Copper Girl (15 page)

Micah laughed. “In a way, yes. Fear not, my love, for neither silver nor copper succumbs to rust.”

My eyes traveled to the Bright Lady, and I sneakily examined her creamy skin, looking for a mark, but I had no idea what a watery sigil would be. A wave, or a fish scale, maybe? I even craned my neck to check hers for gills. She felt my scrutiny and boldly met my eyes, at which I blushed and looked away.

“She’s quite lovely, isn’t she?” Micah murmured against my ear. “But you, my Sara, are lovelier yet.” He took the comb from my hand and settled it safely on the bank, then wrapped his arms around me and kissed my shoulder.

“Micah,” I protested, “this doesn’t feel right.”

“And this?” he murmured, as his lips teased the hollow of my throat.

“That’s not what I meant!” I was interrupted by a haughty splash; the Bright Lady had come to reclaim her comb. Only a truly miffed water being could manage a splash that sounded like a huff. After waggling her finger at Micah for leaving so precious an item on the ground, she took my hand.

“You kept your promise to me,” she said, seductively; I could see waves crashing in her blue eyes. “You, I favor.” The Bright Lady held out her finger, and a single droplet of water coalesced into a multifaceted jewel. She pressed the jewel into my palm; after a brief but sharp moment of pain, it lodged beneath my flesh. She graced me with a coy smile, then the Bright Lady resumed her place on the far side of the pool, and Micah resumed his nibbling.

“I mean, it isn’t right that we’re here, enjoying each other, while Max is still a captive,” I explained, flexing my palm around the sparkly jewel. “Shouldn’t we be doing something?”

“I know little of human ways,” Micah began, once again serious, “but I am well-versed in the ways of battle and intrigue. Perhaps too well-versed.” A cloud moved across his face, but before I could ask, he continued, “The stone fortress where your brother is held is difficult to enter, even for those with our abilities. His captors will have doubled, perhaps tripled, his guards after last night’s events. His captors may relocate him, though that is unlikely, but no matter where Max is held, he will be surrounded so densely that we’ll have no hope of reaching him.” He paused and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “If the humans have kept him alive for all this time, they need him. Max is safer, for the moment, if we leave him be. Our best course of action is to wait and speak to our allies. We shall research, and we shall plan. Once we have learned all we can, we shall act.”

“I don’t have any allies,” I mumbled. I was useless, a copper girl who couldn’t bend a penny, surrounded by government operatives and powerful Elementals.

“Not so,” Micah corrected. “You have me. My allies are yours, my love.”

That was the second time he’d called me that. “Can we go to the Iron Queen?” I asked. Surely, she was powerful enough to help Max, and even though she was Dad’s enemy, the Peacekeepers were the greater foe. Enemy of my enemy and all that.

Micah made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “Her help is unlikely, especially now that you are my consort.” Call it woman’s—or consort’s—intuition, but I heard what he’d left unsaid.

“You have a history with her, don’t you?” He looked away, but I poked his chest. “Don’t you?”

“I have never laid a finger on her,” Micah said indignantly. “She, however, had other notions.” I ducked around to meet his eyes, and he blew out a slightly frustrated breath. “She desired me as her consort.”

“And you turned her down?” I asked, in amazement.

“Immediately.”

“So, that’s why she received us in her chain mail bikini,” I mused.

“Bi…kee…nee?” Micah repeated.

“She was almost naked when we arrived. I think she wanted to show you what you were missing.” I laid my head on his shoulder, full of satisfaction over Micah spurning the Iron Queen’s advances. “You turned down a queen, yet you want me.”

“You and I are far more suited to one another,” Micah said, dragging his fingers through my hair. “She is so… I cannot imagine why anyone would desire that woman.”

I stifled a laugh, only to feel its echo in Micah’s chest. “Are we an alloy?” I asked, suddenly. In response to his raised eyebrow, I added, “You know, like bronze or something.”

“In a way,” he murmured. “We are much stronger together than apart.”

I liked that. However, if I was going to alloy myself with Micah, I needed a few more answers. “Why do you hate my father?”

“What?” His brow furrowed, and he pushed back my tangled hair. “I have always had the utmost respect for Baudoin Corbeau.”

“Then why were you mad when you found out about my relationship to him?”

Micah exhaled, and stared at the clouds for a few moments. “You must admit that—No, you are probably too young to remember.” He shook his head, and started over. “Your father is more than an Elemental, more than a Raven, even. He is an amazing man, gifted in the arts of magic as well as leadership. Many flocked to him, both for protection and guidance.”

“I know,” I said, a bit peeved. I mean, he
was
my father, after all.

“When Baudoin disappeared, it was a blow to Elementals. All Elementals, not just human Elementals.” He fell silent for a moment, his hand stroking my mark. “Without a rallying point, we faltered. Then the Gold Queen fell, and Ferra came to power. It… nothing has been the same, since your father went missing.”

“So, you’d like to find him?” I ventured.

“More than anything,” Micah affirmed. “We of metal are in dire need of a leader such as he.”

Before I could truly appreciate the mental image of Dad as Copper King, we were distracted by laughter from the opposite side of the pool. A group of pixies had arrived and were shedding their diaphanous, many-colored dresses as they readied themselves for a swim. Before entering the pool, they formed a circle and grasped hands, glittering wings poised, dancing about while the Bright Lady clapped. Then a few fauns burst forth from the trees, their bare phalluses announcing that they were after a different sort of dance.

“Perhaps it’s time we went inside,” Micah murmured. He held my arm as we left the cool water, and I gladly leaned against him. I saw that the silverkin had thoughtfully left a pair of neatly folded robes on a nearby bench, our filthy clothing having been whisked away to some magical washing machine. Or maybe they’d burned them, who knew? As Micah held one of the robes open for me, I peeked over my shoulder and saw the Bright Lady handing out combs and mirrors to the pixies. I guessed that they wanted to look nice for the fauns.

“Come along, my love,” Micah said, drawing my attention. “We will eat, and rest, and then we shall plan. In the space of a few sunrises, we shall better understand how to combat this foe.”

“That’s the third time you’ve called me that.”

“Called you what, exactly?”

“My love.”

“So I did.” Micah wrapped his arm around my shoulders and kissed my hair. “So I did.”

“I do
not
like this,” Micah said for the millionth time.

“Well, I don’t, either,” I snapped back. I did not like that my best friend since middle school now appeared to be nothing more than a filthy Peacekeeper, in my life for no other reason than to keep tabs on me and my family. Really, if I looked at my and Juliana’s history objectively, there were more than a few odd points, beginning with how she had just
appeared
at my school shortly after Max had been dragged off by the Peacekeepers. Juliana and I had become fast friends, mostly because she was the only one who hadn’t shunned me for having a brother who’d openly practiced magic; in that respect, I had been a captive audience. After graduation, we’d gone to separate colleges—I had studied liberal arts, while Juliana had apparently gone to spy school—but, lo and behold, there she’d been the day I’d walked into REES for my interview.

Really, there’s no such thing as coincidence.

I’d been lied to for half a lifetime by Peacekeepers. Since the wars had ended, Peacekeepers hadn’t allowed me and mine a moment’s rest, and now I knew that Juliana was one of them. I never wanted to see her again, much less interact with her. I wanted to scream and tear out my hair; better, I wanted to tear out
her
hair. No. I just wanted to hide.

I wanted to stop taking out my frustrations on Micah.

“I’m sorry. It’s just…” I clenched my fists, frustrated and mad and feeling just so damn stupid for never seeing her for whom she really was. “I just wish you had been wrong about her.”

“I know. I wish the same.” Then his arms were around me, and I was in that cocoon of Micah-ness, that safe harbor that was uniquely him. It was in this safe harbor I’d come up with my grand plan, and Micah hadn’t liked it any better at the outset.

After we’d donned the robes the silverkin had so thoughtfully left by the pool, Micah had led me to his—well,
our
—dining room. The centerpiece was a long, highly polished table of dark wood, topped with covered dishes and platters and pitchers of everything I could ever want to eat or drink. I’d never seen such delicacies before (items such as sugared jasmine blossoms and roasted swan had never even made appearances at the Corbeau holiday table), but there were also Mundane items such as grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. I gave the silverkin a few brief instructions, and soon a plate of steaming, salty fries lay before me. Yes, I could certainly get used to being Lady Silverstrand.

When our meal was complete (I knew the exact moment, since I’d eaten so much I could hardly move), a bevy of silverkin had whisked me away to a dressing room of sorts. There, in massive wardrobes larger than my apartment’s bathroom, hung gowns in every color and fabric and style imaginable, as long as your taste tended toward ‘damsel in distress.’

If the silverkin understood my preference toward more casual attire, they didn’t show it. Instead, they chattered away while they showed me one garment after another, extolling the virtues of this blue silk frock or those cream suede slippers. When I asked what had become of my jeans and sneakers, the little silver devils feigned ignorance.

“Wait.” Suddenly, the silverkin stopped their mad bustle and stared at me. “You have seen me, what, three times by now?” That got a cheery chorus of nods. “During any of those times, was I dressed like this?”

Silence. Well, silence and fidgeting. I took a deep breath, and continued, “These dresses are all very nice. You did a very good job. However, I
like
jeans. I like sneakers and sweaters with hoods. Can you make me some of those?” They anxiously looked from one to the other; obviously, my request contradicted their orders. I crouched down and said, with a conspiratorial smile, “Oh, don’t worry about
him
. I’ll tell him it was all my idea.”

At that, their chatter resumed, mostly because they were relieved that they weren’t going to get in trouble. This time. Since my jeans wouldn’t be ready for some time, I settled upon a simple ivory and rose-colored dress that laced up the bodice, despite their continued insistence that I wear one of the more formal gowns.
Hadn’t we just had a discussion about that?

“It’s not that I don’t like them,” I insisted, “I just have no idea of how to wear all of…this.” By “this,” I meant the petticoats, corsets, and other bric-a-brac that came with such ensembles. The dress I ended up wearing had a straight skirt, no petticoats or other god-awful undergarments, and long sleeves that came to a point over the back of each of my hands. While the silverkin piled my hair atop my head, I tried on shoes; none of them got my joke about glass slippers. Much to their chagrin, I selected plain slippers of ivory suede and made my return to the hall.

I found that Micah had also changed out of his robe, and was resplendent in a burgundy velvet tunic edged with silver, chocolate leather breeches, and tall boots. If I’d seen any other man in such a getup I’d have laughed, but Micah looked like a king. And his reaction to my dress… Well, let’s just say that looking like Rapunzel had a definite upside.

A long, happy time later, I’d brought up my latest plan, which was only a little bit likely to get us killed. We’d probably just be captured.

“I should go talk to Juliana,” I’d said suddenly. We’d been ensconced in Micah’s enormous bed; I’d worried that it would be some sort of metal contraption, but it had turned out to be a real bed, complete with four posts and a feather mattress. Everything in Micah’s bedroom was a brilliant shade of blue, from the rich teal wall tapestries to silken sheets dyed the color of the sky. Even the floor fit the overall theme, a tile mosaic of blue accented with ochre, topped with a white fur rug, lest our toes be chilled. The Otherworld certainly didn’t lack for luxury. “Maybe I can learn a few things from her, like how Max is guarded.”

“He is guarded by armored men who shot at you,” Micah stated. “I need no more information.”

“No, I mean maybe I can find out about a weak spot. Like the rotation of the guards.”

“They change every two hours. I saw that myself, while I was waiting for your dreamself to be done with that place.” He was stubborn, yes, but I’m Irish on my mother’s side. We’re not known for being pushovers.