Copper Ravens(53)

“Good woman, why have you come before us?” Micah asked. His tone was respectful, but I saw a muscle twitch in his jaw.

“To present my offering, of course,” she replied, spreading her hands wide. “Is an old woman like me not welcome at your feast?”

“All of my people are welcome,” Micah said, in such a way that had me wondering if he counted her as his. “An offering, you say?”

“I regret, my lord, that I have only a gift for the May Queen.” With that, the crone reached into her colorless robes and set before me the reddest, shiniest apple I’d ever seen. It was beautiful, as tempting as the first fruit itself, and I coughed to hide my annoyance. What, did she think I was stupid? Like I would fall for that? My mother was the Seelie frickin’ Queen, and she’d warned me off of spelled fruit before she had taught me to read.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice hardly more than a whisper. “Your offering does much to ensure the land’s fecundity for the coming year,” I added, a bit more forcefully. Well, I was louder, anyway.

The crone said nothing, but bowed respectfully, her gray eyes never leaving mine. After she’d shuffled away, Micah grabbed my hands.

“You mustn’t touch it,” Micah warned.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.” After staring at the apple for another heartbeat, I looked at his hands, his long fingers that were tightly wrapped around my wrists. “Is she dangerous?”

“She is powerful,” Micah replied, “and arrogant. She swears allegiance to no one. While she is not what I’d call evil, she certainly isn’t trustworthy.”

I shuddered, remembering the tiny blue vial that sat on my dressing table, and the dubious bargain I’d struck with her. Misinterpreting my quivering shoulders, Micah called for a silverkin to take the apple and toss it into the center of the firewood.

“Worry not, love,” he said, rubbing my arms as if he could rub away the crone’s visit.

“I’m—I know you wouldn’t let anything hurt me,” I amended, mid-speak. I would never outright lie to Micah, not even to tell him I wasn’t worried. My omissions about the birth control didn’t count; yeah, I was still trying to convince myself of that one.

Micah smiled at that and leaned forward to kiss my hair. “The sun goes to rest,” he said, gently turning my chin toward the west. “Come, let us light the bonfire.”

We watched the sun paint the sky in oranges and purples for another moment, then we rose and wound our way around the tables and revelers toward the massive pyramid of wood. As we stood before the intimidatingly large heap, I suddenly found myself wishing for a pair of flip-flops. A splinter in the May Queen’s toe would certainly not bode well for the coming harvest. Micah had somehow obtained a candle, and we both held it as we guided its tiny flame toward the kindling.

“This won’t work,” I whispered. “The flame’s too small.”

“Is it?” Micah had no sooner said the words than the firewood caught, and the entire mound was ablaze. We stepped back as others stepped forward, lighting their own sticks so they could create their own fire.

While there had been no shortage of libations earlier in the evening, once the bonfire raged, Micah’s wine flowed like a river after the spring thaw. Revelers wandered off among the orchards, either to dance or sing, or maybe begin more private celebrations. Throughout it all, Micah and I walked among his people, ensuring that all had eaten and drunk their fill. Eventually, we happened upon our least-liked guest.

“Farthing,” Micah said, with a polite nod. As Old Stoney turned to reply, the pixie he’d been talking to took the opportunity to flee. I was beginning to think that pixies were the smartest creatures in the Otherworld. “Enjoying yourself, I trust?”

“Always, Silverstrand.” He turned back to the pixie, found that she was gone, and settled his gaze on me instead. “I could ask the same of you. I’d have given the lady a green dress by now.”

I looked down at my dress, wondering what was wrong with white. Was I supposed to change after the bonfire was lit? Then, I heard a breathy moan from beyond the trees, and my toes twitched in the grass.

“Watch yourself, Farthing,” Micah said, pausing to take a sip from his wine. “And watch your mouth around my consort. You may be my guest, but I’ve no qualms about tipping you into the Clear Pool and leaving you there to be taken over by so much pond scum.” Old Stoney’s eyes flamed and his neck bulged, but Micah ignored him as he took my arm and led me away from him.

“I hate him,” I grumbled. “Why does he have to be here, today of all days? He’s going to ruin—”