Copper Veins by Jennifer Allis Provost Page A

queens and unwanted politics that always found their way into our lives. Well, I forgot about them until Micah yawned, his hot breath cascading across my neck.
    â€œHave you slept at all?” I asked.
    â€œI’m fine,” he replied, avoiding the question. I wiggled free from his arms and drew the blankets up to his waist. “What are you doing?”
    â€œI’d rather you were rested for our first time,” I replied. He made a valiant attempt to glare at me, but it was cut short by another yawn.
    â€œI do not wish to keep you waiting,” Micah mumbled. “My wife, I love you so.”
    No matter how many times he said it, I always melted when he told me he loved me. I remembered his urgency when we’d fought, how fervently he’d insisted on us talking things through. But it seemed to have slipped his mind. I didn’t want to spoil the moment, or keep him awake for another second. “I love you, too,” I murmured, kissing his cheek. By the time I drew back, he was asleep.
    Since he’d been too exhausted to ready himself forbed, I pulled off his boots and pants, miraculously without waking him. After I’d tucked the blankets around his chin, I took a moment to look at him. I traced his silver brows, the bridge of his nose, his elegant cheekbones with the barest touch of my fingertips. Micah was beautiful, and he was mine. All mine.
    I pushed aside all my nagging thoughts about our arguments and Sadie’s refusal—after all, until Micah woke up, there wasn’t anything I could do about any of it. So I kissed him on the forehead, and then I rose and got myself dressed for the day.
    After a nice, solitary breakfast of hot buttered toast and eggs, I grabbed my coffee and went for a walk in the orchards. The way I figured things, Micah only needed three, maybe four hours of sleep before I could pounce on him in good conscience. It had already been an hour or so—I just needed to wait patiently and hope that I had some time to spare before my family’s plots and plans needed enacting.
    Luckily, it was still pretty early, and we Corbeaus are notoriously late risers. Even Sadie had struggled with her morning classes and usually worked the late shift at the university library. Just as I was congratulating myself on successfully avoiding all the assorted drama, I heard muttering coming from the far end of the orchard, near where the silverkin had recreated Mom’s
brugh
.
    Don’t check it out. It’s nothing important. Just goback inside
.
    Of course, I had to check it out. What I found was my father, pacing, one hand rubbing his chin while the other rubbed the back of his neck.
    â€œSara is a Dreamwalker, like Max,” he said. “Sadie is not. Look for someone named Raven. Sara is a Dreamwalker. Sadie is not. A
brugh
is a fairy hill.”
    What is he doing?
It was like he was trying to memorize the details of his own family. Why would he need to do that?
    I pursed my lips and wanted to kick myself. Of course Dad needed to do this—he’d been gone for most of our lives. He’d been gone for most of the time he’d been married to Mom. When he said his piece about the
brugh
again, I stepped out of the trees and into the clearing.
    â€œYou met Mom in a
brugh
,” I said, by way of greeting. “Her
brugh
, when she was the queen.”
    Dad turned to face me, his surprise melting into comprehension as he looked at the remains of his and Mom’s picnic lunch. “This
brugh
,” he said, and I nodded. Dad sat heavily and rubbed his temples. “No wonder Maeve was so mad.”
    â€œDid you forget?” I asked, though I didn’t see how that was possible. I mean, I could see forgetting a date, or maybe an obscure relative’s name, but who in their right mind could forget meeting the Queen of the Seelie Court?
    â€œSara, my memory is not what it once was,” Dadreplied. “All the spells I used during