Chapter 26
The scent of clove and pine stunned her, overpowering the air as soon as she entered the Hall. The smell threw her so much off her footing that it took a moment before she registered that it was not the only thing that had changed since she left for John’s house.
Candles filled the room, branching from candelabras that sprouted all along the walls.
The flames were the only beacons in the dim light, and their fire produced jewel-like glimmers in the darkness.
Mouse could make out the outline of the tapestry.
The great elk antlers were larger than they’d been before, spreading wide and thick with candles, like a mockery of Saint Lucia’s crown.
The doors swung open behind her. Thornwood was there, windswept. His pale hair also picked up the firelight, and he looked like a candle himself, his face illuminated by a white-gold flame.
“Where is the vicar?” he asked. His expression was wild, his eyes ferocious.
“He won’t come.”
Thornwood scoffed. “No matter, we can be married in the traditional Faerie way. The vicar was for you, my dear.”
The endearment was strange, although Mouse could not think why.
“I need to change. I shouldn’t get married in muddy shoes.”
He tilted his head at her, that mischievous, genuine smile lighting his features for the first time since that morning. “You are already dressed.”
Mouse looked down. A cloud of white silk and satin expanded around her.
It boasted a deep-cut neckline that reached down to the swell over her breasts with a dramatic stiff lace collar that nearly touched her ears.
She could see embroidery worked over the sleeves and bodice, which shifted where it met the skirt and turned into a pattern of leaves and glitter.
“Is it a spell?” she whispered.
“It was put on you by magic, and it has magic within it, but it is not an enchantment like the car or the house. Every stitch is real.” Thornwood held out his hand to her. “Never fear. It won’t disappear at midnight.”
Mouse smiled distantly at the joke.
“Where were you just now?” she asked. He frowned. “You came in behind me, so you were outside. I thought you had preparations to make here.”
“Can’t a husband have his secrets?”
“You aren’t my husband yet. Where were you?”
Thornwood’s mouth twisted. His eyes asked her a question, but she wasn’t sure what it was. “Mouse, I…”
“Everything is ready, sir.” Mickelwaithe’s voice cut the air between them, and Thornwood’s mask fell back into place.
“Excellent. Unfortunately, it seems that Mouse’s wedding guest has declined our invitation. Can you find another mortal witness, Mickelwaithe?”
Mouse opened her lips, ready to tell them about Mr. Hobb’s invitation, but Mickelwaithe spoke before she could.
“I already took the liberty,” Mickelwaithe said, bowing.
“Good man.”
Mouse doubted that Mickelwaithe had been called a man in a long time, and the words felt out of place in this pop-up fairyland. Those were words that Bertie and Roger used, not these mystical creatures who lived off moonlight and beetles.
Was it a good thing that they spoke like this? It indicated that they felt something akin to camaraderie and friendship, didn’t it?
Mouse thought those were human things, important things. She could not remember why that mattered to her, but it did. Thornwood led her down the dark corridors to the ballroom. Then, he slipped through the door.
“We must do things properly,” he said, pressing her hands to his lips. “I will see you inside.”
Mouse looked in after him. Mirrors shone on every wall, reflecting the candlelight.
If the hallway was dark as night, the ballroom was the day.
It was empty but for a carpet of flowers trailing toward the grand fireplace.
There was no one in the room but Thornwood, although music drifted to her, played by invisible hands.
Mouse ducked back into the darkness. She could not think or breathe. The scent that greeted her at the door was even stronger here, overwhelming every new thought that came into her head. Then, clear as a bell, she heard the voice again.
You are enchanted, you fool!
“Are you all right, my lady?” Mickelwaithe asked, emerging from the shadows at her side.
“You are good at that. You would have made a brilliant spy during the war,” Mouse panted, and the words were her own, familiar after something strange had commandeered her throat.
“I will keep that in mind should I ever need to change occupations.” His voice was gentle in the dark, the shadows softening his rigidity. “He would be furious if he found out I asked, but are you sure you want to go through with this?”
There was no need to clarify the “he” Mickelwaithe meant.
“There is something wrong here, isn’t there? I can feel it.”
“That is not for me to say. This marriage would keep the house away from your human enemies. But do consider that there are other things beyond flesh and bone.”
“Please, I cannot understand riddles right now.”
“His lordship is kind for a Faerie. But he is still a Faerie, and he cannot deny his nature.” Mickelwaithe gazed into the darkness. “Take this.”
The Faerie servant looped something over her head, and when she looked down, she saw her keys glimmering between her exposed collarbones. The heaviness lifted from her mind slightly when the metal touched her skin.
“You found them. I thought that the tapestry spell had taken them,” Mouse said.
“We best go in. The shadows are not safe for you now.”
He held out his arm, and Mouse took it, her hand trembling.
The moment they touched, her thoughts melted like sugar in water.
This was her wedding day; why was he asking her questions? Had he given her a wedding gift? She could not recall.
As they entered, the brightness of the ballroom hurt her eyes.
It was as though Thornwood’s blinding glamour stretched over an entire room.
The strength of the fire in the hearth, when paired with the mirrors, was a giant hand closing over her, smothering her.
Looking closer, Mouse could make out faces outlined in silver.
They all grinned, their mouths twisted and wicked.
Slowly, they peeled from the surface of the mirrors, retaining their golden glow as they did so.
“My bridegroom’s guests?” Mouse asked. Mickelwaithe followed her gaze.
“The Faerie court. It is a great honor—they have not journeyed into the mortal world since the disappearance of the Faerie King. After all, why stay when he was the one so violently obsessed with the human world and when he had destroyed those who stood up for it? Not to mention that he seemed to close the clearest paths here. But this is a grand occasion. High Faerie marriages are rare. They live long, and a Faerie rarely marries more than once.”
“Has Thornwood been married before?” Mouse asked, unsure why the question concerned her so much. Shouldn’t she be worrying about something else? Her hands were cold and clammy.
“No, my lady. He has never married before.” Mickelwaithe spoke so plainly that her heart immediately calmed.
They cannot lie, she reminded herself. But another voice, an echo of her mother’s, called out to her.
Sometimes they do not need to. You must break free of this enchantment!
A scruffy-looking man stood in the corner furthest from the door. His clothes tattered, his hair matted, and his eyes blown wide open, taking everything in with awe, he stood out from the crowd. It was Beckett, Mouse realized with a start.
“You won’t hurt him, will you?” she asked Mickelwaithe. Beckett was not her ally, but she did not want him injured.
“He will remember nothing except that he attended your lavish wedding and that you fulfilled your uncle’s wishes. Everything with him will be settled by tomorrow afternoon.”
The room was bustling with Faeries that slipped in through the mirrors by the time Mouse and Mickelwaithe were halfway to Thornwood.
The music settled into a waltz—a tune she recognized from another life, before the war.
Thornwood stood before the fire, his hair blazing bright.
He had tamed it back away from his face, but it had puffed up again, buzzing with the magic in the room.
She felt her hair do the same, and when she caught her reflection in the mirrors, she could see silver, ribbons, and pearls strung through her curls.
They reached him, and the music looped, softening.
A bell rang out from the clock on the mantel.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Thornwood motioned to the fire, and Mouse took a step closer, uncertain. Mickelwaithe drifted away, slinking into a corner as though trying to minimize his exposure to the light.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
When she first saw him, Mouse assumed Thornwood’s coat was black, but next to him, she could see that it was an intense dark green. His eyes were caught between those of a Faerie and a man, golden in color with plump oval slits.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
There was something about the stroke of midnight that Mouse was trying to remember. It was important.
“You have promised your name to me,” he said, soft as though he was speaking just to her. Everything in the room leaned closer to them, the Faerie guests, the fire, and even Mickelwaithe.
Ding.
Mouse swallowed. Her mouth was dry. What she wouldn’t do for a glass of water. “I did.”
Ding.
“Do you swear it here, before these witnesses?”
Ding.
“I do.”
“Then we are bound together. I take your name, and you take my protection. I take the name of your forebears.”
The fire branched out, a thin line wrapping around their hands. Mouse expected it to burn, but when it touched her skin, a chill settled on her down through her bones. The line of fire dissolved, leaving a jagged white scar around her hand. Thornwood sported a matching one on his.
“Tell me your true name, Mouse,” he said, tilting one ear closer.
She breathed her name into his ear. “Misneach.”
It was strange to hear it spoken by anyone, after all the years when she had not even whispered it to herself.