Copper Ravens(38)
“Is it time to go?” I asked in a rush. If he kept looking at me that way, we weren’t going anywhere, and I didn’t think the Gold Queen would take kindly to us standing her up.
“It is.” Micah helped me to my feet and kept his hand on the small of my back while we walked through the manor. It was devious of him, since my mark, already aroused by that little shoe incident, flared at his touch.
“Stop that,” I said, wiggling away. “You’ll make us late.”
“I will do nothing of the sort.” He replaced his hand and rubbed. Oh, if you could die from pleasure. “I’m merely thinking of later.”
“No thinking,” I said, forcibly removing his hand from my back and lacing my fingers with his. “For now, just going.”
He grumbled at that, but remained on his best behavior as we descended the stairs and stepped outside to the metal pathway. Thanks to Micah’s excellent navigational techniques, in a few short moments, we stood before Oriana’s estate.
The Golden Court was, well, gold. It looked like the standard-issue storybook castle, straight from the old-time illustrations, right down to the drawbridge and the turrets. The midday sun caught the light of dozens of stained glass windows, turning them into blazing jewels. Warriors, not like the metal monsters that had guarded Ferra’s home, but actual men—perhaps they were even Elemental men—clad in gold-washed mail guarded the entry. Also unlike Ferra’s iron warriors, not one of them made a lewd comment or even hazarded an inappropriate glance in my direction. And they say chivalry is dead.
Once we were inside the courtyard, I saw the court’s occupants going about the varied routines of sustaining such a grand establishment. To my left, a maid carried a stack of linens, a porter scurrying behind her with cakes of soap. Someone from the kitchens, likely the cook’s apprentice, inspected a cartload of vegetables, while another haggled with a wine merchant. I spied a few grooms off the side, who sang while they cleaned and oiled a set of tack. The horse looked on, politely munching his hay. Everything seemed to be in perfect order.
And yet, it wasn’t, not by a long shot. Now, don’t get me wrong, the Golden Court was nothing at all like the Iron Court, what with the latter’s flagrant debauchery and rampant lack of boundaries. No one had smiled in the Iron Court, unless they were caught up in the moment of harming another; far more common had been cries of hopelessness and despair.
However, the Golden Court, for all its smiling inhabitants and cheery decorations, was far from welcoming. It was a sterile, falsified happiness, as if all the denizens were actors who had missed out on the roles of their lives and were doomed to go through the motions at a community playhouse. I really shouldn’t have been surprised at all the forced cheer, since Oriana had spent five long years as Ferra’s favorite pet.
I didn’t know, not specifically, anyway, what sort of tortures Oriana had endured at the Iron Court. No one still living did, save Oriana herself. But I had some strong ideas. So did Micah, and I suspect that others did as well, since a generous allowance was being given toward Oriana’s lunatic behaviors. Since she had been rescued, she’d alternately insisted upon sleeping out of doors in the rain, in a pool of mud, and once in a stable covered with hay. And there was the singing. Oriana had taken to singing, or, based on Micah’s descriptions, wailing, instead of talking. Apparently, she was also tone deaf.
Her eating habits had also been affected by her captivity. Reportedly, Ferra had only fed her stale bread and dungeon mice. As a result, Oriana had subsequently banned all baked goods from the Golden Court, from bread to cookies. Rodents, however, were still allowed on the menu.
Are there any vegetarians in the Otherworld?
The possibility of rodent fricassee notwithstanding, I was on my best behavior as Micah and I approached Oriana’s steward. After a few brief introductions, we were ushered into a grand dining hall by two smiling, perfectly-appointed servants, and I saw Oriana for the first time since she’d been hauled out of the oubliette. Her element had, indeed, been restored, and I noticed that her mark showed upon her hands, with her fingers being robed in solid gold. The metal then twisted and twirled around her hands and up her arms like so many shining ribbons. That, coupled with her wavy golden hair and sky-colored gaze, made the Gold Queen look like a true fairy princess.
“Micah,” she exclaimed, rising to greet us. Thank the gods, she was speaking instead of singing. Oriana approached Micah and extended her arms as if to grasp his hands, only to withdraw at the last moment. I recalled the effect that Micah’s touch had had on my own mark and wondered if Oriana’s brought her more pain than pleasure.