Copper Ravens

by Jennifer Allis Provost

  I smiled and leaned against his shoulder. “I suppose you have a point.” He accepted his win gracefully and kissed my hair. “I just like seeing something of me here. Everything’s so silver.”

  “What would you like?” Micah asked. “To be copper, that is.”

  “Anything?”

  “For my Sara, anything.”

  “Hmm.” I considered my request carefully, not wanting to waste what might be my only redecorating opportunity on something frivolous. Maybe a spiral staircase of polished copper would enhance the place, or that roof I’d once coveted? Before I came up with any good ideas, we heard yet another commotion, this one coming from the opposite side of the garden. I really needed to start chucking salt over my shoulder to ward off these sorts of days.

  Micah leapt up and ran toward the noise. I followed close behind, but we both halted when we saw the source of this latest uproar. Of course, it was Max, who was fending off a gang of iron warriors.

  “Max!” I shrieked.

  “They followed me!” he yelled, ducking to avoid a punch. There were four—no, make that five—iron warriors surrounding my brother, with the remains of two others lying nearby. The warriors were huge, monstrous creations, each one of them tall and broad, with a mouthful of teeth like broken saw blades. Not to mention, all of their punches were death blows.

  Max, by comparison, was positively puny. I’d like to say that my brother was holding his own against the mob, but, well-honed as his abilities might be, he could only disable one iron man at a time. The warriors had apparently caught on to his weakness, for while one attacked him head-on, the others closed in from behind, harrying him and getting in those cheap shots that added up to blood loss and exhaustion.

  I had no idea what to do or how to help my brother, when all at once, the iron warriors stopped moving and became little more than metal sculptures decorating the garden. Max’s confused face let me know that he hadn’t engineered this turn of events. Since I knew that I hadn’t done anything but jump up and down and flap my arms, I glanced to the side. I flinched when I saw Micah’s outstretched hand, his silver eyes boiling in fury.

  “They followed you?” Micah said, his voice rumbling like a volcano moments before the eruption. “Where did they follow you from?”

  “The village,” Max said. I realized that he couldn’t move either, also thanks to my consort. I’d never seen Micah so angry, and I was amazed that he could hold all six individuals completely immobile. I was awed by his control, his strength, and more than a bit frightened. “Sara and I saw one the other day—”

  “The one whose spark was taken by the pixie,” I interjected.

  “And you went looking for more,” Micah deduced. When Max remained silent, Micah continued, “You sought out the henchmen of my greatest enemy, and led them to my home?”

  “I wanted to know who they work for now!” Max shouted. “I thought—”

  “No, Max, you did not think.” Micah approached the warriors, and their heads creaked around to face him. “Whom do you serve?” he demanded of the iron men.

  “The Iron Queen,” they answered in unison.

  “Are you aware that she is dead?”

  “It does not matter,” replied the one who’d lunged at Max. “She created us, and we will carry out her will.”

  “Will anything deter you from this course?”

  “Nothing, unless we are remade.”

  Micah nodded, then squeezed his hand closed. The warrior’s mouth clamped inward on itself, his jaw crushed and dented so badly that he might never speak again.

  “As he stated,” Micah continued, as he turned to face my brother, “any metal creatures created by Ferra are honor bound to carry out their mistress’ commands. Do you know anything of honor, Max?” Max opened his mouth, but Micah didn’t give him the chance to reply. “No, of course you don’t. Otherwise, you would not have acted so foolishly. You would not have acted so recklessly and brought danger to your family’s doorstep.” Micah stepped before Max, using his advantage of height to stare down at him. “Had you bothered to ask me, I would have told you that, like as not, any iron warrior would attempt to kill a Raven on sight. Any Raven, your sisters and mother included. I do know more of the ways of metal than you, boy.”

  I could see Max fuming, but he knew he was wrong. The evidence lay heaped up around him like a supernatural scrap yard. “I just thought—”

  “We have already established that you do not think,” Micah spoke over him. “I do understand. You wanted to prove yourself the hero. You failed.” Now Micah leaned into Max’s face, not stopping until he was a hair’s breadth away from him. “My patience with you grows thin. Take care that it doesn’t grow thinner.”

  With that, Micah turned and walked toward the manor, with me following. Of course, Max couldn’t just let us go.

  “You think you’re big, bad Micah, and want us all to bow down to you,” my idiot brother shouted. “Well, you’re not so powerful!”

  Micah halted, but he didn’t turn around. Instead, he raised his hand. Amazingly, all seven of the iron warriors lifted into the air, screaming as they were crushed together like a giant wad of aluminum foil, the sound like a thousand rusty grates being dragged shut. Micah flicked his wrist, and, like a corrupted shooting star, the iron blob sped away across the sky.

  “Where did you send them?” I asked, my voice and hands shaking. Each warrior must have weighed as much as a small car, and Micah had just flung seven of them away without even breaking a sweat.

  “Ferra’s castle,” Micah replied, “where they belong.”

  The Iron Court was miles away from the Whispering Dell. Miles and miles…I wrapped my arm around Micah’s waist and coaxed him inside the manor. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Max standing among the huge ruts in the lawn, the carefully tended flowers that had been trampled down to nothing. With wide eyes and a bloodless face, he stared at the destruction he’d caused. Maybe Micah’s lesson in humility had taught him a thing or two.

  Then again, this was Max.

  However Max had taken it, I wanted him and Micah as far apart as possible; while I didn’t think Micah would do anything that would harm Max, I understood how close Max had just come to being thrown out on his ear. Who knows what kind of trouble Max would stir up as a homeless derelict in the Otherworld? I led Micah across the atrium, where we passed the newly reminted silverkin as they polished the stairs, and up to our rooms. Once the door was shut, Micah’s hard exterior crumbled away and he sat heavily, his head in his hands.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured, perching on the arm of his chair. For the second time that day, I rubbed his mark. “I’ll talk to Max.”

  “How could he have led them here, to our home?” Micah mumbled. “Why did he go looking for them?”

  “Max probably didn’t mean to bring them here,” I said. “I’m sure he just got in way over his head and needed help.” The image of the iron warriors flying across the sky bubbled up in my mind, and I couldn’t help but smile. “I had no idea you were so strong.”

  “I’m not,” he replied. “I was furious.”

  I slid around, balancing myself before him on the arms of the chair. “Max is pretty lucky he’s my brother, huh?”

  At that, Micah laughed. “He is. Which makes the message I received this morning all the more perplexing.”

  “Message?” I let go of the arms and slid onto Micah’s lap.

  “Our queen has decided to make a formal appearance,” Micah replied. “All of the Inheritors should be present, and we of metal shall formally pledge ourselves to her.”

  “Everyone of metal?” I asked.

  “Not every last being. Your sister will, yes, as will all the rulers.”

  “So, not me, then.” Once more, everyone was interested in Sadie and Micah, not poor, pathetic, “just a consort” Sara.

  “Yes, you.” Micah smoothed back my hair, his hand coming to rest on the nape of my neck. “You and I are as one.”

&nbs
p; “I don’t rule anything,” I whined, but Micah silenced me with a kiss. I think he was tired of hearing that same old complaint.

  “Hush. We are going, you and I and your sister.” I noticed that he omitted Max’s name. Smart.

  “Will those of iron be there?”

  “That is not likely. They are somewhat disgraced at the moment. When a new iron ruler emerges, they will first need to make reparations to Oriana, if such reparations are even possible.” Micah tightened his arms around me. “You will be quite safe in the Gold Court, my love, of that I am certain.”

  I laid my head on his shoulder, not voicing my thoughts. Safe from iron, yes, but what about all the other Elementals?

  9

  Micah and I remained in our rooms for the rest of that day and into the evening, though he balked when I described us as hiding from my family. He claimed that the true reason for our seclusion was that he had missed me, and how could I argue with that? Besides, I did like having him all to myself.

  Of course, I couldn’t just enjoy our time alone. “So, did you see all of that junk in the atrium?” I ventured. We’d been sitting at the table before the window, playing chess. He was even letting me win.

  “You mean the gifts from others of copper, supporting you as their ruler?” Micah countered, without even looking up from the board.

  “Um. Yeah.” I stared at the chess pieces, wishing one of the bishops or rooks would offer some advice. They didn’t. “Can we make the gifts stop?”

  “In my experience, love, gifts are given according to the giver’s preference, not the recipient’s.” Micah moved a pawn, then he grabbed my hands. “Do you think you’d not rule well?”

  “I think random fake office work doesn’t qualify me to do anything but alphabetize reports,” I mumbled, being that I’d only ever been given busy work in my position at REES. “Can’t they support someone who knows what she’s doing?” I looked at him, my next words almost as desperate as I felt. “What should I do?”

  Micah rose and scooped me into his arms, settling us onto the window seat. I loved it when he carried me, but I always told him I’d rather he didn’t. If he knew how much I enjoyed it, my feet would never touch the ground again. “You truly do not wish to rule?” he asked.

  “I truly do not.”

  “Then we shall learn who else wishes to be leader of copper, and we shall support them.”

  I blew out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “We can do that? It’s that simple?”

  “Yes and yes.”

  I laid my head on Micah’s shoulder, relieved beyond words. “You’re brilliant. I love you.”

  “Only for my mind?”

  I glanced at his face; there was that grin, the one that only made appearances when we were alone. I’d move mountains for that grin. “Maybe for a few other things, too.”

  The next morning found Micah still in full-on Corbeau avoidance mode. He had instructed the silverkin to deliver breakfast to our rooms, and while I enjoy having my coffee in bed as much as the next gal, all this sulking was getting a little old. I tried to distract Micah out of his funk by asking him about Oriana’s impending appearance and trying to learn a few details about what would surely be quite the event. I only asked for basic information, like who was expected to attend, what we should be wearing, would anyone be handing out pronunciation guides for all those multi-syllable names, things like that. My Micah had other ideas and suggested that instead of spending the day inside discussing such dry matters, we head on down to the village and visit the smithy.

  “For your sword,” Micah said when I asked why.

  “Oh. You’re really going to teach me?”

  “Didn’t I already agree to it?” he countered. “What with your brother’s exceedingly bad judgment, and your mother’s tendency to destroy those who can guard you from whatever follows Max home, I now see the need for you to be armed.”

  “A sword can help me against iron warriors?” Maybe Micah was going to get me a super sword. Cool.

  “It would not,” Micah clarified, “but it could be useful against other creatures who are displeased with your brother. He accumulates enemies the way a squirrel gathers acorns.”

  I smiled, grateful he wasn’t holding a grudge over Mom’s and Max’s bad behavior; well, at least he wasn’t holding one against me. After a leisurely breakfast involving all three major food groups—caffeine, heavily buttered toast, and extra caffeine—we were on our way. I, in turn, surprised Micah by suggesting that we walk, instead of taking the metal pathway.

  “Sadie and I walked to the village yesterday,” I explained, “and it’s such a nice, sunny day. It would be a shame to miss it by hopping around from metal to metal.”

  “Why did you and Sadie decide to visit the village?” Micah asked.

  “I had to get her out of the manor,” I said in a rush. The little blue vial I’d purchased at the apothecary was still wrapped up in plain brown paper on my dressing table. “She needs to, you know, acclimate herself.”

  “Did you bring a silverkin?”

  “I thought I only needed one when I was with Max.” Micah blinked, so I amended, “Actually, I didn’t think about it.”

  “You didn’t think about being safe?”

  “I was intent on getting Sadie to act like an adult.” Not to mention that I was worried that a silverkin would rat me out. I leaned up and kissed Micah’s cheek. “I’ll remember next time. I promise.”

  “Mmm.” Micah accepted my response, lame as it was, and my elf and I enjoyed a leisurely stroll to the village proper.

  What’s really interesting about the village of Whispering Dell, and Micah’s rulership of it, is that he does almost all of it from afar. He rarely sets foot in the village, today being only the second time he’d passed its gates since I’d lived at the manor. Instead, he preferred to have his magistrates or tax collectors or whoever come to the manor for any matters that required the magic Silverstrand touch. I supposed having one’s business affairs handled by one’s minions was a fringe benefit of being royalty.

  Despite his lack of regular appearances, every living soul in that village was well aware of Micah’s status as their lord, both by name and by sight. What’s more, each and every one of his subjects positively adored him, and as soon as we’d passed through the liquid silver gates, Lord Silverstrand was surrounded by a good-sized mob of well-wishers. Content to be overlooked, for once, I stepped back and gave his fan club a wide berth.

  “You just let them attack me,” Micah grumbled once he extricated himself.

  “It was a loving attack,” I said as I took his arm. I noticed that two exceptionally beautiful women were waving goodbye to their lord, gazing after him with something akin to unrequited love. Before I could muster the proper outrage, and to my utter amazement, both of the women morphed into exact copies of Micah, right down to his leather clothes and poufy hair.

  “They are shapeshifters,” Micah explained, once I’d gotten my jaw off the ground.

  “Like werewolves?”

  Micah laughed. “Not at all. Lycanthropy is a strictly human affliction. True shapeshifters can take on the appearance of any being they gaze upon.”

  “So, they’re just going to wander around the village, pretending to be you?” Call me old-fashioned, but wasn’t that identity theft?

  “No shapeshifter may hold a false shape for much longer than a day; what’s more, a shapeshifter cannot replicate an Elemental’s mark. And a great crowd watched them shift, while I walked away with my lovely consort.” He leaned closer and kissed my hair. “Fear not, they will do nothing to tarnish my good name. I can manage that quite well on my own.”

  “How? By hopping into sleeping women’s cars?” I teased.

  “Yes,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Exactly like that.”

  I leaned against his shoulder and let my dishonorable man lead me through the intricate maze of streets and alleys. I realized that, while the good and, um, less good
sides of the village were clearly separated at the gate, the lines blurred the further we descended into the warren. I saw a prime example of these shades of gray at a tailor’s shop, which was presided over by a plump gentleman wearing a smart green waistcoat and holding a pocket watch. He was so jovial he could have modeled for holiday cards. I don’t know precisely what the shop next door to the tailor’s traded in, but several species of animal, both furred and feathered, hung upside down in the front window, their blood draining into a carved trough below. Before my eyes, the tailor whipped out a silver dipper and scooped up a healthy swig of blood.

  “How do you know who the good people are?” I murmured, clutching Micah’s arm as my eyes searched for a safer scene. I settled on a woman, who was reaching up to pick a shiny red fruit from a low-hanging branch. It turned out that the tree didn’t care to be robbed and struck her with a leafy limb.

  “Good?” Micah asked. “Good in what way?”

  “You know. Who are the good guys, and who are the bad guys?”

  “Ah. I forget, you humans like to make such simple distinctions.” Micah hugged me closer and kissed my hair. To our left, the tree screamed as the fruit thief struck its trunk with a heavy satchel, sending chunks of bark scattering across the street.

  “They are all my people,” he continued, gesturing to encompass the whole of the Whispering Dell, both the village and the valley beyond. “That means that I accept them, all of them, for their good attributes as well as their flaws. After all, even the best of men may occasionally commit a less than honorable act.”

  “Like Max?”

  Micah’s eyes darkened. “Yes, much like your foolish brother. For all his flaws—of which there are many—his intentions are sound.”

  “But what about those who really are dishonorable?” I pressed, raising my voice above the fruit thief’s shrieks; the tree had grabbed her by the hair and was demanding that its property be returned. Must be some apple. “You know, like the ones who are really evil? You don’t keep them around, do you?”