Copper Veins(65)

“Depends.” I arched my neck to allow for more nuzzling. “When are you planning to put right this transgression?”

“Immediately.” He kissed the hollow of my throat, then he pulled me indoors. “Let me get us some wine. Wait for me in our chamber?”

“Micah, wine for breakfast?”

He shrugged. “It is an event worth celebrating, is it not?”

I couldn’t argue with that. “Be quick. And have the silverkin make more ice cream, too.”

With that, Micah was off to the kitchens, and I ran up the stairs to our rooms. Amazingly, despite my rotten luck of late, I didn’t encounter a single family member on the way, drama-laden or otherwise.

I stood in the center of our bedroom, wondering if I should bother with a quick bath or just hop into bed. Micah wouldn’t care either way, not so long as I was naked. In the midst of one of the strangest mental debates of my life, I spied a blue glass bottle on my dressing table.

It held an extract of Queen’s Lace, an herb that was supposed to prevent pregnancy. I’d purchased it from the crone a while back, when it looked like the only way I’d ever get to be Micah’s wife was if I had a baby. I hadn’t told Micah about the extract, fearing he wouldn’t want me any longer if he couldn’t have his heir right away.

But, Micah had found the extract, mostly because I’d just left it sitting out in plain sight. Being that I’d been caught (not that I was hiding anything—not technically, anyway), I’d admitted my fears to Micah. How I had no experience with babies, how I’d worried that I’d be a terrible mother, how so much had changed so quickly. To my surprise and joy, Micah had agreed that babies could wait for a while—hopefully, for a long while. And then he married me anyway, transforming me into the deliriously happy girl known as Lady Silverstrand.

As I picked up the bottle, I realized that I’d never even taken any. After Micah had been injured at the Goblin Market, he’d been too weak to do much fooling around, and our efforts to consummate our marriage were beginning to resemble a Marx Brothers routine. Still, the extract wouldn’t be able to prevent anything from inside its bottle. And, based on what I had planned for the rest of the day, I thought should probably take it, and quick.

I uncorked the bottle and sniffed—it smelled nice, like lilacs. There was hardly any liquid inside, a teaspoonful at most, so I downed it in one gulp. It didn’t taste like anything, but it burned like fire, making my gut feel like a furnace.

Maybe wine isn’t such a good idea. Clutching my belly, I stepped into the hallway—there was no sign of Micah, so I started toward the kitchens. As my foot touched the top stair, I almost doubled over, my body twisting and contorting in pain. I grabbed onto the banister and somehow made it down the stairs.

Once I was in the sitting room I called for Shep, hoping he could bring me something, anything for the pain. Then my gut clenched, and I fell to my knees and retched. As the silverkin rushed toward me, my world went red, and then black.





27


I was swimming in dark water, my lungs burning as I struggled toward the light. I couldn’t remember entering any water, not a stream or a bath or anything, but I was there nonetheless. My chest was about to burst and my limbs were heavy with exertion, but I couldn’t stop. I was certain that if I stopped, I would die.

I opened my eyes and took a great gasping breath. As my vision cleared I learned that I wasn’t drowning, but I was lying in a bed that wasn’t mine. Blearily, I recognized the white and yellow bed curtains as the ones in the guest room behind the kitchen. But why was I here, why wasn’t I—

In a rush I remembered the extract burning its way down my throat—the horrible, cramping pains that had taken hold of me—how I’d struggled toward the kitchens, hopeful I would find something, anything, that would help. I remembered calling for Shep, then falling to the cold metal floor.

The silverkin must have brought me here. I shifted and was rewarded with stabbing pains in my belly, behind my eyes, and in my back. I remembered landing on my shoulder—it must have been bruised in the fall. Great. New bruises to coordinate with the old ones. I also realized that I was naked save for some heavy bandaging wound about my hips, and recalled the many ways my body had tried to purge itself. Gods, the silverkin might look for other jobs after dealing with all that.

As my senses dribbled back to me, I heard voices in the hallway. When I recognized who they belonged to, I would have run from the manor if I were able.

“Why did you give her that extract?” I heard Dad say. The silverkin must have found the bottle. “Don’t you know what Queen’s Lace is for?”