“This…this child, she is the Inheritor of Metal?” Oriana inquired, taking in the sight of the three of us as we knelt before her. Sadie was curled against Micah’s side, protecting her breast as if Oriana sought her heart, not a few drops of blood.
“Forgive her, my queen,” Micah murmured. “She is young yet, new to our world and not accustomed to our ways. My consort and I will pledge ourselves now, of course.”
At that, I lowered my bodice and allowed Oriana to cut me between my breasts, much as Oriana had done to herself. She performed the movements of creating the blood bond like an automaton, first to me, and then to Micah, devoid of all emotion or comprehension. Where was the vibrant if unstable woman I’d lunched with? Where was the inappropriate touching, the insane commentary? I ventured a glance directly at her eyes and saw that they were clouded, lacking their typical warm glow.
Had someone drugged her? Before I could alert Micah to my suspicions, Oriana cast a wary glance at the throngs waiting to bleed for her and visibly swallowed. She wasn’t drugged, far from it. She was terrified.
My righteous indignation flowed away, replaced by no small amount of pity. “Perhaps, if it so pleases you, my sister may pledge herself to you once she is recovered?” I ventured. Stiffly, Oriana turned to regard me, her head cocked to the side in one of her odd, birdlike mannerisms.
“Yes. That would please me.” Oriana reached toward my trembling sister, first resting her golden fingers on Sadie’s chin, then trailing them down her neck and breast, leaving a violent red ribbon in their wake. “I only hope it won’t be too late.”
I nodded, both appreciating that Oriana had given us a warning and terrified that she’d felt the need to do so. One thing was certain—I needed to convince Sadie to play nice with the rest of the Elementals, and the sooner the better.
20
After the near-debacle of Sadie’s outright refusal to swear fealty to the queen, we left the Golden Court as soon as we could shove our way out the door. Due to Sadie’s position sandwiched between Micah and me, it seemed that no one, save the three of us and the Gold Queen herself, had realized that the Inheritor of Metal hadn’t completed her oath to serve Oriana, probably because the queen’s bloodied fingers had left a noticeable red stain on Sadie’s neck and breast. At least, no one had made mention of any lack of pledging on Sadie’s part within our hearing.
Instead of levying accusations of indifference or worse, treason, as the three of us descended from the dais we were pelted with comments and well-wishes, along with invitations to dinners and dances and all sorts of glorious rendezvous. Well, Micah and Sadie were pelted; I might as well have been carrying the bags.
“It was like no one even saw me,” I grumbled. Once we’d returned to the manor, Sadie had gone off to boil herself in a bath, while Micah and I removed our formal attire and washed up in a much calmer fashion. Since we’d left directly after the pledging ceremony, it wasn’t even time for dinner, and Micah had promised me another lesson in swordplay before nightfall. “And where were the others of copper?”
“We left quite early; perhaps they arrived afterward,” Micah murmured. He paused to dab a bit of ointment on the cut above my heart. “And, love, when an invitation is extended to me, it is naturally assumed that my consort shall accompany me.”
“Assumed.” You know what happens when…I shook my head, unwilling to explain why that was such a bad idea. I pulled on a T-shirt and sat on the bed in order to tie my shoes. “So, I’m expected to just follow you everywhere? Because that’s what consorts do?”
“If you do not wish to attend a particular event, you may remain in the Dell,” Micah replied. “No one is forcing you to attend any functions, Sara.”
I don’t know what was more irritating—Micah’s blasé attitude or the fact that I really did want to go to at least some of the parties. I just wanted to be more than arm candy. “If I was your wife I bet I’d get my own invitations,” I pouted.
“Most likely,” Micah agreed, “but that has not happened yet.” Oh, yeah? I’ll make it happen. I stood and grabbed the coverlet, shoving half of it into my shirt.
“See?” I turned to the side, showcasing my falsely burgeoning belly. “Wife here. Now people will pay attention to me, too.”
“This,” Micah murmured, stepping forward, “is unnecessary.” He withdrew the wadded-up coverlet, then smoothed down my shirt. “Soon enough, your belly will swell.”
“Micah.” I grabbed his hand, but I couldn’t manage to say anything further. When he spied a certain blue glass bottle on my dressing table, it turned out that I didn’t have to.
“Is this something new?” he asked, picking up the unfamiliar bauble, his eyes widening as he read the label. “Sara, where did this come from?”
“I bought it. In the village.” I dropped my eyes; even though I hadn’t done anything wrong—hell, I hadn’t even uncorked it yet—it felt like the bottle’s very presence was a betrayal.
“Have you taken any?” he asked quickly.
“No.” He blew out a relieved breath, and I tried not to wince.
“Sara, my Sara,” Micah murmured, gathering me into his arms. “Please, love, you must be more careful. Whoever sold this to you did not explain its true purpose.”
Micah—trusting, genuine Micah—assumed that I’d bought the extract because it smelled nice, or because the bottle’s color was pretty. “I know what it’s for.”
“Sara—”
“I don’t want a baby,” I said in a rush. At that his entire body drooped, and I regretted my words. No, no I didn’t; the truth is better. More painful, but better. At least, that’s what they say.
Who are they, anyway?
“Not ever?” Micah asked softly, his hand cupping the nape of my neck. I felt the disappointment in his voice; truly, Micah’s strongest, most heartfelt desire was for an heir.
“I…Micah, I’m so young. And we really haven’t really known each other for very long. And—” He turned up my chin, and I met those silver eyes. “Not never, but not now. Not for a long time, probably.” Micah sighed and leaned his forehead against mine. “I’ll go. We’ll all get out of your hair—”
“My hair?”
Right. “My family. We won’t trouble you anymore.”
“Sara, you do not trouble me,” he murmured. “Max is troubling, yes, and your mother may yet be the death of me. But you,” he threaded his fingers through my hair, his eyes searching mine, “the only trouble you give me is when we’re apart, and I can’t see to the tasks before me.”
“Why can’t you?”
“Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Oh.” When we were apart I thought about him constantly, too—what he could be doing, if he would laugh at this or that, when he would be home. When he would hold me again. Max and Sadie both thought that our closeness was unusual, unhealthy even, but I didn’t. To me, nothing had ever felt so right as being with Micah. “But if you can’t have an heir…”
I couldn’t finish, not while he was staring at me like that. I’d had this conversation in my head a hundred—no, a thousand—times, and I knew exactly how it ended—me leaving the manor, off to fend for myself in the Mundane world. Oh, wait, I couldn’t go back there, so I guessed I would just be homeless here in the Otherworld.
But when I had mentally rehearsed these conversations, Micah hadn’t looked at me as if his heart was breaking.
“Micah,” I began, knotting my fist in his shirt. Before I could continue, a silverkin appeared out of frickin’ nowhere, chattering away like mad. After a few moments, I learned that Max, who had gone out the moment we’d returned, was back, and he was a bit the worse for wear. Micah nodded toward the silverkin, muttering under his breath about my inconsiderate fool of a brother. I moved to follow the little guy, but I was captured in Micah’s arms.
“You are not trouble,” Micah said, grasping the token I wore. “You are mine, and you will remain so. Mine,” he repeated, this time kissing
me hard for added emphasis. He abruptly released me, and we went downstairs to see what sort of trouble Max had gotten into this time.
21
We found Max seated at the head of the dining room table, bruised and bloodied with his feet propped up, muddy boots and all, slurping coffee. The long table had been polished to a glasslike shine…emphasis on the “had been.” Good gods, we’d been gone all of two hours, which meant that Max had been away from the manor for less than two hours, yet he couldn’t manage to stay out of trouble for that extremely short amount of time. I had a strong suspicion that, if Micah wasn’t already done with Max’s nonsense, he would be now.
If I hadn’t been trailing a step or two behind Micah, I wouldn’t have noticed the muscles in his shoulders tighten when he saw Max’s deplorable state, or the abrupt way he halted when he saw my brother’s filthy, disrespectful pose. Somehow, despite his anger, Micah kept his voice calm when he spoke.
“Remove your feet from my table,” Micah said. “Now.”
Max opened his mouth, probably to finally utter the words that would cause Micah to throw him out once and for all, but he never got the chance to speak. Two of the silverkin yanked Max’s chair backward, his feet hitting the floor with such force that coffee splattered all over him. Shep, who was even less of a fan of boots on the table than Micah, began wiping up the muddy mess while ignoring Max.
“Hey,” Max said, trying to get Shep’s attention, “can I get a refill? Or a towel?” It was only when Shep bustled off to the kitchen that Micah continued his interrogation.
“Whose property have you destroyed this time, Max?” Okay, Micah was a bit condescending, but Max had earned it. The last brawl Max had gotten himself into had cost Micah a prized orchard in recompense, and the damage from the most recent incident with iron warriors had been considerable. “Or was the fight here, and only my home has been damaged?”
“There’s nothing for you to worry about,” Max grumbled. “I was down at the tavern. We were throwing dice, and it got out of hand. It’s fine now.”
“We?” Micah asked.
“We.” Max and Micah stared at each other, each of them refusing to give ground. Just when I’d had enough of this macho pissing contest, Mom and Sadie entered, the former carrying a bowl of water, the latter clean cloths.
“Whoever this ‘we’ is,” Mom said, wetting a cloth and dabbing at a gash over Max’s eyebrow, “you’d do best to avoid them. As strong as you are in the Mundane world, there are forces here you would not like to tangle with. Believe me, I know.” Max snorted but wisely held his tongue. “If you insist upon gambling, you should employ a guard to accompany you.”
“Ma, I’m not a kid,” Max said. “I’ve been going to the market alone since I was twelve!” At that, Mom dropped the cloth. Too late, Max realized his error.
“Market?” Sadie asked innocently.
“Yes, Max, what market?” Mom prompted. Max visibly swallowed the lump in his throat; my brother might be reckless and irresponsible, but he knew better than to let a direct question from Mom go unanswered.
“The Goblin Market,” he mumbled. Sadie gasped, Mom squeezed her eyes shut, and I moved toward the safety of Micah.
“Please, explain to us why you found the need to patronize the Goblin Market at the tender age of twelve?” Mom demanded as she opened her eyes, holding Max in that gaze we all knew far too well. While that look remained, lying was not an option. Max opened and closed his mouth like a fish, unsure what, if anything, would salvage him after such an outburst. Little did he know that Micah would be the one revealing his secrets.
“Likely, that was where he met with Baudoin,” Micah said. Slowly, Mom rose to her feet, her head swiveling around so that the murderous gaze was now fixed on Micah. My elf was no longer the safest person in the room.
“What do you know of Beau?” Mom ground out. Behind her, Sadie sat heavily, gripping the table’s edge for support.
“Max has told us that he was in regular contact with Baudoin after the wars,” Micah replied, apparently unfazed by the fury boiling in Mom’s eyes. He was either remarkably courageous or had taken a blow to the head. “As you are no doubt aware, Maeve, the Goblin Market is an excellent place to meet while concealing one’s identity.”
Mom bristled but let it go. “Is this true?” she demanded, turning back to Max.
“Yes.”
I watched the emotions skate across Mom’s face anger and outrage and, lastly, hope. I couldn’t remember the last time hope shone in Mom’s eyes. Then she stood, yanking Max to his feet by his collar.
“Ma,” he began.
“I’ve heard enough from you,” Mom cut off, before turning to the rest of us. “Don’t just stand there gaping. Off to market we go.”
We walked in silence, Mom’s fury effectively muffling the sounds of our feet on the gravel path and, to an extent, the surrounding landscape. And since Mom had outright refused to travel by the metal pathways, it was taking forever to reach the Goblin Market on foot. Not that any of us were foolish enough to make that observation.
Max, the uncontested king of fools in both the Mundane and Otherworld, slunk along behind Mom, head hanging and shoulders hunched. Somehow, I resisted the urge to smack him. Barely. He could have told Mom about his meetings with Dad at any time since his rescue from the Institute, but no, he had been too busy with his harebrained plan to find Dad by gambling, boozing, and getting into public brawls. What was more, if Dad ever found out where and how Max had been spending his days, he’d probably box his ears.
And now, thanks to my idiot brother, we were trudging across the countryside, under the brightest, hottest sun imaginable, toward the Goblin Market. Everyone, Mundane or otherwise, knew about the market, where you could buy and sell anything, and I do mean anything. From roses bearing poisoned thorns to a past lover’s still-beating heart, all could be had, so long as you had the coins to trade.
I shivered, realizing how much that description sounded like the Promenade Market I’d frequented in the Mundane world. I hoped that no one’s head ended up on a pike today, especially mine.
Decapitation was far from my most pressing concern. Not only were we all about to sashay directly into this lair of evil, I didn’t have the slightest idea what was going through Micah’s head. Now he knew, in no uncertain terms, how I felt about babies, and he said that he still wanted me around, but… Don’t get me wrong, Micah was no liar. If anything, he was painfully honest. However, I was also painfully aware of the importance the greater houses placed on heirs, and how Micah’s lack of one was commonly discussed or, rather, ridiculed. Mind you, the Gold Queen didn’t have any living heirs, but everyone overlooked that piece of trivia. Being a recently freed and somewhat insane ruler did have that advantage.
Come to think of it, I don’t think Ferra had any heirs, either. What a turn of good fortune that was.
Micah, who I would swear was telepathic, chose that moment to wrap his arm about my waist. He didn’t say anything, and neither did I; we just walked along, one form with four legs. I pressed myself against his side, loving the feel of him, hoping he wouldn’t soon be lost to me because of my lack of maternal instincts.
Maybe I should have a baby, just one, just so I could stay with Micah. I mean, he was so good to me, and really, who else was ever going to put up with me? One baby wouldn’t be so bad.
But what if he wanted more? What if I was a horrible mother, and he found someone else to care for his children? What if—?
“Sara,” Micah murmured in my ear. “The dark magics of the market are affecting you. Do not allow them to take hold.”
“Wha—?” I blinked and shrugged off the psychic weight I hadn’t noticed a moment before. “How did you know?”
“I felt you tremble.” He wiped away the tears that had streamed down my cheeks, and I burrowed further into his arms, now grateful for his warm solidity for a whole new reason. Before I could ask how much further until we reached this wretched place, and wh
en could we leave it forever, Sadie spoke.
“Is—is that it?” she asked, pointing a shaky hand. We’d just crested one of the hills that formed the border of the Whispering Dell, and nestled in the valley below was a dark, obviously well-populated area. Even at that distance, I could sense the wrongness of it; it was filthy on more than just its surfaces, the taint ground in so deep that sunlight hardly penetrated between the walls. Strains of discordant music, along with shouts and wails and an oily black smoke, wafted toward us.
“Yes, that is the Goblin Market,” Micah answered. I resisted the urge to hide behind him, but only just.
“I didn’t think it would be so close,” Sadie murmured. “I mean, we walked pretty far, but I didn’t think the manor was within walking distance of such a place.”
“Such places are always close by,” Micah said softly. “You’re just not the sort to look for them.” Max shot Micah a glare, which Micah ignored.
“I’ve never gone looking for them, either,” Max grumbled. “I was just meeting Dad.”
“Why here?” Sadie pressed. “Why didn’t he just come to the Raven Compound?”
“Yes, Max,” Mom said, rounding on the rest of us, “please explain why this was the most convenient meeting place for the two of you.” Max looked away, but Mom wasn’t in a mood to let things drop. “And please enlighten me as to why my young son was the best emissary for such a task?”
“Well, who else was there?” Max retorted. Mom pursed her lips and turned away. Sadie’s eyes widened.
“You mean you never told Mom that you saw Dad after the wars?” Sadie demanded.
“No,” I murmured, “Max and Dad never told Mom.”
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