Copper Ravens (7 page)

The 'kin chittered away, informing me in his high-pitched cadence that the gifts had begun arriving yesterday, shortly after I'd been seen in the village with Max. That pixie must have had a pretty big mouth.

Anyway, the news was that I had single-handedly held off the iron warrior; the fact that the pixie was the one who'd immobilized the brute was a little detail that the rumor mill had failed to mention. Well, since there was no current leader for those of copper, at least no one local, and I'd done such an awesome job of fighting off the enemy, others of my Element were now looking to me for guidance.

“We can't accept these!” My outburst scared the 'kin, whose only real fear was of displeasing me or Micah, and he scuttled off for reinforcements. Another heartbeat later, Shep was kneeling before me, proffering his shiny hide as penance for whatever offense had been committed. Once I'd calmed them down, and assured them that no one had done anything wrong, I attempted to reason with Shep.

“Don't you see?” I said. “They think I'm going to be their leader, but I'm not. I don't lead anything.” Shep hung his head, so I crouched down to his level. “You didn't do anything wrong when you accepted these, because you didn't know. But if anyone else comes with a gift, can you explain—nicely—to the people that we can't keep them?”

The silverkin both nodded vigorously, excited to have a new task, and the three of us set about opening the parcels. Even though I fully intended to return these gifts, I was itching to see what was inside the cute, little packages. Most of the items were perishable, food and flowers and such, so I couldn't really have sent them back to the givers. Well, that and the fact that I didn't know who had given them to me in the first place. The Otherworld wasn't big on using return addresses.

The few nonperishable gifts were a sight to behold, comprising such varied items as candlesticks, jewelry, and ornate mirrors, all of highly polished copper. After we'd found the third such mirror, I asked Shep if it was customary to send gifts to one's leader. To my utter horror, he replied that it was only done when two or more were vying for the position, and the gifts were used as a show of support.

“Support against who?” I demanded. When Shep claimed that he didn't know (though I'm not so sure I believed him), I yelped, “But I don't want any support!” Who did these people think I wanted support against? Another of copper? Whoever that person was, they could have the job. I did
not
want it. The silverkin freaked at my outburst, but I calmed them down…again. After we had opened the bazillionth package, I left Shep and his flock to sort out the gifts on their own. As for me, I continued on my quest for breakfast. This “support the ruler” fiasco wasn't going to get resolved any time soon, at least not before I talked to Micah, and I had other fish to fry. Before I got to the kitchens, I found Sadie in the parlor, sipping something warm from a delicate silver cup.

“How do the silverkin manage espresso?” she murmured. I pictured the manor's rustic kitchen with its large, open ovens and well-worn surfaces, and had to admit that I hadn't the foggiest. “And the foamed milk?”

“Magic?” I offered with a shrug. I took a seat beside her and was promptly presented with my own frothy concoction. Really, I didn't care what steps were necessary to create cappuccinos in a medieval kitchen, so long as those steps worked.

“And the muffins,” Sadie continued, now enamored of a basket of baked goods that had appeared alongside my cappuccino. Maybe the silverkin were really angels, sent to earth in order to watch over dry throats and empty bellies. “I never knew something this bready could be so delicious.”

I laughed and recalled that Sadie had spent her last few years subsisting on school food, which was little more than cardboard compared to what I had been getting from the Promenade Market and Mom's garden, and had likely forgotten what real food tasted like. It was amazing that she had been able to complete two-thirds of her master's degree while eating only government rations.

Sadie and I sat together for a while, sipping our drinks and talking about nothing, before I got up enough courage to ask, “Want to come to the village with me?”

“I—” she began, then she clamped her mouth shut. She knew that I knew she didn't have anything better to do. “What for?”

“I need to hit the apothecary.”

“For what? To replenish your cauldron?”

“Something like that.” She pursed her lips and turned away. “Listen, I know it's freaky out there, but you have to get used to it. It looks like we're going to be here a while, and you're the Inheritor. The
Metal Inheritor
. You can't be seen as weak.” I left off the rest of my thought, that if Sadie was deemed incompetent, others of metal were likely to murder her, in the hopes that their own offspring would take her place. Her blanched face told me that she already knew that.

“Just the apothecary?”

“Just the apothecary.” I tossed back the rest of my cappuccino and stood, just as Shep appeared bearing our walking shoes. These silverkin do think of everything.

Whispering Dell, the village, was located at the opposite end of the valley from the Silverstrand manor. It was a short enough walk, though I hadn't planned on walking. Under Micah's tutelage, I'd gotten pretty good at traveling along the vein of silver that runs the length of the dell, just underneath the grassy surface. The vein was how Max and I had gotten to the village and back yesterday, but since Sadie had never traveled by leaping from metal to metal, I didn't even bring it up. I was just happy she'd agreed to set foot outside the manor.

Gods, but I missed my car.

Still, it was a lovely day and a lovely walk. I'd worried that Sadie would invent reasons to run back to the manor, such as a possibility of rain or a woodland creature looking her way in a menacing fashion, but she seemed to enjoy being out in the fresh air as much as I did. If only I could manage to repeat this experiment at a later date and enjoy similar results.

She wasn't even that weirded out once we arrived in the clearing before the village, though weirdness certainly abounded. The clearing was innocuous enough, though it bustled with people, Elemental and otherwise, going about their day. A harried woman who reminded me of the Old Woman in the Shoe was herding a group of young fauns toward the schoolhouse, without much success. Carts and deliverymen sped across the clearing, narrowly avoiding collisions. Off to the side, a hawker peddled cold drinks and parasols to shield our delicate skin from the sun. Being that I never managed to tan, I thought his stand was brilliant.

Beyond the clearing were the village gates, the first official—well, for the village, anyway—station of weird. They were towering masses of organic, living silver, constantly twining together and apart, depending on whether or not you were allowed entry. Footmen stood on either side of the gates, clad in bright silver mail and armed to the teeth. While I'd never seen anyone be refused entry, I sure didn't want to be on the business end of their spears.

The footmen immediately recognized my oak leaf and acorn token and bowed. They frickin' bowed! Sadie was as shocked as I was, but before I could stammer out a “hey, stand up straight!”-themed comment, a doorway swirled into being before us. Sadie eyed the silver walls dubiously but followed me through, anyway. Good for her. Once we'd passed the gate and she saw the village proper, her eyes nearly fell out of her head.

As with most centers of habitation, there are good parts and bad parts of the Whispering Dell. Unlike most Mundane cities, these two halves are very easily discernible to the naked eye. To our right lay row upon row of brothels, badly-lit pubs, and more than a few criminals masquerading as magicians for hire. The entire path was swathed in a thick, palpable darkness akin to the dense smoke generated by burning soggy leaves, which was just as well. This wasn't the sort of vista you wanted to see all that clearly.

In stark, sunny contrast, the path that snaked to our left was carpeted in daisies and bluebells. No, really; as you walked along, inevitably crushing flowers as you meandered down the path, a lovely perfume rose up for your enjoyment. Birds sang, dew sparkled, and the street was lined with maidens seated before the shop fronts, combing out their shining tresses, while minstrels plucked away at their lutes. Truly, the left path seemed like a veritable heaven, and, to my jaded eyes, just a bit too perfect. Give me an honest thief over a simpering two-face any day.

Having taken a good, long look at our options, my sweet, innocent sister asked, her voice wavering only a bit, about which way Max and I had gone yesterday. “To the right, of course,” I replied. And we were headed to the right today.

“This must be the wrong way,” Sadie said, clutching my arm as I stepped toward the mass of smoky, stinky fog. “It has to be.”

“Shep said that the apothecary was this way,” I said. “It's just a few doors in.”

“There isn't one that way?” she asked, hopefully eyeing the path to the left.

“Shep said that the one to the right has a better selection of herbs and stuff.” I tugged at her arm, but she remained rooted in place. “C'mon. We've come all this way. We'll leave as soon as we're done.”

At that she relented, and we walked confidently into the darkness. Okay, I walked confidently; Sadie had her fingers wound so tightly around my arm I lost circulation.

True to Shep's directions, the apothecary was the fourth shop on the left, situated right along the main way. We stepped—well, I stepped, Sadie was dragged—inside the modest building, which hardly had space for the two of us. Once my eyes adjusted to the dim interior, I sucked in a breath at the towering heaps of clutter, then the coughing started. The place was blanketed in filth, and I'd just inhaled a vacuum's worth of dust.

Once my hacking subsided, and I could see again, I took a good look at all that junk. The shop was packed from floor to ceiling with jars containing murky liquids and dull-colored powders. From the rafters, various things, some animal, some vegetable, and some unidentifiable, were hung up to dry. In the space not occupied by hanging and jarred dead things, rolls of parchment and dusty, cracked leather tomes were stacked in teetering piles. In short, if Shep were to ever visit the apothecary, he would have his work cut out for him.

Behind all the clutter, magical and otherwise, sat a hunchbacked crone. She was straight out of a fairy tale, complete with gray, stringy hair, skin crisscrossed with wrinkles as deep as chasms, and a shapeless robe in varied shades of used bathwater. She sat behind a wooden table, upon which lay a stack of pelts.

“Help you?” she croaked, glancing up from the pelts she was sorting. A few were still bloody, and one of them wiggled.

“I'm looking for something,” I said, my voice mostly holding steady. Now that I was really there, really doing this, I almost completely lost my nerve. “Something to keep me from having a baby.”

The crone cackled, the sound filling the tiny space of the shop and rattling my bones. “So, you like him well enough, but not too much?” I opened my mouth, whether to protest or explain how much I really did like him I didn't know, but she waved it away. “I've some extract of Queen's Lace in the back,” she said, creakily unfolding herself from her chair. “I'll be but a moment.”

“What is Queen's Lace?” Sadie demanded, once the crone was out of sight.

“It keeps you from getting pregnant,” I whispered. Sadie drew back, shaking her head.

“Micah won't like this,” she warned.

“What makes you think I haven't told him?”

“If you had, you'd be here with him instead of me.” Good point. Thankfully, before Sadie pointed out the rest of the holes in my argument, the crone reappeared bearing a blue glass bottle.

She set the bottle on the counter, and for a moment I just stared at it. I was surprised at how small it was, based on how drastically the contents could—would—alter my relationship with Micah.

I touched the cork stopper, and then the glass itself, unable to suppress a shiver. It was nothing to be scared of, nothing to be intimidated by. I mean, it was only an herbal extract, just like the vanilla I would add to cookies, or the peppermint oil that kept away pantry moths. Still, if I took this innocent little bottle back to the manor, my life would take a decidedly different turn.

I swallowed and made my choice. “How much?” I asked.

“For Lady Silverstrand?” the crone sneered. Obviously, if I used the extract I'd never be Lady Silverstrand. All I would ever be was a freeloader in Micah's home. “Take it, with my compliments.”

Despite her words, I was still fumbling with my purse. “I'd rather pay—”

“And I would rather a friend in my lord's home,” she finished.

“I'll be your friend,” I said, firmly placing a few coins on the pile of stinking pelts, “but I'd rather not owe anyone.”