Chapter 29 #2
“My father was wrong about my husband. Lord Dewhurst was a good man and very kind. Too kind, some might say, and they would probably be right.” She smiled softly.
“His kindness is what first drew me to him. It was so off-putting. I came here to slit his throat, first metaphorically through the power of my wit and magic, then literally when Thistlemarsh was firmly returned to my father’s hands.
But the first time we met, he offered me an orange.
“Of course, I immediately thought he was trying to poison me.
Still, after I threw it back in his face, he peeled it and ate a slice.
‘See? No poison,’ he said and handed me the rest. He heard that I particularly enjoyed them, so he had a tree brought specially from Italy.
The orange was horrible, of course. The tree was much too young.
“I tried every trick to outwit him. I was cruel and cutting. My magic was brilliant. He was a decent magician, although he was no match for a Faerie. But even when he failed, he would bow to me, kiss my hand, and give me another orange. I still do not know why it intrigued me.”
“What happened to him?” Mouse asked.
“After I forfeited everything to be with him, my father disowned me. He was disgusted that I should fall into such an obvious trap, trusting a human. He was right, although not in the way he thought. After my child was born, my husband started to balk against the advice of his younger brothers. Infighting is common enough in Faerie, so I did not think much about it, but the quarrel troubled him deeply. He went to make amends. He kissed me the last time I saw him. I remember it was raining, and he worried he would look disrespectfully wilted. I told him to take an orange as a peace offering.”
“They killed him.”
“Yes, and then they pinned the blame on me. It was an easy story to swallow—the Faerie bride sent by her father to seduce and kill the Dewhurst heir. Really, I am surprised I did not think of that plan myself.”
“You were more honorable than them,” Mouse said.
“Honor—a mortal illusion. Still, I knew they would come for me. The brothers laid their trap, and they caught me. Poison was their weapon. I could run back to my father for help, but that would leave my son and all his descendants unprotected in their hands. So, I did the only thing I could think to do.”
“You bound yourself.”
Viola pointed back to the patch of orange trees by the door. “Yes. I used the orange tree my husband brought for me as a touchpoint. From there, I could exist through the walls and the floors.”
“And you have been here all this time?”
She held her hands out, gesturing to the outline of Thistlemarsh beyond the conservatory.
“This body bears the magic of the house. The spell I wove through Thistlemarsh kept my son and his children safe, so long as they were within its walls. I have kept it up all this time. Even now, when the fight of my magic is diminished, no one can run me out completely. I am still the bones of the house. We are entwined together until the end.”
Mouse attempted to absorb Viola’s words. She remembered the poem the Faerie woman whispered to her through the mirrors and walls.
“Why didn’t you show yourself to me before?”
“As the years went on, it took all my remaining strength to maintain my web of spells. I could not waste magic manifesting to my descendants, although I did try when I felt your Faerie friend tampering with my spells.”
“So, you knew that Thornwood intended to betray me? You tried to warn me.”
“I apologize for being so cryptic. I am not as strong as I once was.
I cannot move beyond the conservatory; my magic is my only link into the Hall, and it could not see his intentions.
Whatever spell you and your Faerie bridegroom worked dimmed my power.
I was trapped in darkness for a long while, although I could feel that Thistlemarsh still stood. If it falls, I fall with it.
“Then a great bell chimed and, little by little, the light returned. I recognized my father’s magic, as familiar as his voice. The power of a Faerie King’s magic is infectious and has unintentionally restored my strength. I have not been free to move as I am now since I bound myself.”
“The bell you heard must have signaled the stroke of midnight, when I lost Thistlemarsh,” Mouse said, lining up the events in her mind. “Thornwood said he could still feel your spell lingering after we dismantled it.”
“I must ask you, why did you put so much faith in your Faerie bridegroom?” Viola said. “Didn’t your mother tell you to keep clear of Faeries?”
“My mother was fascinated by them,” Mouse said. Still, heat flooded her cheeks.
“Hmmm…drawn into danger, like her daughter.”
“It must be a Dewhurst trait. Perhaps it has something to do with latent Faerie blood?”
“Touché,” Viola said. “I will help you reach my father. If I know him, he will keep your bridegroom close.”
Mouse frowned, struck by Viola’s offer. “I assumed that story was your way of telling me I am on my own. Why are you helping me? I do not have anything to give you in return.”
Viola tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling with all her sharp teeth. “I must retain my mercurial air: I am a Faerie, after all. Now, let us prepare you. You cannot challenge a Faerie King dressed like that.”
“The clothes may be uncomfortable at first. Fashion has changed much in the last century.”
“Is this truly necessary?” Mouse asked, nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot under Viola’s intense gaze. The Faerie’s fingers kept working in the space just around Mouse as though painting a gown around her.
“This was what was in fashion before my father sealed off Faerie from the mortal world. He may have been masquerading as a gardener and taking on some of the more modern fashions through the years, but most Faeries will still be in this style, and you will blend in better this way.”
“Won’t they be able to tell I am mortal just by looking at me, like you did?”
“If they were in their right senses, certainly. You are lucky. Right now, the magic filling the room is stronger than alcohol, and they are riding their elation. No, once you reach the ballroom, the only one you need to fear is my father.”
“And you think my plan to return Thornwood’s ring to him is a sound one?”
“Well, it is not the work of a strategic genius, but it is as sound as any other plan made on such short notice.”
“You are sure that the King and Thornwood are in the ballroom?”
Viola’s hands snapped to her waist. “Yes. I am sure,” she said dryly.
“Sorry—I am nervous.”
“Well, think how lucky you are to have such a talented Faerie on your side now. With no strings attached. We are family; I do not need to seal a deal to use magic with you, as your Faerie bridegroom did.” Mouse blushed, but Viola continued as though she did not see it. “There, that should do.”
There was a pop, like the sound of a champagne bottle opening.
Then, between blinks, Mouse felt something warm and rough brush over her entire body like the tongue of an enormous cat.
Then its weight shifted, and it turned chilly and soft.
She looked down at herself. A long green silk gown fit snugly down her torso, opening into a square neckline cut low on the bust. The bodice tapered in at her waist and then flared out in swaths of fabric that cascaded to the floor.
“Nothing too ornate, but you should blend in well enough. Are the shoes too tight?”
“No,” Mouse breathed.
“Good. You want the laces tight for dancing, but I suppose you will not do much of that. On the other hand, you may want them tight for running.”
“I would take them off if I had to run.”
“And ruin your stockings?” Viola gasped. Mouse raised her eyebrow. “Yes, right. Not the most important thing at that moment, I can see that.”
Mouse attached John’s sword and belt at the base of the bodice. Viola thumbed it approvingly.
The spell to get to the ballroom was more complicated.
Viola drew slow rectangles into the wall that the conservatory shared with the rest of Thistlemarsh, while Mouse crouched among the oranges.
She peeled them slowly, popping the freed slices into her mouth as the Faerie worked.
They were sweet and tasted slightly of alcohol.
Viola let out a sharp hiss, and the brick within the rectangles vanished, forming a door.
Sprays of bluebells framed both sides of the entrance.
The doorway extended out and back into a hallway, forking into a jagged dark path as the frame multiplied.
Mouse could see candelabras flickering in the darkness, but not much beyond that.
Viola leaned forward, her nose wrinkling. “It’s a gauche use of magic, but it should keep you hidden from the Faerie courtiers, at the very least. You will be running in a corridor between Faerie and this world until you reach the inside of the house.”
“Won’t the Faerie King notice if the magic is so ostentatious?”
“I doubt it. My father’s taste always tended toward the overstated and inelegant.
I cannot imagine his court improved upon that habit in his absence.
” She sniffed pointedly at the overburdened fruit trees before continuing.
“When you find the source of my father’s power, you will need to destroy it. ”
“How will I recognize the source? Thornwood’s is jewelry; should I look for that?”
“I’m sure Father has changed its form many times since I last saw him.
It must always be near him. He does not trust anyone to look after it, but jewelry is considered to be quite an obvious place to hide power.
He would want to be more subtle, especially when he is just regaining his footing.
He likely disguised it as something mundane, as a precaution.
Luckily for you, in a room of Faeries, the mundane will stick out. ”
“Did you know the King was outside Thistlemarsh all this time?”
“Yes. He was not very subtle about testing the limits of my magic on the house, although he did not recognize it as mine. That is why I interlaced so many precautions against Faerie magic throughout Thistlemarsh. I did not want him hurting the things that I fought for.” She sighed.
“But now, I think it might be time to let go. For some time, I believe the magic has been hurting rather than helping my Dewhurst descendants. And it is my intention to help. I loved my husband dearly, and so I love anyone who came from that union.”
Mouse was not quite sure how to respond. She squared her shoulders, readying herself to take the first step. Viola laughed beside her.
“What?” Mouse asked.
“Do you relish the idea of being trapped between worlds forever, or would you prefer a guide?”
“Aren’t you coming with me?”
“Did that spell of Thornwood’s completely addle your brain? The benefit of having a path that a Faerie cannot follow is that a Faerie cannot follow it.”
Mouse flushed. “Right. Of course.”
“I could have sent my silk dragon with you if you hadn’t turned it into a dog.” Viola glared at Mouse, leaning heavily on her final word. Mouse didn’t speak—she wouldn’t apologize for Smudge again, no matter how hard Viola angled for it. “No matter. We’ll make do.”
The Faerie shook her hands, and a thick strip of the wallpaper peeled away from the far wall toward them. Any hint of the Faerie King’s or Thornwood’s magic leaked out of it the moment it came away, leaving only a dusty powder blue and lines of adhesive on the reverse side.
It drifted to them, then hovered just before Viola’s eyes. Her hands moved around it, and the strip rotated. She squinted, and her eyes moved left to right as though she was reading invisible words on the paper.
There was another champagne pop. The paper folded faster than Mouse’s eyes could track. When it settled, a small blue bird nestled in Viola’s palm. It glowed, pulsing with blue magic.
“It will not win any prizes, but it is the best I can do at the moment,” Viola said with a sniff, although there was a brightness to her eyes that was not there before.
Mouse managed a thin smile. “Thank you for your help.”
“Do not thank me yet. For all we know, this bird might lead you straight into the viper’s jaws.”
The bird flittered above Viola’s hand, jolting every few wingbeats toward the doorway as though pulled by an invisible string.
“Regardless, thank you.”
“Very well.” Viola flexed her fingers, and the bird swooped away. It plunged into the spell, light crossing its body in different hues as it passed through the doorway. Mouse dove into the opening after it, barely catching sight of its glowing wings as it turned down the first fork.