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Copper Princess
Copper Princess
Copper Princess
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Copper Princess

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The epic fourth book in Jennifer Allis Provost's dystopian urban fantasy series, Copper Legacy.

Sara never thought her life would be like this.

For starters, she never dared hope her family would be whole again. After they rescued her father—the real one, this time—the Corbeaus settled into life at Silverstrand Manor. Sara should be able to relax and enjoy her life with her elf husband, Micah. But, things aren't as peaceful as they seem.

In the Otherworld, the Gold Queen still wants Sadie's pledge, and is prepared to go to extreme lengths to obtain it. Sara vows to protect her sister by any means necessary, even if it means dethroning the current queen.

In the Mundane world, where Elementals are treated as little more than animals, the magic war still rages against the Peacekeepers. Led by Mike Armstrong, the Peacekeepers seek to harness Elemental abilities for their own gain—oh, and Sara's best friend, Juliana, just so happens to be Mike's niece. Juliana also had a fling with Sara's brother, Max, while he was a prisoner. That's not complicated.

Meanwhile, Max struggles to reclaim his life after spending the last decade imprisoned in a Peacekeeper research facility. He just wants to find his place in the world, and figure out if he still has a place in Juliana's life—not that she seems to want him hanging around. Max throws himself into helping the resistance, but he can't help being drawn into Juliana's orbit. Then, thanks to Juliana's insider information about the Peacekeepers, they find information to finally turn the tide to the Elemental's favor.

Then Sadie does the unthinkable, and Sara and Max must draw on all of their strength to preserve what's left of their family, stop the Peacekeepers, and save the entire Otherworld. No big deal, right?
LanguageEnglish
PublisherSpencer Hill Contemporary
Release dateSep 13, 2022
ISBN9781633921146
Copper Princess
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Author

Jennifer Allis Provost

Jennifer Allis Provost writes books about faeries, orcs and elves. Zombies, too. She grew up in the wilds of Western Massachusetts and had read every book in the local library by age twelve. (It was a small library.) An early love of mythology and folklore led to her epic fantasy series, The Chronicles of Parthalan, and her day job as a cubicle monkey helped shape her urban fantasy, Copper Girl. When she’s not writing about things that go bump in the night (and sometimes during the day) she’s working on her MFA in Creative Nonfiction. Connect with her online at www.authorjenniferallisprovost.com

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    Copper Princess - Jennifer Allis Provost

    PROLOGUE

    Sara

    Is that a kelpie of sorts? Micah asked.

    It’s the creature from the Black Lagoon, I replied. You know, the guy from the title.

    Why is the lagoon black? Micah pressed. Is it cursed?

    No, just dirty. Now hush; it’s starting.

    Micah and I were doing the most Mundane thing imaginable in the Mundane realm: taking in a matinee horror movie at the Promenade Market’s vintage theater. I’d waxed on about my old Picture Vision so many times that Micah decided to learn what all the fuss was about and took me on a date to the movies. While it was a bit run-down, the theater hadn’t lost any of its charm. Heavy velvet drapes framed the screen, and the walks were covered in vintage woodwork. The gilded ceiling and crystal chandelier rivaled the Raven Compound’s atrium, even if the paint was flaking in spots.

    I hadn’t known how my silver elf would react to being in a movie theater, not to mention doing things like purchasing tickets and hitting up the snack bar, but he took everything in stride. Then the preview reel started, along with the questions.

    Micah picked up a single piece of popcorn and scrutinized it. I cannot fathom why you eat this.

    Says the man who’s eaten half the bucket.

    He scowled, then popped it into his mouth and went back for more. Far too salty. And greasy.

    Since my head was resting on his shoulder, I looked up into his blue eyes. That’s right, they weren’t his usual silver; for this latest journey into the Mundane realm, Micah had crafted us a set of completely new glamours. It was a good idea, since we’d worn our previous glamours so often the Peacekeepers had caught on to our true identities. So much for secrecy.

    These new glamours made us look pretty good, if I did say so myself. Micah was still tall and lean, but his silver hair was darkened to coal black while his silver eyes were now a brilliant shade of blue. As for me, Micah had made my copper hair blonde, my green eyes brown, and added a few inches to my height. My actual form was still much shorter than Micah, but we appeared to be the same height to both onlookers and mirrors alike.

    Have I ever claimed that Peacekeeper food was anything other than vile? I countered. Why do you think I moved in with you? Better food.

    Micah snorted. And here I thought you loved me.

    Nope, just Shep’s cooking.

    We cuddled and talked through the entire movie. The theater was almost empty, and no one complained about our bad manners. After the end credits rolled, Micah and I left the theater, blinking as our eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight. We headed toward the main aisle of the Promenade and strolled among the stalls. Just like he’d done the first time I’d brought him to the market, Micah surprised me with a bouquet.

    Thank you, I said, sniffing the tired daisies. We should get some for Mom, too. Daisies are her favorite.

    Then we shall. Micah paid for a second bouquet and we walked off hand in hand. The market was busy that day, with customers looking over everything from used shoes to pre-war books and music discs. Just like the Goblin Market in the Otherworld, anything could be had at the Promenade as long as you were willing to pay the price.

    Let’s pick up some books for Sadie, I suggested, tugging Micah toward the booksellers. And maybe a few newspapers for Dad and Max.

    Of course, Micah agreed, and we spent the next half hour sorting through boxes of frayed paperbacks until we’d found a few leather-bound tomes, since nothing but the best would do for the Inheritor of Metal’s library. After we paid for the books, we turned toward the newsstand and froze. Emblazoned across the Capitol City Daily were the following words:

    ARMSTRONG DEFEATS OPPONENT IN PRELIMINARY ELECTION

    Great, I said. Based on that headline, Mike Armstrong, the man responsible for experimenting on Elementals and creating an army of monsters, was a shoo-in for Pacifica’s next president.

    Sara, read the next headline, Micah whispered.

    I did, and felt all that yummy popcorn become a concrete ball in my stomach.

    ARMSTRONG CLAIMS ELEMENTAL RESEARCH COMPLETE, PLANS PRESS CONFERENCE TO SHARE FINDINGS

    Double great. I grabbed a copy and dropped some coins into the seller’s palm. Dad will want to read this.

    Yes, Micah agreed. I imagine he will.

    Your father’s a fan? the seller asked, lifting his sharp, curious eyes.

    What was that? I replied, bracing myself for the worst, and the seller nodded toward the newspapers in my hand. A fan of Armstrong’s? I prompted.

    Yeah. He glanced around, then leaned closer to me. Most of us here, he gestured to encompass the Promenade, are not his biggest supporters.

    Oh. I felt my heart racing; was this man for real, or was he trying to flush out dissenters? We’re not either. Not really.

    The seller nodded, and I detected a softness in his face: relief. Good.

    What do you plan to do about him? Micah asked, leaning in and keeping his voice low.

    Vote against him, the seller replied matter-offactly, his mouth tensing, his brow furrowed. I fear it’s all I can do.

    Micah clapped him on the shoulder. If everyone follows their conscience, it will be enough.

    We wandered about the stalls for a bit longer, but our happy mood had shattered. Shattering it even further were the Peacekeeper recruitment posters plastered onto every flat surface: Serve Your Country, they said, or Protect Humanity. Last I checked, I was human, but not human enough to warrant their protection.

    I’d learned a long time ago to protect myself.

    It wasn’t long before we left the market altogether and went toward that static portal that would bring us from the Mundane realm to the edge of the Whispering Dell.

    Sara, we will stop him, Micah said once we had stepped through the portal and into the Otherworld. Your father is a brilliant tactician. He will not allow his home to be overrun by those monsters. He cupped my face in his hands and our glamours dissolved. Once again, I was gazing into the silver eyes of the man I loved. Nor will I allow it. My love, so long as I breathe, I will protect you and yours.

    I forced a smile. I know. We looked at each other for a long moment. Then I drew away. Let’s go home.

    Micah draped his arm around my shoulders and we walked down the hill toward the manor. I was glad we’d had our movie date, since I knew it was likely the last calm day we’d have for a while.

    Maybe as soon as tomorrow, we were going to war.

    1

    Sara

    Micah and I entered the manor and found Dad and Max, my brother, sitting at the kitchen table with heaps of paper spread before them. Dad was as neat and organized as ever, from his neatly trimmed hair and beard—Corbeau copper, of course—to his meticulously labeled and annotated paperwork. Even his lunch was neat, consisting of a sandwich split into two perfect triangles. Since Max wanted to be like Dad in all ways possible, he was also neat and organized, with the exception of his hair. It erupted from his head like flames from a campfire, and no amount of gel or brushing could tame it.

    After we exchanged greetings, I placed the newspaper on the table in front of Dad.

    What’s this? he asked.

    It’s a front-page article about our nemesis positioning himself for victory, I explained.

    So dramatic, my eldest daughter is, Dad murmured as he scanned the headlines. He frowned, his frown deepening when he moved on to the second article. Max, read this, he urged, pushing the newspaper across the table.

    He’s calling what he does research, Max growled after he glanced at the page. It’s more like genocide and legalized torture. Just one more reason we need to get going on these plans.

    I peeked over Max’s shoulder. He’d drawn a sketch of a few tents surrounded by a fence. What’s that supposed to be? I asked.

    I’m making a map of Jovanny’s resistance headquarters.

    "Oh, that glorified campground? I sat across from Max. A silverkin appeared at my elbow and deposited a cup of coffee before me; how I loved those little guys. Dad, when you led the resistance, was your home base a field of tents? With no modern amenities?"

    He scratched his beard. No, we operated out of a warehouse on the southern side of the Promenade. It was not as primitive as what you have described as Jovanny’s base.

    ‘Primitive’ is one word for it, I muttered, remembering the tired old cots and musty blankets we’d slept on, and the lack of indoor plumbing. Why are you making a map of Jovanny’s place? Are we planning a tent raid?

    I am planning on visiting them, Dad replied, and I would like to have as much information about the location as possible to review beforehand. I do not like surprises.

    The biggest surprise there was Aregonda’s coffee, I interjected. It was really good, and she always made sure we had some. I nudged Max with my elbow. I think she had a thing for Max.

    Max dropped his pencil. "Seriously? He snorted. She’s old enough to be my mother."

    She was always bringing you extra coffee, and little plates of food—

    Food I couldn’t even digest—

    "She didn’t know that!"

    You have established that Aregonda is an excellent hostess, Dad interrupted. Sara, Max has also laid out a map of Armstrong’s research facility. He spoke these last words as if they dirtied his mouth. Please, would you look it over?

    He slid the sketch toward me, and Micah sat beside me as we scrutinized the drawing. It was a fairly detailed rendering of where Armstrong created cheap copies of Elementals by forcing raw materials into Mundane humans.

    It’s all here, I confirmed, feeling my own face pinch with disgust. Max had labeled the five courtyards, each according to the element they were forcing into the hapless victims. The yard for metal Elementals was full to bursting, while the area for water victims was nearly empty. Apparently, most who had attempted to become water Elementals ended up drowning from the inside, though Armstrong kept trying to make those abilities stick. No, good citizens of Pacifica, Mike Armstrong isn’t a psychopath at all. Definitely vote for him in the next election.

    An abomination of our inborn talents, Micah muttered. I pointed to the largest courtyard.

    This is where they kept the metal ones, I said. I could not, would not, call them Elementals. It seems that metal is the most easily assimilated of all the elements.

    In all my days, I’ve never encountered anything so evil, Micah whispered. This Mike Armstrong makes the Iron Queen seem as innocent as a spring lamb.

    Which is why we will stop him, Dad declared as he stood. I will fetch Mama. Then we shall pay a visit to the resistance. Would you like to accompany us?

    "Hell yeah!" Max exclaimed, standing.

    I shall as well, Micah added. I desire to see this base with my own eyes.

    What about Sadie? I asked. Shouldn’t she come with?

    She’s hiding in her library, pretending that none of this is happening, Max answered, direct as ever.

    Dad gave him one of those withering looks only a parent could give. Max, that is hardly how I would describe it.

    Max shrugged. I call ’em like I see ’em.

    You’d think Sadie would want to be in the Mundane world, away from Oriana and the threat of pledging to the Gold Court, I said. Has anyone brought that up to her?

    We can leave the kid out of it for now, Max insisted, motioning toward the library with a lift of his chin. Juliana’s keeping her company.

    I pursed my lips, wondering how Juliana felt about babysitting the Inheritor of Metal. All right, then, I said, glancing between their attentive, determined faces. When do we leave?

    It wasn’t long before the five of us—me, a re-glamoured Micah, Dad, Mom, and Max—portaled from the Otherworld to the woods beyond the resistance’s camp. Max had wanted to show up right in the center of the ragged old tents, but Dad insisted on checking out the perimeter defenses on the way there. What he found left him rather unimpressed.

    Two sentries, no more, Dad remarked as he shook his head. They didn’t even think to cover the compass points.

    There’s three if you count the one sleeping, Max added, shrugging.

    I do not, Dad said. He gestured to the camp’s location in a valley. And who chose this location in the first place? Easy to find, difficult to defend. The enemy could have them surrounded before they knew what was happening. He frowned. The Jovanny I worked with is better than this.

    Like I said, these guys are not big-league potential, Max explained, leaning closer to Dad as he spoke. Jovanny’s a good guy, but his people have a serious lack of talent.

    I think there are magical defenses, like perimeter wards, I interrupted, the pit in my stomach sinking, growing heavier. I felt something magical the last time we were here. I hoped they had something more going on than a few lazy sentries. If not, the resistance and all Elementals were surely doomed.

    There’s nothing I can sense, Mom quickly countered, shaking her head. Perhaps the magic handlers who once worked with the resistance are no longer available.

    You mean they’re dead or captured? I asked.

    Not necessarily, Dad clarified. They may be stationed elsewhere.

    Or perhaps our people are spread too thin, Mom offered.

    Dad sighed—maybe it was more of a groan—and ran a hand through his hair. All right, let’s head down and speak to Jovanny.

    We picked our way down the hillside, Dad leading the way while Micah and I brought up the rear.

    This operation is most unimpressive, Micah said under his breath.

    You’ve got that right, I replied, ducking under a low-hanging branch. It’s almost like they want to get caught.

    Perhaps there was more working against them than merely the shapeshifter, Micah posed, his tone tentative. Perhaps that man you were associating with is, in fact, a Peacekeeper.

    Micah was referring to Jerome Polonsky, the resistance double agent who’d rescued Max, Sadie, and me from prison. Mind you, after his daring rescue we’d just ended up in another prison, but it was the thought that counted. Jerome had also claimed to be the last Inheritor of Air’s secret son, but Mom insisted that due to a childhood accident Avatar was incapable of fathering a child. We hadn’t seen or heard from Jerome in weeks, and I imagined he was having a few serious discussions with his mother.

    Or maybe Micah was right, and Jerome was just another traitor.

    Nothing would surprise me, I muttered.

    We reached the camp, and Dad strode directly to the central tent. A woman wearing khaki jeans, a dark shirt, and a bomber jacket stood outside the tent flap. I understood the resistance’s need to appear unremarkable, since I’d once gone out of my way to be a boring, bland woman and nothing more. The more you stood out in Pacifica, the more attention you got from Peacekeepers, and no one wanted their attention.

    Commander Corbeau, the woman said as she saluted. Based on Dad’s bemused face, I figured that commander was a title the shapeshifter had come up with for his false identity. We haven’t heard from you in some time. I trust you are doing well?

    I am, Dad replied, composing himself. Is Jovanny available?

    Of course, she answered, holding aside the flap. We filed into the darkened tent and found Jovanny Lopez seated behind his card table, shuffling papers and taking notes. Per usual, he wore faded green fatigues, which complemented his olive skin and salt-and-pepper hair. There was a communication device in his ear, and several radios were set up on a crate to his left. We’d caught him in the midst of planning something.

    Jovanny looked up at the light streaming in from the open tent flap, leaping to his feet once he recognized Dad.

    Baudoin! So good to see you, he greeted warmly. I had no idea you were coming here today. We haven’t heard from you since just before the Phillips rally. Max chose that moment to step out from behind Dad.

    And what a rally it was, he said with a mischievous grin.

    Jovanny’s eyes narrowed. Aregonda informed me of what you did at the rally, he said. You’re lucky you didn’t get anyone killed, boy.

    Do not reprimand my son, Dad admonished, his eyes flashing. In fact, I am here in part to discuss the events surrounding that rally. You believe the last time we saw each other was what, a scant two weeks ago?

    More like three, Jovanny replied, glancing at his calendar. What are you getting at?

    Today is the first time I’ve been in your presence in more than five years, Jovanny, Dad explained tersely, meeting his old friend’s gaze. Until shortly after that rally, I’d been imprisoned in the Otherworld by Peacekeepers.

    Impossible, Jovanny scoffed, quirking an eyebrow. Is this some kind of joke?

    If this is a joke, it is not very funny, Dad answered, his voice low and dangerous. The individual you were interacting with was a shapeshifter working for Mike Armstrong.

    Jovanny sat heavily; by looks of the emotions skating across his face, he’d had a few doubts of his own about the Baudoin Corbeau he’d been dealing with. "You—he—he said he’d been captured by Ferra in the past. He said that after she was killed, he escaped the Iron Court."

    That much is true, Dad confirmed, the edge having left his voice. I enlisted Ferra’s aid to rescue my son, but she betrayed me and handed me over to the Peacekeepers. My wife only recently liberated me.

    Jovanny’s gaze snapped to Mom. Maeve? he asked, and she nodded.

    Pleasure to see you again, Jovanny, she acknowledged, curt.

    Jovanny nodded, then his eyes narrowed. "How do I know you aren’t a shapeshifter? he demanded. For all I know, I’m being played for the fool now."

    There is my wife’s presence here, for one, Dad countered. Did you not notice that Maeve never once accompanied the shifter? In the past, when have I ever made decisions of significance without her?

    He … said you two had parted ways … Jovanny murmured, wincing when he glanced back toward Mom. At the insinuation that she and Dad had broken up, her back straightened and her eyes flashed, and for a moment I thought Jovanny had uttered his last words. Then Dad put his hand on her back and drew her against him.

    "I never willingly part from Maeve, he declared. Not once since the day we met. These years separated from her were the worst of my life."

    As Dad spoke, Micah wrapped his arm around my shoulders. I placed my hand over his and smiled at him; I hated being separated from him, too. Our movements drew Jovanny’s attention, and he scowled at Micah.

    Baudoin, who is this? he asked, his tone conveying that he didn’t appreciate unknown individuals popping up in his tent.

    This man is Micah, my son-in-law, Dad replied. Micah, this is Jovanny, the man who helmed the resistance in my absence.

    A pleasure, Micah said with a nod.

    Why don’t you show Jovanny who you really are? Dad suggested.

    Micah dropped his glamours and stood before Jovanny in all his elfin glory. I know men aren’t usually referred to as radiant, but Micah practically shone in the dark tent. I am Micah Silverstrand, Lord of Silver and the Whispering Dell, he introduced.

    Jovanny started at Micah for a moment, then said haltingly to Dad, "You have the Inheritor of Metal and the Lord of Silver in your family?"

    And the— I was going to add Seelie Queen, but a sharp look from Mom silenced me. It seemed the resistance was on a need-to-know basis about the Corbeaus. Okay. I liked that.

    And the what? Jovanny prompted.

    And me and Max, I finished. We’re pretty powerful, too, remember?

    I do, Jovanny agreed with another sidelong look at Max. He stood, came around the table, and offered his hand to Dad. Forgive me, Baudoin, for allowing myself, and the entire operation, to be led astray by an imposter.

    Dad gripped his hand firmly. No apology is necessary, my friend. The shifter’s purpose was to deceive, and he did an admirable job. Jovanny grinned. Then Dad ruined the mood. You do realize that we will need to completely relocate the operation, no? Change access codes, passwords, everything?

    The color drained from Jovanny’s face. Ah. Right.

    That shifter was working for the Peacekeepers, Dad continued. We have no way of knowing what information he has long since relayed to our enemies. Best to be safe rather than sorry.

    Jovanny glanced from Dad to the heap of paperwork on his table, then swore. That … that would be best. He grabbed a manila folder and thrust it toward Dad. That doppelgänger of yours drew up these plans to attack the Presidential Estate in Portland. We can split the force and use the attack as cover while the rest of the operation relocates.

    Dad flipped through the folder, his brows lowering as he scanned the plans. If they were the same plans Max and I had reviewed, they were less than awesome. How far along are your preparations? he asked.

    We can strike by the end of the week.

    Good. Don’t. Dad handed the paperwork off to Max.

    Seen it, hated it, Max said as he passed the folder to Micah. Ask Sara. I knew these plans weren’t your work.

    Would it not behoove you to disable this Mike Armstrong’s research facility first? Micah asked as he scanned the documents. Since he appears to be counting on his force of monsters to turn the tide in his favor, disabling that operation would not only serve the resistance’s cause; it would also positively impact the welfare of all Elementals.

    Maybe we can even rescue a few prisoners, I chimed in. I really don’t think any of those Elementals are willing subjects. I bet most of the Mundanes aren’t, either.

    You have information about what the Mundanes are thinking? Jovanny asked.

    Not really, I began, wincing as I considered whether or not that spark of hope we’d encountered in the market was anything to believe in. But we were at the Promenade earlier, and we talked to someone who made it seem like most Mundanes aren’t happy with Armstrong.

    The individual indicated that most would vote against him, Micah added.

    Jovanny nodded slowly. Interesting. In one fell swoop we could rescue many of our brothers and sisters and increase our standing with Mundanes.

    It was Dad’s turn to nod. We are in agreement.

    Jovanny rubbed his eyes. Good, because we have plenty of work to do. He dropped his hand and eyed Micah. Do you know anything about drawing up battle plans?

    The corner of Micah’s mouth curled up, but he didn’t reveal that he had once served as the Gold Queen’s general. I am somewhat familiar with the practice. Is there a map I may mark up?

    Jovanny rifled through his papers, then muttered, I should get Aregonda. She’ll want to be involved with this. He glanced at Dad and added, She’ll want to know we were compromised.

    I’ll find her, I said, sliding out of Micah’s arms. Since I knew pretty much nothing about battle plans, I figured that was the best way to make myself useful. Coming? I asked Max.

    Sure, he said with a shrug. Maybe I can score some of that coffee.

    Be safe, Micah murmured, his thumb gliding across my cheek. Lowly, so only I could hear him, he added, I do not trust this place, or these people. If you are not back soon, I will find you.

    I’m counting on it. I kissed the underside of Micah’s chin. Then I followed Max out of the tent and into the harsh sunlight. The other residents of the camp regarded us with suspicion, and some of them glared at us with outright animosity. I guess we’d earned that after what had happened at Langston Phillips’s rally.

    The natives are restless, Max observed. Good, he noticed the blatant hatred, too. Let’s get out of the line of fire.

    I agreed, so we headed down the slope toward the waterfall and adjacent pool. We found Aregonda kneeling at the water’s edge, rinsing out a pitcher. Her long rosy-brown hair was tucked behind her ear, and her rolled-up sleeves revealed tanned skin from many hours working outdoors. Even though she was kneeling, her long limbs betrayed her height and athletic build. For all that it seemed like Aregonda was usually in charge of domestic duties, she was built like a warrior.

    Hi, Aregonda, I called to her. Are you busy?

    Sara, Max, she greeted, looking over her shoulder at us, a small smile on her lips. What a lovely surprise. I’d been expecting you, but not so soon.

    Aregonda had been expecting us? So not good. "Our father—our real father—is talking to Jovanny," I said.

    "Real father? Aregonda repeated, her eyebrows raised. Have you a false one as well?"

    The man you’d been dealing with was a shapeshifter, Max explained. He’s since been removed, and we found the real old man.

    Aregonda’s eyes clouded. I suspected the Baudoin that contacted us some months ago was not the real man, she said, her voice bitter. Still, we wanted to believe it was him. We needed a Corbeau to rally around.

    I nodded, surprised to be agreeing with Aregonda on anything. Yeah, we felt the same way.

    Is Sadie here as well? she asked.

    Um, no. I looked down and saw that Aregonda wasn’t actually rinsing out a pitcher. It was a silver bowl with a heavy, incised lip around its edge, and a handle on one side. I couldn’t help asking, What’s that?

    A bowl, she replied with a wink. I burn herbs in it.

    Oh, for cooking?

    Aregonda laughed. Not at all. For spellwork. She scooped some water into the bowl, then sat cross-legged with it before her. Sit, and I’ll teach you both a trick or two.

    Max and I sat, both of us looking expectantly at Aregonda. She smiled at us. I understand that you’re both metal, as I am, but have you ever wished to experience a different element?

    Yeah, Max said while I asked, Experience how?

    Why, experience as an Elemental would. Aregonda pushed the bowl closer to me and Max, then murmured, Eau sacrée, venez à moi en tant que métal fait. Aimez-moi comme métal fait. Sers-moi que le métal fait.

    "What in the world does that

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