Micah stood behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, and I leaned back against his warmth. “I think this might be the best day of my life,” I whispered.
“It is already the best day of mine,” Micah murmured, kissing my hair.
“And where the bloody hell have you been?” Mom demanded. She shoved Dad away from her, then cupped his face in her hands, her eyes scanning his features as if to memorize them. “Max has told us of your clandestine meetings.”
“Forgive me my subterfuge,” Dad said. “There were… complications.”
“We thought you were dead,” Mom choked out.
“I may as well have been, without you.”
Mom’s eyes softened, and she was in his arms again. Dad had always known the right thing to say—in fact, he was the only one who could disarm Mom with just a few words. They whispered a few endearments to each other, then Mom drew Dad toward the youngest Corbeau.
“Beau, you remember our baby?” Mom asked.
“Sadie?” Dad’s eyes lit up. “My little girl, so big. So very, very big.” He folded Sadie into his arms, murmuring over and over that he was so sorry for missing so much of our lives, for being unable to return sooner.
“But we are all together again,” he said at last, turning so one arm was around Sadie’s shoulders, the other encircling Mom’s waist. “All the Corbeaus are together again.”
“I’m not a Corbeau anymore,” I blurted out. It was so new it still felt a little foreign saying it. “I’m a Silverstrand now. Dad, this is Micah, my husband.”
Dad’s brows furrowed, then he looked at Micah for the first time. Only my father could waltz into the Lord of Silver’s home and make it his own. “You’re married?” Dad asked. “To…him?”
Micah stiffened but remained silent.
“Yeah. We got married earlier today,” I replied. I grasped Micah’s left hand and showed Dad our rings. Mine was a twining silver vine crowned with a deep green emerald, while Micah’s was a copper oak leaf. We’d made them ourselves right before we left for our wedding. “Max walked me down the aisle.”
Dad stared at our hands for a while, the creases in his forehead deepening when he noticed the silver mark that coiled around my wrist. It was a parting gift from a desperate attempt to save Micah’s life—we’d been attacked by Farthing Greymalkin, or Old Stoney, and Micah had used up all of his silver to stop the crazed earth Elemental. Micah had managed to kill him, but he’d nearly died in the process. In fact, when I found Micah buried under stone and ash, he was so cold and unresponsive that I’d thought the worst. Desperate, I’d called for the silverkin, hoping beyond hope that they would know how to help him.
Help had come in the form of the crone from the apothecary, who had informed me that, unless Micah’s silver was restored, he would not be able to heal himself. As ridiculous as that sounded, a similar tactic had been used to restore the Gold Queen after she had been freed from the Iron Court’s oubliette. Not having any other options, the silverkin had shaped themselves into a metal cave—no, cave isn’t the right term. It was tiny and airless and more like a metal straightjacket than a cave. But they’d formed it, and effectively buried Micah and me alive.
I’d stayed with Micah throughout the whole ordeal. And I would do it all again.
I also swore to the crone that I would owe her anything in exchange for the information on how to save Micah. Remember that old adage about not owing the fae? Take that to the nth degree when in the Otherworld.
I still hadn’t told Micah about my debt to the crone. It was a good thing Dad had finally returned to us—I had a feeling that I would need all the help I could get when she came to collect.
At my insistence, the silverkin had encased Micah and me in the living metal. My last-ditch effort to save Micah’s life had worked, and I’d ended up with a silver mark spiraling around my left wrist. Micah bore a matching copper mark on his right wrist. That’s right—we had built-in wedding rings (beat that, Tiffany’s) that nicely complemented the ones we wore on our fingers.
Dad stared at our hands—and my new silver mark—for so long that he made me nervous. Weren’t parents supposed to be happy when their children found who they wanted to share their lives with? Eventually, he said, “I wish I could have walked you myself.”
“Dad, it’s not like—”
“I know,” he said, waving my words away. “It’s just a dream a father has.” He straightened and looked Micah in the eye. “You are the Lord of Silver, then?”