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. Lookingcloser, 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 themirrors 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?”