Chapter 31 #2
His elaborate wedding suit hung off him in torn swaths.
The left sleeve was missing below the elbow, and a ragged wound dripped blood down onto the cuff of the iron chain that trapped him.
Angry black marks showed just under the cuffs, and as Mouse watched, the marks extended out like lightning along his veins.
He grimaced, and the crowd broke into cruel glee.
The uproarious laughter of the drunken Faeries drowned Mouse’s gasp.
She had seen him injured before, but his magic had wiped his wounds away instantly.
Now, bound in iron and without his ring, he could not heal.
Despite her anger at his betrayal, Mouse had to strangle the urge to try to help him then and there, rather than keep to her mission.
“Are you dissatisfied with your new accommodations, Thornwood?” The Faerie King’s voice echoed across the room.
The light flickered, and Mouse could make him out, his legs propped over the arms of his throne.
Any trace of Mr. Hobb’s gentle hum was gone, replaced by a voice as brittle as the branches of a hedge in winter.
“Forgive me, my lord,” Thornwood said offhandedly. “The quality of accommodations has changed since the last time I was in your court.”
The Faerie courtiers’ mirth died, leaving the room silent and airless. The crowd parted between the King and Thornwood.
“You are a fool. I would have rewarded you just for weakening whatever spell the Dewhursts placed on Thistlemarsh to prevent me from recapturing it for all these years. Yet, you went for the girl to try to cut me out.”
A touch of pity sprouted in Mouse’s breast. The Faerie King truly did not know that Viola was behind the magic that protected the house against the very violence he summoned with his viciousness.
The Dewhursts destroyed his daughter after tricking him out of Thistlemarsh.
Of course, that did not justify his actions, but she could sympathize with him.
Mouse filed the information away, keeping close to the crowd of Faerie revelers.
The Faerie King pulled away from his throne.
Watching him emerge was like watching the Regency Faerie in the Tithe train station step out of fiction into reality.
His braided silver hair twisted around the points of his crown.
His dark velvet jacket was studded with tiny silver stars, and it contrasted with his cream trousers and the elaborate cravat at his neck.
A smile twisted his lips, and his upswept eyebrows highlighted his condescending gaze.
“Do your worst. There is nothing left for you to take from me,” Thornwood said.
“Oh, I would not say that.”
The Faerie King tilted his head, and five clear jars materialized around Thornwood.
Ornate moth wings fluttered through the glass, stacked on top of one another like playing cards in a disorganized pile.
The bugs were varying shades of cream, run through with stripes of brown and green.
Elaborate faux eyes winked from their wing tips, and their frilled antennae brushed frantically against one another.
No one moved or spoke, and Mouse had the distinct feeling that all were waiting to see how their king wanted them to react to the odd display.
“Does anything strike you as familiar about these insects?” the Faerie King asked. His tone was light, almost bored.
Thornwood did not reply. His lips pressed into a thin line of contempt.
“No? Look closer.”
When Thornwood did not react, the Faerie King scoffed and thrust his hand above his head.
Strings of silver wound around Thornwood’s arms, and he rose like a marionette.
The chains jingled with the movement. The Faerie King dragged Thornwood to the surface of the closest jar.
His face pressed into the glass, emphasizing his purple bruise. “I said, look closer.”
The crowd laughed, catching on to the tone of the game. The magic dragged Thornwood from jar to jar, pressing him against the glass until a streak of his blood smeared across each one. Finally, the Faerie King released him, and he collapsed into a huddle on the floor.
“Do you recognize anything now?” the Faerie King asked.
“What do you want me to say?” Thornwood groaned. He pushed himself up onto his elbows and rolled to his knees. His blood stained the floor in a jagged swirl. Red ran from his arm across his body and up his face, mingling with his fair hair.
“One of them might be particularly recognizable to you,” the Faerie King said. “How quickly the son outgrows his affection for his mother.”
Thornwood went still, and any remaining color drained from his face.
“No,” he whispered.
The Faerie King smiled. “If you find your mother, I will release you both. Fail, and I will pin her to a wall, and you will join your father.”
Thornwood snarled at the Faerie King, his teeth elongating into wicked points, but the Faerie King merely laughed.
“How long should we give the traitor to find his mother? An hour? Thirty minutes?”
Shouts burst from the crowd. They were impossible to hear clearly. The Faerie King mimed listening intently, but his gaze never left Thornwood’s, and his smile grew like a weed across his beautiful face.
“An excellent suggestion,” the Faerie King crowed. He lifted his hand as though dramatically plucking the words from the air. “Five minutes.”
Thornwood swayed. His pained gaze swept between the jars. The moths beat their bodies uselessly against the glass. They moved so quickly that Mouse could not track them.
“What are you waiting for? Surely not permission.” As soon as the words left the Faerie King’s mouth, Thornwood was at his first jar. When he touched it, the glass melted away like sugar in the sun.
The moths burst from within, flapping into the air and above the crowd.
Courtiers batted at them, laughing, as the insects desperately weaved through the air.
One moth reached a mirror and dove into it.
Its delicate wings folded in and crashed to the floor with a soft thud.
Thornwood waved the other moths away from the crowd.
His hand caught the edge of one. It burst into a flurry of sparks.
The next jar shattered, then the next. A riot of moths swarmed over Thornwood, and he held out his hands, lightly running his fingers over them as they passed. Those he touched fractured into bursts of light, but at least three escaped his reach for each one he caught.
Mouse positioned herself so that she stood between a herd of moths and the mirror behind her. They melted as soon as they touched her skin. They did the same to the other Faerie guests, as though trained to add to the chaos as they fluttered around the crowd.
The court swiftly took up the game, dodging to avoid the moths as they approached. The last jar vanished. Thornwood dashed around at the end of his chains. Desperate horror slackened his features.
As subtly as she could, Mouse hooked her ankle around the leg of the nearest Faerie, a man chortling into his drink like a fountain.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, and sported a mustache that dripped down his face onto his doublet.
He choked in surprise as he fell. His pinwheeling arms caught hold of the Faeries on either side of him.
Mouse slid backward, avoiding the carnage she’d triggered.
As she hoped, the Faeries toppled into the circle, colliding with moths as they went.
Thornwood’s eyes met hers. He jolted as he recognized her behind the mask.
The Faeries on the floor groaned, and laughter broke out around the circle.
A scowl emerged from under the broad Faerie’s mustache.
Next to him, one of the Faeries he dragged down finally freed her dress from under his leg.
Embroidered fish swam in the layers of blue silk on her skirt.
Those that were under the mustached Faerie floated listlessly, stunned.
“Oaf!” she squawked at him. “This dress is worth more than your life.”
“Is it worth more than yours?” the mustached Faerie snapped back, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. The fish dress Faerie sneered, pulling a knife from the folds of her sleeve.
Pandemonium overtook the room like a disease. Neighbors turned on one another in seconds, clearly drawing on grudges centuries old. Mouse used the chaos to slip into the crowd again. Thornwood’s eyes remained on her, and she glared at him.
“Find your mother,” she mouthed.
He jerked, as though freed from a paralyzing spell. While Mouse ducked low between the fighting Faeries, Thornwood rose as high above the crowd as he could while still bound, scanning the ceiling. Mouse took advantage of her view, monitoring the moths that clung to the floor and walls.
At last, she spotted it. One by one, the other unfortunate moths became dusty victims until one insect remained in sight. It sat on the mantel over the fireplace. Its creamy wings caught the light from the mirrors.
Next to it, a dull vase sported three white roses.
Mouse’s heart leaped. As far as she could make out, it was the only mundane thing in the room, and roses were always Mr. Hobb’s favorite flower.
She swerved through the battling Faeries.
They were all too busy to take much notice of her.
Her figure in the surrounding mirrors vanished in the sea of ostentation.
Mouse glanced at the Faerie King. He was absorbed in the spectacle of his courtiers falling over one another, a vacant smile twisting his lips. She watched as he took a sip from his goblet.
He let the chaos continue until Mouse was a few anguished feet from the throne and the vase behind it. He still had not noticed her. Her hopes were high, until he stepped forward.
The room went still.