Copper Veins(3)

“I am he,” Micah acknowledged. “I give you my word that I will take excellent care of your daughter.”

“See that you do.” Dad smiled, and I felt Micah relax. I hadn’t realized how much my father’s approval would mean to him—probably because I hadn’t had a father for so long—but at least Micah had gotten it. Sort of.

“We have the makings of a feast,” I said, gesturing at the banquet the silverkin had assembled. The setup was reminiscent of the Beltane celebration Micah and I had hosted a few weeks back, with long wooden tables set up in the gardens and piled high with food and drink. Already the residents of the Whistling Dell were arriving, bringing along gifts of food and wine and who knew what else. Really, around here it could be anything. “Would you… are you hungry, Dad?”

“I am,” he admitted, releasing Sadie and Mom so he could slip an arm around my shoulders, “and even though I missed my daughter’s wedding, at least I am able to be here and celebrate it with all of you.”

I leaned my head on Dad’s shoulder, and we walked out to the gardens together. Yes, this was without a doubt the very best day of my life.





2


Micah’s and my wedding reception was unusual, to say the least. Don’t get me wrong, it was wonderful in every sense of the word. I truly was the luckiest girl in any realm, given that Micah had broken Otherworldly tradition and married me before I had borne him an heir. I loved him for that, for his willingness to compromise for me, for just being himself. When you got right down to it, I just loved Micah for being Micah, my silver elf.

My silver elf husband.

However, unlike most brides on their wedding day, most of my attention was captured by another man—my father, the legendary resistance leader. When our own government had declared war on magic and sent forces of Peacekeepers to implant trackers in Elementals’ arms in an attempt to catalog us like animals in a zoo, my father had been called up by the war mages. He’d kissed me (then seven years old) and the rest of his family goodbye, and that was the last time I saw him.

Now, he was seated across from Micah and me, between Sadie and Mom, and was focused almost entirely on my sister. Figures. The little one always gets all the attention.

“Sara,” Dad said suddenly as if he were telepathic. He fixed his gaze on me, and I saw that his eyes were green like mine, not the pale coppery hues of Sadie and Max’s. I’d forgotten about that. “Tell me about your new husband. Where did you two meet?”

My face grew so hot I worried I’d boil the wine, but Micah didn’t miss a beat. “Sara pulled me into her dream,” he replied, thankfully leaving out the part about me not wearing any underwear. “Her power was so strong, I couldn’t resist her. Then I learned that she was a metal Elemental, like me, and I knew that we were meant to meet.”

“Another Dreamwalker,” Dad murmured. His quiet shock surprised me. Shouldn’t he have known that? Then again, he hadn’t seen me for sixteen years. I doubt I’d done much dreamwalking when I was seven. “Are you a Dreamwalker as well?” he asked Sadie.

“I’ve never tried,” she replied. “My dreams are calm. I don’t think I go anywhere in them.” Knowing Sadie, she had action-packed dreams about shelving books in an endless library or diagramming sentences.

“I never knew, either, until Micah popped up,” I said. “I didn’t even realize I was calling him until we shared a second dream.” I gazed into Micah’s silver eyes, remembering how he had appeared in my room, first as a dream but then in his waking form. I wondered what else would have happened that night if we hadn’t been interrupted by my fake best friend, Juliana.

“And how long ago were these dreams?” Dad prompted.

“Four, maybe five months ago?” I said, almost unsure. I’d had a hard time keeping track of time since coming to the Otherworld, especially since the death of Old Stoney. Micah had been so gravely injured during that fight, my sole concern had been his wellbeing, not ticking off days on a calendar.

“And you’ve married him already?” Dad demanded. My gaze jumped from my husband to my father—his disapproving tone turned my blood to ice.

“Now Beau,” Mom interjected, “that’s far longer than we’d known each other when we escaped the brugh.” I silently sent my thanks to Mom while the furrow between Dad’s brows deepened. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young and in love?”

Dad sighed, drained his wineglass, and set it on the table. A silverkin refilled it in an instant. “I feel like I’ve forgotten so many things,” he mumbled, swirling the liquid in its glass. “Not the least of which is how to be a father.”