“My mother needs me. Only the Faerie King knows where she is. I had to regain my strength to face him, and a deal with a willing human was the only way I knew that would get me the power I needed. The more the house mended, the stronger I became. The King wants Thistlemarsh. The Hall is the only bargaining chip I knew would still interest him. Please understand, Mouse.”
She wanted to jerk away or lie down or be anywhere else, with anyone else. Mouse opened her mouth to say so.
The ballroom door burst open, and darkness radiated from it in a way that hurt Mouse’s eyes just as much as the brightness had. Mr.Hobb stood before them, his gardener’s clothes an oddity among the silk and damask.
He was furious. Mouse had never seen him truly angry before,but he looked as though he could kill Thornwood with his bare hands. The thought of Mr.Hobb being injured trying to protect her was too much.
“Don’t you dare hurt him,” she whispered to Thornwood. He frowned at her before addressing Mr.Hobb.
“I am afraid we did not invite you. This is a private celebration,” Thornwood said coldly. He tucked Mouse behind him. She was furious, swiping against him, but he merely brushed her aside. His eyes were trained on Mr.Hobb, his expression dark.
“I invited him,” Mouse hissed. Thornwood turned toward her in shock. “A few minutes ago, in the garden.”
“It’s no matter.” Thornwood shook his head. “The ceremony is over. You have no business here.”
“I had such high hopes for you, boy,” Mr.Hobb said. The Faerie court parted before him, their strange faces bright with curiosity. A heady mix of confusion and worry worked its way through Mouse’s chest.
“I do not know you, sir, beyond being the gardener here. You are not her father. You are merely an irritating old man.”
“I am older than I look.”
Mr.Hobb held out his hand, and an entire line of Faeries turned to frogs.
Thornwood stepped back in shock, and the remaining, untransformed creatures shrieked, scrambling over one another in their finery to escape. Mouse gaped in horror.
“Does that demonstration of magic frighten you? I can do much worse,” Mr.Hobb said. His voice had lost its aged grate. “It seems as if your entire family is doomed to fail me over and over again.”
Mr.Hobb lifted his hat, and long white hair tumbled down his back, ending at his wrists. Everything about him changed at once. Mr.Hobb, her old friend, was gone in an instant, replaced by a beautiful, cruel stranger.
“You made a mistake. You believed I forgot about this place and your banishment. You wanted to bargain with me, didn’t you?” No-Longer-Mr.-Hobb said, working his way closer to them. The fire in the grate quelled to embers. “But I saw everything. I thought at first that you came here to reclaim the place for me and to restore your honor. You couldn’t resist, though, could you, when the opportunity presented itself? You wanted it all.”
“I want my mother back,” Thornwood said. “You can have the damn house, but in exchange, I want her back with me. Promise me that we will leave here together, and no harm will come to either of us, and you can take it. That’s my bargain.”
No-Longer-Mr.-Hobb sneered. “Ah, I see. So, you’ve convinced yourself that you did this for love.”
“You don’t understand the emotion, but you do understand a bargain.”
“And the girl? You would throw her over?”
“The girl comes with me as well,” Thornwood declared.
No-Longer-Mr.-Hobb laughed, and the sound was ice crunching in the deepest winter. “You have nothing.”
“I have the name of her forebears,” Thornwood said. “She just gave it to me. Misneach Dewhurst.”
“You have inherited your father’s arrogance as well, I see.”
Thornwood blanched.
“Yes, my foolish little lord. I assume you wanted to take her name to have control over her and the Hall, as she would inherit the moment you married. But you worked too slowly.
“By the time you wed, the Dewhurst title was no longer hers to give. Mouse had until the end of the month to claim Thistlemarsh. The moment the clock struck twelve, the Hall and the title passed to the next in line, per the Faerie covenant. The name that belongs toyou is Dunne, her father’s name. The name of a lowly gardener, with no property but the dirt stuck to his shoes.
“And, to top it off, the alternate Dewhurst heir is nowhere to be found. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Thornwood, what is he talking about?” Mouse asked. “Carlyle was just here. He’s not missing.”
“No matter,” No-Longer-Mr.-Hobb said, dismissing her question with a wave of his hand. “Thistlemarsh has no heir, which means it belongs not to you but to me.”