All was still as a painting. She knew the door to the Hall hid behind a cluster of orange trees, but Mouse could not make its frame out beneath the new growth.
She was so overwhelmed by the scent of the fruit and the patchwork of blossoms on the floor that Mouse only saw the woman standing in the room when she was a few feet from her. The woman was short, only up to Mouse’s shoulder, but she had a commanding stance. A blue silk gown pooled at her feet. Mouse gasped.
The woman’s attention snapped to Mouse.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice sharp as flint.
“I live here,” Mouse said. She realized the foolishness of the words as they left her mouth, but it was too late.
The woman lifted an elegant eyebrow. “Do you indeed?” She drifted toward Mouse, undisturbed by the overgrown foliage. The plants bowed out of the way in her wake.
Certainly a Faerie, then, Mouse thought.
The woman did not look as violent or savage as the Faeries Mouse encountered at her wedding or during the hunt. Aristocratic pride radiated off her, from the perfectly curled hair at the top of her head to the silver embroidery on her hem, but it was not the fierce feudal cruelty Mouse glimpsed in the Faerie King. It was that of the unchecked gentry.
Mouse felt her fear dim slightly. She was helpless in the face of a king who could turn her into a frog, but she knew how to handle a pompous aristocrat.
“I would ask if you were one of the merry bunch destroying the carpets,” said the woman, “but I doubt a mortal girl would be allowed in the party. Unless the King brought her in as an entertainment.” The woman glanced toward the rest of the Hall. “You cannot hide here. Go to the woods to find an obliging tree to climb.”
The Faerie woman wafted her hand toward Mouse as though she were a bee to shepherd out.
“I’m not here as entertainment,” Mouse said.
The Faerie paused, and any trace of airiness vanished. Fury descended over her. “You did not wait long, did you? Mortals are always keen to bargain with the Faerie King, and you want to stake your claim, correct?”
“Not at all,” Mouse replied.
“You have already made a deal, then, and you come to beg him to undo it,” the Faerie woman said, her nose scrunched by her sneer.
Mouse did not know how to respond to that, as she supposed it was partially true. The woman stepped closer, her eyes lingering on Mouse’s muddy boots.
Clouds of pinned dark hair wafted around the Faerie’s head. Pearls studded the swirls, like stars peeking through the night sky. Despite their pinched look, her eyes shone with spirit.
It struck Mouse that she knew her face, although she could not place where she had seen it before. It was almost as though splinters of the Faerie’s face were in many expressions Mouse knew, and looking through her memory, she could trace certain pieces but could not fit them into a complete picture.
The woman frowned at her again.
“Wait. I do know you. I’ve seen you before, on the grounds and running through the halls. You were a child then.” Faster than a wink, the woman had Mouse’s face in her hand and tilted it up to the light streaming through the glass. “You have my husband’s eyes.”
“What?” Mouse balked.
“Everyone told me there was nothing particularly extraordinary in the mortal world, but I knew his eyes were wonderful.” The Faerie woman ignored Mouse’s struggles. “The shape was so unique, with stars running through them.”
Mouse jerked her head back. There was something wrong with this Faerie. She made no sense. “I’m sorry, but I truly do not know what you are talking about.”
“You are a Dewhurst,” the woman said. Mouse stopped struggling. “Yes. I should have known as soon as I saw you. How long has it been, I wonder?”
“My mother was a Dewhurst,” Mouse corrected. She felt it mattered to correct the Faerie, since the distinction mattered so much to Thornwood and the Faerie King only hours before.
The Faerie woman shook her head. “In such cases, the blood iswhat matters, not the name. Any magician worth their salt knows that.”
“Well, I am not a magician. Now, if you will excuse me, I am in a hurry.” Mouse turned to the door.
“That is not the way. At least, it is not if you would prefer to keep your heart in your chest.”
Mouse turned back. “I would prefer that, yes.”
“I thought you might.” The Faerie woman straightened. “The Faerie King is not a fool. He has his most vicious guards stationed at every entrance. They have been trapped in Faerie all this time, and it has only made them more violent.”