Copper Veins (10 page)

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.

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.

It wasn't my best idea, but I'd had worse. Way worse, but that's beside the point. The crone was both powerful and unscrupulous, and those were the two characteristics I needed.

Once I'd made up my mind to pay her a visit, my next problem became my promise to Micah—I had agreed to take a silverkin with me whenever I went to the village without him. The crone struck me as somewhat like Mom in that she would find the silver critters an annoyance and possibly even refuse to help me based solely on their presence. And, what if they knocked over something in her shop or tried organizing the jumbled mess inside? No telling what forces of darkness they might unleash, and the clouds of dust they kicked up would be enormous.

As always, Shep managed to come up with a simple yet brilliant solution. Since the rest of my family was otherwise occupied and my new husband was fast asleep, I even had a window of opportunity to slip away from the manor unnoticed. I crept into
my bedroom to change my shoes, making sure to be extra quiet so I wouldn't disturb Micah's much-needed rest.

“Where are you off to?”

Apparently I was not as quiet as I'd hoped. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“I woke when I heard the door,” Micah said, rolling over to face me. I sat on the edge of our bed and sighed. Even though I hadn't meant to wake him, the damage was done.

“I want to go down to the village. I think the crone might be able to help with Dad's memory.” Micah opened his mouth, but I continued, “And I'm not going alone.”

Micah shut his mouth, his gaze moving from side to side. “I see no one else.”

I held out my arm, displaying a heavy silver bracelet. Before Micah could ask me where I'd gotten my new jewelry, I took off the bracelet and placed it on the bed. A heartbeat later, Shep unfolded himself.

“Clever,” Micah murmured.

“Shep told me—well, he mimed, and I played Twenty Questions—that he could reshape himself, and I got the idea from these robot toys Max used to play with,” I said. “Each one could fold into something else, like a car, or a plane, even a dinosaur…”

“My wife is as brilliant as she is beautiful,” Micah said, pressing a kiss to my temple. Then he threw off the blankets and started pulling on his boots.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I shall accompany you to the village,” he replied, reaching for his shirt.

“Micah,” I said, placing my hand above his heart. “You can't. When was the last time you slept?”

“I will sleep later. Your safety is far more important than a few moments' rest.” I looked at him, at the circles under his eyes that were as dark as bruises, and made one last attempt.

“Okay. You can come with me, but only after you've slept.”

“We shall go now,” he said. “If your father really has lost his memories due to dark magics, time is truly of the essence.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“The longer his memories are gone, the less likely it is that they can be returned.”

“Oh,” I gasped, my hand covering my mouth. Dad had been gone for sixteen years. Who knew how long ago he'd sacrificed the first memory, and what memories were permanently lost?

“Fear not, love,” Micah said, pulling me to my feet. “If the crone cannot assist us, perhaps another can. We do not want for magic in the Whispering Dell.”

I smiled, grateful yet again for my Micah. “Promise me you'll sleep, at least for a few hours, when we get back?”

He returned my smile. “Only if you sleep with me.”

“Done.”

Micah and I skated down the metal pathways and arrived at the village only a few minutes after I'd woken him. As we passed through the village's living silver gates, I couldn't help wondering which memories Dad had let go of first. The way Micah had explained it, the more dear the memory one sacrificed, the more powerful the spell would be. I supposed that explained why he could hardly remember Mom and treated Sadie and me like strangers. It also made me wonder why he had such a clear recollection of Max.

“Are you quite certain you wish to begin with the crone?” Micah asked as we turned down the street the apothecary was situated on. When I relayed my thoughts of her being powerful and unscrupulous, he snorted. “She is unquestionably without honor.”

“That's my point,” I said. “We need someone familiar with dark magic and its aftereffects. She doesn't seem to be much into charitable works.” I shuddered, remembering the deal she'd tricked me into.

“That she does not,” Micah said dryly. We had reached the apothecary door, and I laced my fingers with Micah's before we entered.

“Thank you for coming with me,” I said. “I know you don't like it here.”

Micah smiled and squeezed my fingers, but did not
speak. Only a fool would disparage the crone while standing on her front stoop. With that, we pushed open the door and sneezed.

Somehow, I always managed to forget how filthy the apothecary was. It could be a dust museum based on how thick the stuff was. I really should have brought Shep, along with a Dustbuster or three. Once my sneezing fits had subsided, we found the crone seated in her usual spot behind the counter, drinking something out of a clay cup.

“Lord and Lady Silverstrand,” she croaked. “What good fortune has brought you both to my shop today?”

Micah inclined his head toward the crone and murmured a greeting. Forgoing the niceties, I asked, “Do you know anything about spells that demand your memories as a price?”

The crone raised a shaggy gray brow. “Those magics are powerful,” she replied, “far too powerful for a girl like you.”

“I don't want to use them,” I said. “I…know someone who has.” She stared at me, unmoving, until I elaborated. “My father. He had to use those spells.”