Chapter 26 #3
“The Faerie King?” Mouse whispered.
No-Longer-Mr.-Hobb nodded. When he smiled, he had Mr. Hobb’s teeth.
“And you let me in,” he said.
Mouse swayed. There was a reason, beyond her uncle’s classism, that she never saw Mr. Hobb inside the Hall.
Her own words from the story of Thistlemarsh came back to her, echoing in a loop through her enchantment-mangled mind.
They cheated the Faerie King, but by the time he discovered their betrayal, it was too late. The magic was done…
Yet, Faerie lives are long and Faerie Kings can wait.
“I am sure this boy told you all sorts of horror stories about me. And more than half are true, I can assure you. But did he tell you that his father as good as murdered my daughter?”
Thornwood shot forward. The Faerie King waved his hand, and Thornwood went still.
“It’s true, although they deny it. My Viola came here to win the house back from the mortals.
His father convinced her that she could.
Of course she fell in love with one of the Dewhursts.
She was always a stubborn thing. Admittedly the man was not as wicked as others of his race, but he did not account for his brothers.
He got himself murdered, leaving my child heartbroken.
Worse still, who did the other humans blame for his death?
His young Faerie bride, of course! They killed her, but she left behind a child. ”
“What are you saying?” Mouse asked, but her breath caught in her throat.
“That child went on to have more children, and their children had children, all the way down to your mother, Mouse. Your mother, a copy of my child pressed into a mortal body, was also stolen from me by her own folly.”
“My mother was not a fool,” Mouse said.
“She was stubborn. I could have saved her from the disease that took her away, but she refused to return to Thistlemarsh until your father was welcome.” The Faerie King continued before Mouse could interject.
“Do not misunderstand. Of all the humans in the world, I liked your father best. Your brother and Bertie gave me renewed hope for the Hall and the world. But we both know how that ended. And now you have managed to betray me as well by allying yourself with those who seek to manipulate me.”
“You masqueraded as a gardener to spy on us all these years,” Mouse said.
The Faerie King laughed. “No need to sound so irate. It was my right to watch over my kin, and I never broke my word. In all my years here, you have never seen me pass through the doors until tonight.”
The Faerie King pulled in closer to her. “Until you, in your sweetness, invited me to your wedding. For that, I am in your debt.”
It was odd, seeing him up close. Snatches of Mr. Hobb were stitched over his true skin, like a patched coat. Horror built in Mouse’s stomach. She kept her lips tight, her eyes on the chandelier over his head instead.
“It was not intentional,” she said through the haze of magic.
Mouse avoided Thornwood’s gaze as the Faerie King continued. “I am sorry I could not reveal myself and save you from this rogue’s plans. He meant to use you, as his father used my daughter.”
As he spoke, thoughts battled in Mouse’s mind.
The idea that the Faerie King had been there all along, with his magic and his power, but had not helped to end the war, lit a fire low in Mouse’s belly.
He had not helped to protect Bertie or Roger.
He was a Faerie King! He could have done something.
But instead, he brooded and skulked around in a garden for centuries, dreaming of revenge against people long dead.
“But, even if you are family, you gave your Faerie bridegroom your name; I cannot overlook that as long as he lives.” The Faerie King finished with a slight tilt of his head that was all Mr. Hobb. She felt sick. His words took time to register.
“I don’t understand what you mean,” she said.
He leaned closer to her. He smelled of flowers but also, unnervingly, champagne. “You have bound yourself to him, even if it was done unwittingly. I cannot be seen as too lenient to potential rivals, especially in times like these. So, I shall give you a head start.”
“Do not hurt her,” Thornwood growled.
“Rest assured, I have not forgotten about you. Soon there will be some clever punishment for your treachery, but in the meantime…” The Faerie King waved his hand again, and Thornwood crumpled to the floor.
His mouth opened in a silent scream. Strands of green magic flowed out of him and to the Faerie King.
Thornwood’s skin lost its color, and he seemed to wither, like a rose left too long in a vase.
“Stop it,” Mouse said weakly, her stomach twisting. “Please.”
The Faerie King lifted his hand. Thornwood, powerless, went limp.
“For you, I will. Think of it as my wedding gift to you,” he said. “Now, I am sure you’ve heard of a game I enjoyed when I was last in power. I know, at least, that you have admired my stone prizes.”
Mouse’s head spun, and she tore her gaze away from Thornwood. “A game?”
“The rules are simple. Make it out of the woods before the sun rises or my hunt catches you. As I said, I shall give you a head start. We are family, after all.”
The world came to life around them. Dark figures took hold of Thornwood, lifting him. He disappeared among the guests, who bustled around the room. Transformed Faerie frogs hopped up and down the ballroom. Some brave Faerie guests scooped the frogs into their dresses and pockets.
The Faerie King melted into the crowd.
Someone grabbed hold of Mouse’s arm. She shrieked.
“My lady, it is me.”
“Mickelwaithe, I—”
“There is no time. Follow.”
He pulled her out of the ballroom. The closer they moved toward the doors, the fiercer the Faerie guests became.
Their teeth lengthened, their eyes glistened, and their mouths leered, but they stayed away, merely watching them as they ran.
Mouse caught glimpses of the passing rooms, but they were unrecognizable.
She saw a silver stream running through the dining room, a rocky plain in the music room, and a lush jungle in what was once a receiving room, but Mickelwaithe tugged her past the doors before she could take it all in.
“When things are enchanted and become sentient, they can make their own choices. Remember that some of the things here may not be loyal to the Faerie King. Use that to your advantage,” he said.
They ducked into the entry hall.
“Do not stop running until you reach the edge of the woods. Do not look back. And no matter what you do, do not get caught. Better to turn to stone than to be caught by the Faerie hunt,” Mickelwaithe said.
As he spoke, he bundled Mouse into a thick brown coat that ended before the edge of her dress.
“Is that what happened to you?” she asked.
He shook his head as though shaking her words away.
“I made a deal, and I lost my true name,” he said. “But Thornwood is stripped of most of his power now, and by extension all the ancient deals his family made are collapsing like dominoes. In a few minutes, I will be free.”
Mouse struggled to keep his words straight as he spoke them. “Free? Does that mean you are leaving?”
Mickelwaithe tightened the coat around her shoulders. “You are experiencing the aftereffects of a spell. It is manifesting like shock, it seems. You were a nurse—you know about shock, don’t you? Focus on your task. You can push through the haze, but it takes work.”
“I can’t run anywhere in this,” Mouse said, taking in the gauzy white dress that so enchanted her before.
“No, you are right.” The air frizzled, and the skirts of her dress transformed to dark trousers tucked into thick-soled boots.
The bodice remained, the high collar tickling her throat.
“I cannot give you a light, as that would lead them straight to you. You will know the hunt has started its chase when you hear the horn. Follow the path for as long as you can.”
“Thank you, Mickelwaithe. I feel that I owe you my life.”
“You owe me nothing, my lady. But should you need me, use this.” He pressed something small into her hands. When she looked down, an acorn gleamed in her palm. “I cannot help you evade the Faerie hunt, but I can help in other ways. If you are in need, rub the cap. Now run. Run and live.”
He opened the door, and Mouse darted into the night.
It was pitch-dark beyond the halo of light on the step. On the drive, the crumbled remains of the Rolls rose in a loose hill. An owl perched on top of the mess, its head twisted to look at her as she tripped toward the trees.
“Focus, push through the haze,” Mouse whispered to herself.
She squinted, attempting to pin down the line where the woods began and make sense of Mickelwaithe’s words to her.
The gravel of the drive shifted beneath her boots.
The air was thick with the scent of flowers.
There was no breeze to dilute it, although the night was cold.
Laughter echoed from inside the Hall. “Focus, run.”
Once in the woods, the smell of flowers died, but a cacophony of noise filled the trees. Birds chattered, and all manner of creatures spoke to one another through screams, caws, and cries.
The fog in Mouse’s head began to lift. How long had she been enchanted? Her last clear memory was with Thornwood in the study, making a deal with her heart on her sleeve. And then he betrayed her and tricked her. She didn’t know if she was angrier at him or herself.
“He is a Faerie. What did you expect?” she hissed. The leaves rattling in the breeze seemed to laugh at her.
She thought of Thornwood’s horrified expression, of him begging the Faerie King not to hurt her.
He is a liar, even if he didn’t speak the words. He only wanted Thistlemarsh for himself.
She pushed it all away. There was nothing but the path and the cold and the trees.
She turned down the fork to John’s cottage.
There were smaller tracks she could take advantage of on the way that could not accommodate a rider on horseback.
Mouse knew the woods better than anyone else in the village.
Surely, she would have an advantage over a Faerie hunt who had not been there in at least a hundred years.
John was right from the beginning. What did she need Thistlemarsh for, now that Bertie was gone, and Roger could not remember it?
A figure stood just off the path in front of her, and Mouse’s heart jumped into her throat. Had John started down the path to stop her wedding? What if the Faeries caught him in the woods?
She would never forgive herself.
Mouse ran harder. Her enchanted shoes bit into her feet painfully.
“Get out of here,” she shouted. “Run!”
The figure did not move.
“I said run!” She was ten feet from it now. It was still. She wanted to cry as she skidded to a halt beside it.
It was a statue, and it had not been there before. A shaft of light broke through the trees, illuminating its face.
Carlyle stared out at her, his lips parted in a grotesque howl. His hands were caught halfway up, and he wore the clothes she had seen him in earlier that day.
She screamed.
A hunting horn sounded from the direction of Thistlemarsh.
Every other noise in the woods ended at once.
The rhythm of the horses’ hooves did not reach her ears, but the idea of the Faeries on horseback, with the Faerie King at the front, sent her mind skittering.
She could feel the hunt baying for her. Mickelwaithe’s words came back to her, clear as daylight… better to turn to stone.
Run. The voice in her head cut through the darkness. This time, Mouse ran.
Every part of her body burned as she followed the twisted path.
She could not stop, not when her feet began to bleed and peel in her shoes, not when her stomach twisted in agony, and not when the contents of her lungs clogged her throat.
The path went on and on, turning in ways that she did not remember.
She heard the horses behind her just as John’s cottage came into view.
Just a bit further and we are out of the woods, she thought. All you have to do is make it to the tree line before sunrise.
Was the sky changing from deep blue to navy? How could that be? She could not have been in the woods for hours, could she? The drumbeat of hooves on earth sounded behind her. They were on her heels. The edge of the forest was there. Closer. Just close enough.
She crossed over it just as the sun peeked above the hills. Her body screamed at her to lie down, to bury herself in the grass beyond the trees, but she did not stop until she threw John’s garden gate closed behind her. Only then did she allow herself to look back.
A white horse stood out against the canopy of green. The Faerie King sat astride it, his face split in a wild grin. Other Faeries flanked him on either side, their eyes flashing dangerously. The Faerie King bowed to her, then turned back into the woods.
Mouse watched that spot as the sun rose over the hill, illuminating the world in a protective blanket of light. It was only then that she toppled over and vomited on John’s rosebushes.