“I must ask you, why did you put so much faith in your Faerie bridegroom?” Viola said. “Didn’t your mother tell you to keep clear of Faeries?”
“My mother was fascinated by them,” Mouse said. Still, heat flooded her cheeks.
“Hmmm…drawn into danger, like her daughter.”
“It must be a Dewhurst trait. Perhaps it has something to do with latent Faerie blood?”
“Touché,” Viola said. “I will help you reach my father. If I know him, he will keep your bridegroom close.”
Mouse frowned, struck by Viola’s offer. “I assumed that story was your way of telling me I am on my own. Why are you helping me? I do not have anything to give you in return.”
Viola tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling with all her sharp teeth. “I must retain my mercurial air: I am a Faerie, after all. Now, let us prepare you. You cannot challenge a Faerie King dressed like that.”
“The clothes may be uncomfortable at first. Fashion has changed much in the last century.”
“Is this truly necessary?” Mouse asked, nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot under Viola’s intense gaze. The Faerie’s fingers kept working in the space just around Mouse as though painting a gown around her.
“This was what was in fashion before my father sealed off Faerie from the mortal world. He may have been masquerading as a gardener and taking on some of the more modern fashions through the years, but most Faeries will still be in this style, and you will blend in better this way.”
“Won’t they be able to tell I am mortal just by looking at me, like you did?”
“If they were in their right senses, certainly. You are lucky. Right now, the magic filling the room is stronger than alcohol, and they are riding their elation. No, once you reach the ballroom, the only one you need to fear is my father.”
“And you think my plan to return Thornwood’s ring to him is a sound one?”
“Well, it is not the work of a strategic genius, but it is as sound as any other plan made on such short notice.”
“You are sure that the King and Thornwood are in the ballroom?”
Viola’s hands snapped to her waist. “Yes. I am sure,” she said dryly.
“Sorry—I am nervous.”
“Well, think how lucky you are to have such a talented Faerie on your side now. With no strings attached. We are family; I do not need to seal a deal to use magic with you, as your Faerie bridegroom did.” Mouse blushed, but Viola continued as though she did not see it. “There, that should do.”
There was a pop, like the sound of a champagne bottle opening. Then, between blinks, Mouse felt something warm and rough brush over her entire body like the tongue of an enormous cat. Then its weight shifted, and it turned chilly and soft. She looked down at herself. A long green silk gown fit snugly down her torso, opening into a square neckline cut low on the bust. The bodice tapered in at her waist and then flared out in swaths of fabric that cascaded to the floor.
“Nothing too ornate, but you should blend in well enough. Are the shoes too tight?”
“No,” Mouse breathed.
“Good. You want the laces tight for dancing, but I suppose you will not do much of that. On the other hand, you may want them tight for running.”
“I would take them off if I had to run.”
“And ruin your stockings?” Viola gasped. Mouse raised her eyebrow. “Yes, right. Not the most important thing at that moment, I can see that.”
Mouse attached John’s sword and belt at the base of the bodice. Viola thumbed it approvingly.
The spell to get to the ballroom was more complicated. Viola drew slow rectangles into the wall that the conservatory shared with the rest of Thistlemarsh, while Mouse crouched among the oranges. She peeled them slowly, popping the freed slices into her mouth as the Faerie worked. They were sweet and tasted slightly of alcohol.
Viola let out a sharp hiss, and the brick within the rectangles vanished, forming a door. Sprays of bluebells framed both sides of the entrance. The doorway extended out and back into a hallway, forking into a jagged dark path as the frame multiplied. Mouse could see candelabras flickering in the darkness, but not much beyond that.
Viola leaned forward, her nose wrinkling. “It’s a gauche use of magic, but it should keep you hidden from the Faerie courtiers, at the very least. You will be running in a corridor between Faerie and this world until you reach the inside of the house.”
“Won’t the Faerie King notice if the magic is so ostentatious?”
“I doubt it. My father’s taste always tended toward the overstated and inelegant. I cannot imagine his court improved upon that habit in his absence.” She sniffed pointedly at the overburdened fruit trees before continuing. “When you find the source of my father’s power, you will need to destroy it.”