Chapter 29
The air trapped under the glass dome fizzed with the scent of overripe oranges.
In the span of a day, they had transformed from blossoms to bursting fruit.
A round, fuzzy bee tapped listlessly at the large windowpane closest to the door, trapped by the spiderweb of lead and glass.
Mouse held open the door, and the bee bumped against the doorframe once, then jolted as it met the fresh air.
It zipped away. Mouse wondered if it was one of John’s bees as she ventured further into the cluster of hothouse plants.
All was still as a painting. She knew the door to the Hall hid behind a cluster of orange trees, but Mouse could not make its frame out beneath the new growth.
She was so overwhelmed by the scent of the fruit and the patchwork of blossoms on the floor that Mouse only saw the woman standing in the room when she was a few feet from her.
The woman was short, only up to Mouse’s shoulder, but she had a commanding stance.
A blue silk gown pooled at her feet. Mouse gasped.
The woman’s attention snapped to Mouse.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice sharp as flint.
“I live here,” Mouse said. She realized the foolishness of the words as they left her mouth, but it was too late.
The woman lifted an elegant eyebrow. “Do you indeed?” She drifted toward Mouse, undisturbed by the overgrown foliage. The plants bowed out of the way in her wake.
Certainly a Faerie, then, Mouse thought.
The woman did not look as violent or savage as the Faeries Mouse encountered at her wedding or during the hunt.
Aristocratic pride radiated off her, from the perfectly curled hair at the top of her head to the silver embroidery on her hem, but it was not the fierce feudal cruelty Mouse glimpsed in the Faerie King. It was that of the unchecked gentry.
Mouse felt her fear dim slightly. She was helpless in the face of a king who could turn her into a frog, but she knew how to handle a pompous aristocrat.
“I would ask if you were one of the merry bunch destroying the carpets,” said the woman, “but I doubt a mortal girl would be allowed in the party. Unless the King brought her in as an entertainment.” The woman glanced toward the rest of the Hall.
“You cannot hide here. Go to the woods to find an obliging tree to climb.”
The Faerie woman wafted her hand toward Mouse as though she were a bee to shepherd out.
“I’m not here as entertainment,” Mouse said.
The Faerie paused, and any trace of airiness vanished. Fury descended over her. “You did not wait long, did you? Mortals are always keen to bargain with the Faerie King, and you want to stake your claim, correct?”
“Not at all,” Mouse replied.
“You have already made a deal, then, and you come to beg him to undo it,” the Faerie woman said, her nose scrunched by her sneer.
Mouse did not know how to respond to that, as she supposed it was partially true. The woman stepped closer, her eyes lingering on Mouse’s muddy boots.
Clouds of pinned dark hair wafted around the Faerie’s head. Pearls studded the swirls, like stars peeking through the night sky. Despite their pinched look, her eyes shone with spirit.
It struck Mouse that she knew her face, although she could not place where she had seen it before.
It was almost as though splinters of the Faerie’s face were in many expressions Mouse knew, and looking through her memory, she could trace certain pieces but could not fit them into a complete picture.
The woman frowned at her again.
“Wait. I do know you. I’ve seen you before, on the grounds and running through the halls. You were a child then.” Faster than a wink, the woman had Mouse’s face in her hand and tilted it up to the light streaming through the glass. “You have my husband’s eyes.”
“What?” Mouse balked.
“Everyone told me there was nothing particularly extraordinary in the mortal world, but I knew his eyes were wonderful.” The Faerie woman ignored Mouse’s struggles. “The shape was so unique, with stars running through them.”
Mouse jerked her head back. There was something wrong with this Faerie. She made no sense. “I’m sorry, but I truly do not know what you are talking about.”
“You are a Dewhurst,” the woman said. Mouse stopped struggling. “Yes. I should have known as soon as I saw you. How long has it been, I wonder?”
“My mother was a Dewhurst,” Mouse corrected. She felt it mattered to correct the Faerie, since the distinction mattered so much to Thornwood and the Faerie King only hours before.
The Faerie woman shook her head. “In such cases, the blood is what matters, not the name. Any magician worth their salt knows that.”
“Well, I am not a magician. Now, if you will excuse me, I am in a hurry.” Mouse turned to the door.
“That is not the way. At least, it is not if you would prefer to keep your heart in your chest.”
Mouse turned back. “I would prefer that, yes.”
“I thought you might.” The Faerie woman straightened. “The Faerie King is not a fool. He has his most vicious guards stationed at every entrance. They have been trapped in Faerie all this time, and it has only made them more violent.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s taken most of my strength to keep them out of this room.”
“Why did you think I was in league with them, then?” Mouse snapped.
The Faerie woman’s chin lifted. “My magic is not as strong as it once was. You try keeping a house from falling apart for two hundred years and see how well you fare.”
It occurred to Mouse that the woman’s voice was familiar, and it took her a moment to place it.
We must not look at goblin men.
Mouse gasped. “You’re the one who’s been speaking to me the last month! Were you the force that Thornwood kept bumping into as he repaired the Hall?”
The Faerie woman’s eyes widened, and an accusing hand rose between them. “You are the one who destroyed my dragon!”
Twinkling lights formed in her palm. Her humanity lifted like a veil, and Mouse did not know where to move as the Faerie’s face grew vicious and sharp.
“Do you know how long it took to construct that magic?” the Faerie woman hissed. The sparkling lights crystallized into wasps, their wings flapping frantically. The smell of fruit deepened, and Mouse could detect the faintest hint of rot.
Mouse threw her hands up, one at her eyes and the other at her heart. “We didn’t destroy it! I swear.”
“You swear?” The Faerie woman sneered. “All mortals swear and eat it.”
The fizz in the air burst into actual electricity. Stray wasps broke free of the Faerie’s hand. They circled, touching plants as they moved, and the vines twisted to caress the magic.
“The dragon is in the vicarage at the edge of the forest. The creature caught fire when we escaped. I do not pretend to understand magic, but it shrank as it burned.”
“You expect me to believe a vicar is harboring a small dragon?”
Mouse continued, “No, it transformed into a dog. She is called Smudge.”
The Faerie woman rasped, “Smudge?”
“Yes,” Mouse said, biding her time while searching for her next move.
In her experience with magic, there was no way she could outrun the wasps or whatever this Faerie woman would throw at her. The Faerie’s hand dipped, and Mouse closed her eyes. She focused on her breath, ready for the sting.
She had dealt with worse over the last month, she told herself. And before that, she was in the war. She could handle the stinger of an enchanted bug.
The sting did not come. Instead, a sound Mouse could only describe as the squeaky wheeze of an injured rabbit began, growing louder and more hysterical by the second.
Finally, Mouse cracked open her eyes to find the Faerie with her head thrown backward, her mouth open, and her teeth displayed. It took Mouse a moment to register that the sound was coming from her and even longer to realize it was laughter.
The wasps burst like bubbles, leaving little rings of shimmering magic in their wake. The Faerie woman wiped her eyes.
“Truly, mortals never cease to amaze me,” she said between peals of horrifying giggles. “You named my most prized magical feat after a streak of ash.”
“It seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” Mouse said weakly.
“Tragically for the poor beast, I am sure it did.” The Faerie collected herself. A few of her curls had escaped their pins, framing her face. “You may call me Viola, like the heroine from the play.”
The name and the face clicked into place in Mouse’s mind. “You are the Faerie King’s daughter.”
“I was,” Viola said archly.
“This is wonderful,” Mouse said. Elation bubbled within her, tumbling out in a flow of blurred words. “Your father is here. He thinks you’re dead, but as soon as he sees you, he can call this madness off.”
She marched to the entrance to the Hall.
“Wait,” Viola called.
Mouse turned back toward her. “I know, better than anyone, that he’s a deceiver and a bastard. I thought he was the bloody gardener my whole life. I trusted him more than anyone here besides my father. So, please, I understand you might have a complicated relationship, but someone I care about is—”
“I am dead,” Viola interjected.
Mouse’s mouth snapped shut. “But…you are here. You have been doing magic all this time, protecting the house. And Faeries live centuries longer than humans.”
Viola drifted past Mouse toward the entryway. She slowly extended her hand out into the garden. The sun shone straight through it, leaving no trace of a shadow across the doorframe.
“A ghost?” Mouse whispered.
Viola shook her head, and her lips pulled into a tight smile that did not reach her eyes. “Faeries do not have souls the same way that mortals do. We cannot haunt. But we can be bound.”
“So, someone bound you here. Do you know who? Maybe I can release you and then you can confront your father.”
Viola let out another rabbit-scream laugh. “Silly girl, I bound myself.”
“Why would you do that?”