Copper Veins (5 page)

“Uh, what exactly are we looking for?” I asked.

“The old basement,” he said.

“Oh, it's not here,” I said. Dad stared at me, dumbfounded. “Mom and Sadie activated the wards, and pushed it into the Otherworld.”

“The Otherworld?” Dad repeated, and Max and I nodded. “Where is it in the Otherworld?”

“The Raven will tell you how to get there,” I said. “All that's left in the house is some dusty old furniture. The Peacekeepers scrubbed it pretty well after Max was arrested.”

Dad was a bit deflated, since the purpose behind this excursion wasn't even here. Although it was horrible, I was glad this little venture was a flop. I really,
really
wanted to go home to Micah.

Dad withdrew another portal and balanced it in the air. Max hopped through, but before I could
follow, Dad touched my elbow.

“This Micah,” he began, “you're happy with him? He hasn't… coerced you into marrying him?”

“Micah would never do that,” I snapped. Dad winced, and I tamped down my anger. After all, Dad was only looking out for me, and it wasn't like he knew anything about Micah beyond that he was married to his daughter. “He wouldn't. Micah is a good man, Dad. I'd really like it if you got to know him.”

“I just want my girl happy,” Dad said, his green eyes shining. I smiled, then stepped through the portal to the Otherworld. I could just see Silverstrand Manor above the treetops, and I knew my husband waited for me within. I tried to think about only him, and push all the lingering doubts about Dad to the back of my mind.

Dad, Max, and I entered the manor through one of the rear doors, specifically the one that led to the kitchens. As I stepped inside, I saw the most wonderful sight—the silverkin were clustered around several old-fashioned ice cream churns. The worktable was hardly visible under all the ingredients, which ranged from bottles of milk to blocks of chocolate to fruit from our own orchards.

“They've been at it since you left,” Sadie said. Just as I had predicted, she clutched a dessert-themed cookbook to her chest and was overseeing this little production. “Micah made it very clear to them that the ice cream needs to be perfect, or that Mrs. Silverstrand will be most unhappy.”

I giggled. “Is Micah in our rooms?” I asked.

“I suppose,” Sadie replied, bumping my shoulder with hers. I didn't bother defending myself, since what she was insinuating was completely and totally accurate. Instead, I left the supervision of the ice cream to her and practically ran up the stairs.

I opened my bedroom door and was greeted by the sight of Micah taking off his shirt. His back was to me, so I was treated to an excellent view of his mark, beautiful tendrils of silver arching across his shoulder blades and trailing down his back like an abstract pair of wings. When we'd first met, Micah's mark had been as masculine as he: hard, angular streaks against his caramel skin. Since his recovery in the silver cairn, his mark was more delicate—feminine, even—and what were once strong lines of silver were now airy filigrees. I wondered if the change was due to my presence while he healed.

I eased the door shut and made it across the room before Micah turned around, gently tracing the metal on his back with my fingertips. He sighed as if I'd put a warm compress against his skin. He was no stranger to the unbridled sensuality of fingers caressing his mark, and neither was I.

“Back so soon?” he murmured, reaching to wrap an arm around my shoulders.

“Yeah. Dad wanted to go to the old basement at the Raven Compound. He didn't know it was here.” I took Micah's shirt from his hands, letting it fall to the floor as I sat on the edge of our bed. “So. What're
you up to?”

“I was about to bathe,” he replied, setting a knee on either side of my hips.

“Bathe? Why?” I pressed, giving him my best eyelash-flutters.

“For you, of course.” Then his arms were around me, his lips nibbling my neck as he pushed me into the center of our bed.

“No boots in bed,” I said coyly, nodding toward his footwear. Micah blew out an exasperated breath, but shed the boots nonetheless. Then he was on top of me again. Only, I wanted to be the one on top.

He laughed when I flipped him over, only to fall silent as I kissed his lips, his chin, his neck. I let my hands trail over his chest, down to his abdomen and to the smooth leather laces of his pants. I fought with them for a moment, but a few bits of leather were no match for a bride the day after her wedding. I sank my fingers into the soft, silvery curls at his groin, my mouth following close behind. Micah groaned, thrusting his fingers into my hair as his back arched in pleasure. I wondered how long I could make him suffer.

“Sara?” Sadie's voice wafted through the bedroom door accompanied by an impatient knock.

“Not here,” I murmured before returning to the task at hand.

“Sara, Dad wants to talk to you.” Before I could yell something a bit more forceful at the door, Micah
tilted up my chin.

“If your father desires a word with you, you should speak with him,” he said.

“But—”

“We have forever,” Micah said, smoothing back my hair. “A conversation or two won't delay us overmuch.” I heard what Micah left unsaid—that he'd give anything for one more conversation with his parents.

I smiled, agreeing with him. I yelled to Sadie that we'd be down in a moment, and straightened my clothes while Micah redressed himself. I knew he was right, that we had forever and that granting my long-missing father twenty minutes of my time was nothing in the greater scheme of things, but that didn't ease my frustration in the slightest.

“If we don't get to fricken' do it soon I'm gonna go fricken' crazy,” I muttered.

“If we don't get to do what?” Micah asked, all knowing smiles and devious eyes. I swatted his elbow and went downstairs to find out what the heck was so all-fired important.

A few minutes later, all of the Corbeaus and Silverstrands were clustered in the sitting room, watching as Dad paced before the hearth. Micah and I had tried to claim the couch for ourselves, but Sadie
had gotten there first and refused to budge. Luckily, it was more than big enough for three.

Max sat across from Dad, gazing at him with blatant reverence. Mom was seated beside Max, but she watched Dad with something closer to incredulity. I figured she was still mad over the disappearing act he'd pulled last night, as well she should've been.

Once we were all accounted for, the silverkin passed around bowls of ice cream, tiny perfect scoops of black raspberry and double chocolate. It was a little runny, but the big chunks of raspberry and deliciously bittersweet chocolate more than made up for it. It
was
their first crack at ice cream, after all.

“We in the resistance have learned some important things recently,” Dad began, forgoing any sort of introduction. “We have the details regarding certain sudden and devastating weaknesses that have appeared within our government, and within the upcoming election. It looks like your toppling of the Institute for Elemental Research shook the Peacekeepers to their core,” Dad added, with a nod toward Sadie. “It took the remaining staff nearly two weeks to escape the metal dome you created.”

“That wasn't me,” Sadie said around mouthfuls of mint chip. Why hadn't I gotten any mint chip? “Sara created the dome.”

Dad's brow furrowed. “Our reports stated that the Inheritor was responsible for destroying the facility.”

“Reports were wrong,” I said, craning my neck to
find Shep. “The Peacekeepers said that they wouldn't let us leave, and I freaked. Next thing I knew, all of Ferra's warriors and the Peacekeepers' drones and weapons were squashed into a dome. I don't even know how I did it.”

“Interesting,” Dad said, rubbing his chin. Dad went on, but I had no idea what he was talking about since Micah had managed to secure a bowl of mint chip for us to share. We were laughing, spooning the ice cream into each other's mouths, until Dad decided to blow a gasket.

“Sara!” he bellowed. Confused, I tore my gaze from Micah to Dad. “Is it too much to ask that you pay attention when I speak?”

Mortified, I set the bowl down in my lap. “Sorry. You said there were events affecting the election?”

Dad glared at me for another few moments, then he continued. “Yes. It seems that doubts have been raised of late regarding the effectiveness of the frontrunner, one Michael Armstrong.”

“Really?” I said, looking at Max. “When Max and I went to his political rally, it looked like he had all the support in the world. He didn't even have a party backing him, but both the Pacifists and Mirlanders were all about him. The Mirlander candidate was pretty much booed out of the place.”

“New intel says otherwise,” Max stated.

“Yes,” Dad continued. “Once reports were leaked about the destruction of the Institute, the public
began to question his competence. ‘If Armstrong can't manage one facility, how could he manage an entire country,' things of that nature. We should plan our strike soon.”

“Strike?” Micah repeated. “Exactly what have you been planning, Baudoin?”

“The same thing I've been planning since I got the call to war,” Dad replied. “To end the Mundane government.”

As a whole, our mouths gaped and our eyes nearly fell out of our heads—all of us except for Max. He was grinning at Dad like one of those fanatics you find in cults, the ones where they all wear the same sneakers and drink the funny punch. I'd always known that the council of war mages had been put into place to stop the Peacekeepers, but to end the entire government? That government had served Pacifica well for five hundred fricken' years while the Peacekeepers had only been around for a few decades. Surely Pacifica's government could be saved. If we got rid of it, who the hell was going to run things?

“Who are you planning this with?” Mom asked quietly. Startled, Dad turned to face her—I think he'd forgotten she was there.

“Other war mages, like myself,” he replied.

“Which war mages?” Mom pressed. When Dad's brow wrinkled, she added, “I'd just like to know who you've been keeping company with all this time.”

“Yes, Baudoin,” Micah added, “I believe we would
all like to know who else is involved in this endeavor. Why don't you bring them here? I will give you full use of the manor and its land to further your cause.”

Dad, normally such a smooth talker, didn't have a reply for that. “They…they wouldn't like that,” he said slowly.

“Why?” Mom asked, rising to her feet. “Is it the same council? The one I helped form?”

“There have been some changes,” Dad replied.

“Nevertheless, I'd like to meet them,” Micah repeated. “I do not like the thought of my wife rushing off to assist a council I've never interacted with. I need assurance that their course, whatever it may be, aligns with Sara's best interests.”

“This council's objective is to release the Mundane world from Peacekeeper control!” Dad shouted. “That
is
in Sara's best interest!”

“Hey,” I said. “Sara's right here, and she's got a pretty good handle on her interests.”

“Forgive me, love,” Micah murmured, his hand at the small of my back as he pulled me close. “I do not mean to decide your actions for you. However, I do not see the value in implementing a plan when we have not met those who have designed it.”

“Dad's word is good enough for me,” Max said. “You'd feel the same way if you'd ever lived under Peacekeeper control.”

“I have not said that I will not support the council's actions,” Micah said. “I just wish to be better
informed. Surely, Baudoin, your resistance would welcome the assistance of another metal Elemental, and a lord at that.”

Dad nodded, but I could tell he wasn't pleased at Micah taking over his show. “I will bring up your suggestions when next we meet.”

Micah nodded, gracefully accepting his victory. Talk died down after that, and we concentrated on our half-melted ice cream. Then Sadie opened a book, which effectively signified the end of our meeting. Dad glared at each of his daughters in turn before stalking out of the room, Mom following close behind. After shooting Micah another glare, just for good measure, Max followed them out.

“You and Dad sure aren't getting along,” I murmured, gazing at the doorway.

“It is not a matter of getting along,” Micah said. “I will not have you following a plan that I've not been thoroughly informed of, regardless of whether or not it
is
your father's plan.”

“I thought you wanted to overthrow the Peacekeepers. You know, stopping the evil and all.”

“Yes, but in a sound manner. The way Baudoin spoke…” Micah shook his head. “He spoke like a man crazed with vengeance. That is not how a war leader should behave.”