The Faerie King leaned in to whisper in Thornwood’s ear, although the words were clear to Mouse from her spot near the fireplace.
“Wrong.”
The moth next to the vase dissolved into dust. Thornwood keened, and the sound was as shrill as an animal’s scream. Mouse’s own choke of surprise was lost in a wave of applause that rose from the court. Mouse felt sick as she watched the remnants of the moth drift to the floor.
The Faerie King drew a new moth from his pocket. Its feathered antennae reached toward Thornwood as it tried to crawl off the Faerie King’s hand. He lifted it to his lips.
“Your son could not tell you apart from any other insect,” he said. He raised his hand in the air, and a cruel pin appeared between his fingers. “My word is my bond.”
“You said she was in one of the jars,” Thornwood interjected.
“I said that I transformed her into a moth and that if you found her, you would both be free. You were the one to assume she was with the others. An amateur mistake. All that time away from court turned you into a fool.”
Thornwood dropped to his knees, his hands outstretched. The bloodstain from his wound oozed up past his elbow. “Please—do what you want to me, but let my mother go. She has suffered enough.”
“It is amusing. She asked the same, for you. Rest assured, neither of you will suffer much longer.”
Mouse was just behind the throne. All eyes were on the Faerie King. He pressed the pin between the moth’s wings. It squirmed. Chains rang as Thornwood struggled against them.
Mouse grabbed hold of the vase in both hands. She hoisted itabove her head. It was lighter than a piece of paper. The roses clinked inside as though they were made of glass.
“Mr.Hobb!” she shouted.
The Faerie King whipped around. When he saw her and the vase, his eyes narrowed to menacing slits. The pin vanished, and he dropped the moth into a heap on the ground, just outside Thornwood’s reach.
“Have you come to challenge me with an old vase?” the Faerie King asked lightly. Mouse could not see any trace of Mr.Hobb left. She wondered if he even recognized her, other than as his enemy. Perhaps his memories as Mr.Hobb were far away, as though he had dreamed them.
The crowd around the room laughed, but their eyes devoured her.
“We both know that this vase is more than what it seems,” Mouse said, hoping with all her might that she was right about the pottery in her hands.
His smile was the kind that cut like a knife. “The prodigal child returns. How like your ancestors you are—willing to die over a pile of crumbling stones.”
“The stones hold no interest for me now,” Mouse said. “I am here for Tithe village and its surrounding land.”
The Faerie King barked out a harsh laugh. “Tithe village? Its purpose is in its name. It is a gift for me, and I intend to take it. The Dewhursts stole it from me, and I want it back.”
“What will happen to the villagers, if you take it?”
The Faerie King shrugged. “I have not decided yet. Perhaps I will make some of them Faerie servants. Or roses for my gardens. Or statues, perhaps. One can never have too many statues, can they, Thornwood?”
“Those people do not belong to you, and they never did,” Mouse said.
The Faerie King laughed. “Such a strong sentiment. What have the villagers of Tithe ever done for you?”
“Nothing—I don’t owe them anything. That concept is something Faeries seem to struggle with, so let me make it plain. I want to protect the village because it would haunt me if I didn’t try.”
Behind the Faerie King, Thornwood looked down at his knees. His hands shook so badly she could make it out from across the room.
The Faerie King scoffed. “They would not thank you.”
“I’m sure some of them would. As for the others, I don’t care about their thanks. As I said, I am not doing this for them.”
The Faerie King’s eyes focused on the vase. She tipped ever so slightly forward, and he winced. Any doubt that this was the source of his power slipped away.
“Any other requests,” he jeered, “since you have my attention?”
“My husband will be returned to me, unharmed, along with his mother.”