The Faerie King smiled. “If you find your mother, I will release you both. Fail, and I will pin her to a wall, and you will join your father.”
Thornwood snarled at the Faerie King, his teeth elongating into wicked points, but the Faerie King merely laughed.
“How long should we give the traitor to find his mother? An hour? Thirty minutes?”
Shouts burst from the crowd. They were impossible to hear clearly. The Faerie King mimed listening intently, but his gaze never left Thornwood’s, and his smile grew like a weed across his beautiful face.
“An excellent suggestion,” the Faerie King crowed. He lifted his hand as though dramatically plucking the words from the air. “Five minutes.”
Thornwood swayed. His pained gaze swept between the jars. The moths beat their bodies uselessly against the glass. They moved so quickly that Mouse could not track them.
“What are you waiting for? Surely not permission.” As soon as the words left the Faerie King’s mouth, Thornwood was at his first jar. When he touched it, the glass melted away like sugar in the sun.
The moths burst from within, flapping into the air and above the crowd. Courtiers batted at them, laughing, as the insects desperately weaved through the air. One moth reached a mirror and dove into it. Its delicate wings folded in and crashed to the floor with a soft thud. Thornwood waved the other moths away from the crowd. His hand caught the edge of one. It burst into a flurry of sparks.
The next jar shattered, then the next. A riot of moths swarmed over Thornwood, and he held out his hands, lightly running his fingers over them as they passed. Those he touched fractured into bursts of light, but at least three escaped his reach for each one he caught.
Mouse positioned herself so that she stood between a herd of moths and the mirror behind her. They melted as soon as they touched her skin. They did the same to the other Faerie guests, as though trained to add to the chaos as they fluttered around the crowd.
The court swiftly took up the game, dodging to avoid the mothsas they approached. The last jar vanished. Thornwood dashed around at the end of his chains. Desperate horror slackened his features.
As subtly as she could, Mouse hooked her ankle around the leg of the nearest Faerie, a man chortling into his drink like a fountain. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and sported a mustache that dripped down his face onto his doublet. He choked in surprise as he fell. His pinwheeling arms caught hold of the Faeries on either side of him. Mouse slid backward, avoiding the carnage she’d triggered. As she hoped, the Faeries toppled into the circle, colliding with moths as they went.
Thornwood’s eyes met hers. He jolted as he recognized her behind the mask.
The Faeries on the floor groaned, and laughter broke out around the circle. A scowl emerged from under the broad Faerie’s mustache. Next to him, one of the Faeries he dragged down finally freed her dress from under his leg. Embroidered fish swam in the layers of blue silk on her skirt. Those that were under the mustached Faerie floated listlessly, stunned.
“Oaf!” she squawked at him. “This dress is worth more than your life.”
“Is it worth more than yours?” the mustached Faerie snapped back, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. The fish dress Faerie sneered, pulling a knife from the folds of her sleeve.
Pandemonium overtook the room like a disease. Neighbors turned on one another in seconds, clearly drawing on grudges centuries old. Mouse used the chaos to slip into the crowd again. Thornwood’s eyes remained on her, and she glared at him.
“Find your mother,” she mouthed.
He jerked, as though freed from a paralyzing spell. While Mouse ducked low between the fighting Faeries, Thornwood rose as high above the crowd as he could while still bound, scanning the ceiling.Mouse took advantage of her view, monitoring the moths that clung to the floor and walls.
At last, she spotted it. One by one, the other unfortunate moths became dusty victims until one insect remained in sight. It sat on the mantel over the fireplace. Its creamy wings caught the light from the mirrors.
Next to it, a dull vase sported three white roses. Mouse’s heart leaped. As far as she could make out, it was the only mundane thing in the room, and roses were always Mr.Hobb’s favorite flower. She swerved through the battling Faeries. They were all too busy to take much notice of her. Her figure in the surrounding mirrors vanished in the sea of ostentation.
Mouse glanced at the Faerie King. He was absorbed in the spectacle of his courtiers falling over one another, a vacant smile twisting his lips. She watched as he took a sip from his goblet.
He let the chaos continue until Mouse was a few anguished feet from the throne and the vase behind it. He still had not noticed her. Her hopes were high, until he stepped forward.
The room went still.
Faeries unhooked themselves from one another. Their wounds mended as they moved. In moments, it was as though nothing had happened. Mouse was near enough to the vase that she could see the thin gray lines decorating its sides. The clean scent of the roses cut through the musty cacophony of perfumes like a cool breeze on a hot day. She edged closer to it.
“So, where is she?” the Faerie King asked Thornwood.
Mouse made eye contact with Thornwood, and he looked away quickly.
“On the mantel,” he said. The court shifted. Taking advantage of the Faerie King’s distraction, Mouse shuffled toward the vase, keeping her eyes on the confrontation.
“The mantel,” the Faerie King repeated.
“Yes,” Thornwood bit out. “Enough—you’ve had your fun. Let us go.”