joining the families?” I repeated. “As in, allies?”

“More than just allies,” Dad clarified. “Marriage.”

Mom snorted and muttered something about politics being the death of us all. I heard movement near the front door and saw that Micah had left it open. No one was standing there, so I assumed it had been a silverkin and turned back to Dad. “While these are all solid reasons,” I allowed, “the fact remains that I am married to Micah. To Micah! You need to drop this fantasy about Jerome.”

Dad shrugged. “I had so many dreams for you.” He looked to Sadie. “You, too. I wanted us to lead the resistance together. You would be an excellent leader, of that I'm sure.”

Sadie stared at him, her mouth a slash across her face. “You know nothing about me,” she whispered, before retreating toward her library. Mom gave Dad a long, sad look, then she went upstairs.

“You should apologize to Micah,” I said as I also left the atrium. “Being that he's the only son-in-law you have.”

Dad started to say something, but I didn't stay to hear it. What I needed right now was a drink—
preferably something cold and eye-wateringly alcoholic—some aspirin, and a nap. Arguing with Dad was just exhausting, and the combination of my throbbing head and leftover bruises wasn't helping matters.

On my way to the kitchen, I found Sadie curled up on the couch. “You okay?”

“How could I be okay?” She raised her head, face streaked with tears. “My entire life, I've waited to have my father back. Now he's here, and he doesn't care anything about me.”

“That's not true,” I said, sitting beside her. “You know he loves you.”

“He loves the idea of me,” Sadie spat. “He loves having a powerful daughter, one who can be a symbol for his cause. He has no idea who I really am.”

I didn't say anything—I mean, what could I have really offered? Sadie was right. Dad had been gone for so long, and he was now so focused on the resistance that he didn't know any of us. What was worse was that he didn't seem to care.

So I sat with my sister, hoping that my presence comforted her at least a little bit. After a while, the silverkin brought us something to eat and the magazines I'd picked up a few weeks ago at the Promenade Market. I figured I'd spend some quality time with Sadie until Micah got back from his walk. I couldn't wait to see him, go up to our rooms, and put this day behind us.

“He is trying to take you away from me.”

“Wha—” I blinked, bleary-eyed, and assessed my surroundings. My physical body was once again sleeping on the couch with Sadie—we must have been sleeping for a while, since someone had been thoughtful enough to tuck some blankets around us. Micah's body was sprawled in the chair opposite from the couch while his dreamself prowled back and forth before the hearth.

Which meant that Micah was angry—no,
furious
—enough about something to barge into my dream and yell about it.

“Micah,” I said, but he ignored me and went on nattering away. “Hey!” I said louder. At least he stopped moving. “What are you talking about?”

“Your father. Baudoin.” Micah halted and scrubbed his face with his hands, then he crouched before me. “My Sara, it pains me to say this, but I must. Your father wants us apart.”

“He doesn't,” I said automatically, then I remembered the movement I'd caught near the front door. I guess someone had been there after all. “You heard what he said?” I asked, my hand finding its way inside Micah's.

“I did.” Micah caressed my cheek, his eyes wide. “Sara, you must tell me if you share his sentiment. If you do not wish to be bound to me, I will release you.”

“Release me?” I squeaked. I knew what Micah meant—as long as our marriage remained unconsummated, either one of us could walk away. Only I wasn't planning on going anywhere. “Is that what you want?”

“No,” he murmured, now raining kisses onto my face, neck, hands. “I will hold you to me until the end of time, if only you wish it. I will never let you go. Never…”

I started awake, the sensation of Micah's lips somehow imprinted on my wakeful skin. He still slept fitfully in the chair across from us, his brows drawn together. Slowly, so as not to wake my sister, I extricated myself from the blankets and settled myself on Micah's lap.

I took a moment to appreciate his sleeping face,
his delicate silver brows a pleasing contrast to his caramel skin, before I started raining kisses upon his skin in much the same way his dreamself had done to me. It didn't take long to rouse him, not that it mattered. I could have kissed him forever.

“And I will never let you go,” I said, staring into his silver eyes. “I don't care who thinks what about it. You're mine. End of story.”

Micah put his hands on the back of my neck and slid his fingers into my hair. “But what of your father?”

“What of him?” My voice caught at the last, but I soldiered on. “He's been gone for most of my life. He wasn't there when I was growing up, wasn't…” I reflexively wiped my nose, not that I was crying. “My point is, he doesn't really know me very well. So he'll just have to get to know the both of us, together.”

Then I kissed Micah before he could protest, thus ending anything he could say about needing a father's approval. Because he didn't need anyone's approval, and neither did I.

“Let's go upstairs,” I said between kisses. I glanced at the window: dawn was just breaking over the horizon.

At that, Micah balled his hands into fists. “We must appear at the Golden Court this morning,” he said. “If we do not, Oriana may formally accuse us of treason.”

“Oh. Well, then.” I mustered my coyest glance. “Let's get this appearance over with. I have business
with my husband.”

At that, Micah smiled, a real smile that reached his eyes. “My Sara, I couldn't agree more.”

Micah and I didn't even bother to change before we left for the Golden Court. I just brushed my hair and pulled on a hoodie, not even taking the time to apply some makeup to conceal the remains of my recent injuries. While my copper had taken care of the cuts that had scored my cheek, Micah hadn't gotten around to helping me with the bruises. As it turned out, Micah approved of me looking like a punching bag.

“While it pains me to see you so,” he murmured, lightly touching my mottled cheek, “it will reinforce my claim that you were abducted.”

“Would anyone really think you made that up?”

Micah snorted. “The problem is our queen tends to react before she thinks.”

He had a point there. “What we really need to do is create a diversion, so that she stops looking our way,” I said.

Micah smiled and pulled me close. “An excellent notion, love.” Then he kissed me, rather awesomely, and we left the Whispering Dell to meet with our lunatic queen.

The Golden Court was welcoming, as always, with its attentive footmen and smiling servant girls. By now, I suspected that they had been drugged with something that made them unable to do anything but smile and bow. And genuflect—can't forget the genuflecting.

Anyway, we were led with alacrity (side note: I have been hanging around Sadie way too much if I'm using words like genuflect and alacrity) to Oriana's receiving chamber. The throne was, notably, empty.

“Our queen shall join you shortly,” we were assured by one of Oriana's tulip-skirted maidens. Once we were seated, she skittered out of the room, and we waited.

And waited.

At one point, I dozed off against Micah's shoulder. He woke me, admonished me for having the audacity to fall asleep while waiting for our queen's arrival, and proceeded to fall asleep himself. He's cute when he drools.

Once I'd roused him, I asked him what could be taking Oriana so long. “We did arrive quite early,”
Micah replied, surreptitiously wiping his chin. “Perhaps our queen had a late night.”

“Perhaps our queen wants to watch us squirm,” I muttered. Before Micah could defend her, Oriana herself appeared. Her new companion, Ayla, the Inheritor of Fire, was right behind her.

“Lord Silverstrand,” Oriana intoned as one of the tulip-skirted girls led her to her throne, while Ayla claimed an ornate seat to the throne's left. I was beginning to wonder if Oriana could manage to feed and groom herself without assistance. “Lady Silverstrand,” she added, mostly as an afterthought.

“My queen,” Micah said, bowing low. I wasn't going to bother with bowing, but Micah pulled me into a half-assed curtsey. He had always been much more polite than me.

“Thank you for allowing us a brief respite before we attended you,” Micah continued, once we'd straightened. “My wife and I both appreciate your generosity. Her captivity was quite an ordeal for all of us.”

Oriana stared at me, so I stared back until Micah pinched me. Oh, yes, I should probably speak. “We all appreciate your patience,” I said. “During our capture—”

“Was your sister captured?” Oriana demanded.

“Yes.” After another pinch from Micah, I added, “My lady.”

“Did she also escape?”

“Um, yes.”

Oriana leaned forward, her eyes narrowed. “Why is she not here now?”

I opened and closed my mouth like a fish, wondering if I should begin with the fight Sadie had with Dad or the fact that Micah and I hadn't woken her before we left.

“Micah, the lack of the Inheritor's presence worries me greatly,” Oriana continued before I could come up with anything. “If she continues in her refusals, I will count this as the second time you have abandoned me.”

“I have never abandoned you,” Micah stated, a hint of irritation in his voice. “As I explained during our last visit—”

Oriana held up a hand and shook her head.

“Oh, but you did,” she countered. “After you stepped down as my general—“

“Didn't we already go over this?” I interrupted, earning me a third pinch from Micah. That one definitely left a mark.

Oriana's eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I'd like to go over it again.”

Micah moved to pinch me again, but I swatted his hand. “I mean no disrespect,” I said. “It's just that, from what you and Micah have said, it doesn't sound like he abandoned you. Things just happened, things that ended up hurting both of you.”

“He may as well have,” Oriana snapped. “Without
Micah's leadership, I fell before iron. If he'd been with me, he could have saved me, saved Eurwynn…”

Oriana's accusations faded to sobs, and Ayla rushed forth to comfort her. While the queen was distracted, I whispered to Micah, “She really misses the Gold King.”

“Bards sang of their love across the realm,” Micah murmured. “Now, those ballads have become laments.” He turned to me and tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “Sara, do not judge our queen too harshly. She merely grieves the loss of her husband.”

I nodded, though I thought Oriana's actions of late could be attributed to a bit more than grief. “My lady,” I began, “I am so sorry for your loss. I can't imagine the weight of your grief.”

“Thank you,” Oriana sniffled, then she sat straight up and folded her hands in her lap. Her moods changed so fast I felt like I was the sole passenger on a roller coaster, a rickety one assembled by a drunk carnie at that. “Despite my continued lack of a king and a capable general, we do need to sort out where the Inheritor's loyalties lie.”

“Of course,” Micah said, then he steered the conversation in a completely new direction. “My lady, before we discuss the question of the Inheritor's loyalty, should we not first establish what this supposed scroll, and the family tree it contains, might mean to the monarchy?”

Oriana's eyes went wide, her chin quivering.
“Micah, you, too, wish to unseat me?”

“No, my lady, never,” he replied. “However, since the scroll's existence has been brought to light, we need to examine it thoroughly in order to dispute any pretender's claims to the throne.” Micah approached the dais, palms up and arms spread. “Much of the dissent of late has been caused by those claiming that this… this lineage would prove that another, quite possibly Sadie, has more of a right to rule than you.”

“Yes, yes,” Oriana said. “But, you forget, we don't know where this scroll is. It has been hidden away.”

“True,” Micah allowed. In a panic, I searched my memory and determined that I hadn't yet told Micah that the scroll was at the manor. At least, I thought I hadn't told him. “Therefore, what I propose is a search. Allow us time to examine every library and scribe's den, and all other repositories for such things.”

“Micah, that would take years,” Oriana said. For once, I agreed with the queen. “Decades, perhaps.”

“Exactly my point!” Micah said. Now, I was convinced that he was making all of this up on the spot. “If those who wish to move against you truly have possession of this scroll, they will produce it. Did they not say it had been hidden for safekeeping?”

“They did,” Oriana murmured. “That they did.”

“What if they produce it?” Ayla asked—it was the first time I'd ever heard her speak. Her voice was low, husky.

“I doubt that it exists,” Micah said. “If it did, would it not have already been brought to light?”

“They do seem to have difficulty proving their claims,” Oriana murmured. Holy crap, she was buying this spiel. “Very well, Micah. How shall we go about this search?”

“Issue a royal bull,” Micah began, now pacing back and forth before the dais. “Declare that, for the good of the land—for the good of the people!—this scroll must be located at once. Order all of your subjects to search their homes, their hideaways, everywhere! If no such lineage can be produced by Midsummer Day, declare those who accused you guilty of treason, and allow them the options of publicly recanting their claims or being tossed into your dungeon.”