“My God,” John whispered behind her. “The village.”
28
Just as the golden light crested the hill, Mouse felt her pinky finger twitch. Her eyes snapped downward, and it did it again, less of a spasm than a flick. The leather bag on the bed closed with a sharp snap.
John and Mouse screamed, diving down under the window frame. The bag shuddered, then lifted itself on one side before it fell. In this way, it walked to the end of the bed and fell lifelessly to the floor. Mouse’s finger twitched, and the bag rolled to the door and slipped into the hall.
“Am I going mad?” John breathed.
“No, I saw it, too,” Mouse said.
The bag clattered down the stairs.
Mouse ran after it, her heart pounding in her ears. She skittered to a stop on the top steps just in time to see the bag throw itself against the door. It bounced off and somersaulted back. Its sides thumped against the wooden floorboards before it picked itself up and repeated the process.
Mouse crept behind it, and it shifted halfway toward her,emphatically scooting back and forth. John eyed it from the top of the staircase.
“Thornwood?” she whispered.
The leather creaked as the bag bounced up and down in impatience. It looped its straps around her arms, pulling her forward. Mouse struggled against it, breaking free only by falling back up the staircase. A shudder ran through the bag, and it resumed thumping against the door.
“It’s him,” John said, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Even he thinks you should leave.”
Mouse knew John was right. Thornwood was asking her to leave. Although she did not trust the Faerie, and although a large part of her even hated him, the fact that he was worried about her meant something.
She looked down at her hand. His ring was there, the gem still whole and shining. A lump formed in her throat at the thought of what the Faerie King might do to him, if he was willing to run Mouse off the grounds despite her history with Mr.Hobb and the fact that she was his blood.
She’d been too late to save Bertie and Roger. She’d been too late to save Thistlemarsh. But she was not too late to save Thornwood, or herself. Not yet.
“I can’t leave now,” Mouse said, brushing John off. She felt as though she was finally waking from a dream, her mind clearing, her heart thudding in her throat.
“What?” John demanded.
“Think of the villagers,” she said, changing tactics. She knew he did not care if Thornwood died, but surely he would want to protect the village.
“I will, but why should you? Before, with the fear of Lord Dewhurst looming over them, I could understand, but now, with himgone, they have no excuse to treat you the way they do. Barely talking to you. You would think their guilt at leaving you to his abuse for all those years would be a motivator, but they’ve never done anything for you—they did not lift a finger in the last month.”
Mouse twirled on him. “Maybe not. What about you? They’re your parishioners!”
“You think they would hesitate a second before turning their backs on me, if they knew who I really am? You are the only person left who cares about me. I won’t see you charge off into battle with a Faerie King for the fucking village of Tithe!”
“Fine, I am not staying for them,” Mouse started, thrown by John’s curse.
John cut her off with an enraged scoff. “What for, then? The bloody house?”
“No, it’s not for Thistlemarsh either. It’s for me!” she shouted.
John paused, thrown off his footing just as she had been, and Mouse took the opportunity to plow on.
“I know that to you this whole exercise looks like some desperate bid to prove myself. And maybe it was at the start, but it’s changed. I’ve changed. It’s not too late for me to start again, but I want to do it with a clean slate.”
John jerked at that. “And you want to save Thornwood. Why? He lied to you.”
“He did, and I’m not trying to defend him. All I’m saying is that he helped me find a part of myself that I buried long ago. And I refuse to have my life dictated to me for one moment longer by arrogant bastards who think they know what is best for me.”
“I suppose I am one of those arrogant bastards in this situation?”
Mouse squared her shoulders. “That depends. Are you going to get in my way?”