Thornwood’s eyes met hers. Shock suffused his face, and Mouse saw something flicker back to life in his eyes. Was it pride? Admiration? Perhaps even love?
She could not think about it.
The Faerie King stalked closer. Courtiers closed in on all sides. Still facing them, Mouse took a firm step back onto the seat of the throne. She rose, her fingers planted firmly on the seat cushion before she wobbled up onto her feet. She hoped that none of the Faeries could see her trembling.
“He betrayed you!” The Faerie King’s shout, unexpected in the flow of calm conversation, nearly sent Mouse tumbling. She steadied herself with a long inhale, then held the vase to one side. The threat hung unspoken between them.
“So did you,” Mouse reminded him.
“You understand nothing, foolish child. Thistlemarsh Hall belongs to me as much as the trees and the flowers belong to me.”
“You are right,” Mouse said. “They belong to you just as much as the trees and flowers. Which is to say, not at all.”
He laughed again, and the cruel sound bounced off the mirrors.
“Shall I treat you to an exhibition of my power to prove you wrong?” He closed his fist, and the fire roared to life behind her. The flames licked the back of the throne.
Heat cut through to her arms, but she did not waver. “All this proves is that you are desperate to control something in this world. I know about Viola. I know how much her death must have hurt you.”
“My daughter is none of your concern,” he said, his voice dangerously low.
“Isn’t she? She is my ancestor.”
“So what if she is? She still does not concern you,” the Faerie King said. “I am the only one who knows what she would have wanted. What was best for her.”
For a moment, Mouse considered telling him about the conservatory. However, it had seemed as though Viola did not want to see her father, and Mouse could not betray her trust. Besides, the last thing Mouse needed was another Faerie enemy. Still, an idea struck her, and she fell into it.
“The best thing you could do for Viola is to leave Thistlemarsh alone.”
“Did Thornwood whisper that idea into your ear?”
“No, I did not hear it from anyone in this Hall,” Mouse said. The words felt strange on her lips: not a lie, but not the truth. The conservatory was not technically part of the main building, after all. To defeat a Faerie, one had to speak like one.
“A story from that little red book of yours, then. I should neverhave given it to your mother. She was too clever by half and as stubborn as a weed.”
A touch of Mr.Hobb snuck into his words. Mouse tried to keep her heart from lifting at the sound.
“Not my book either,” Mouse said.
Any trace of amusement left him. “How, then?”
“Thistlemarsh Hall told me.”
The Faerie King wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You have not mastered the art of speaking in riddles.”
“Marks of Viola are everywhere,” Mouse continued, ignoring his attempt to stop her. “Haven’t you noticed? Even the bloody mermaid statue in the pond looks like her.”
“What is your point?”
“That this was her home, more than it was ever yours,” Mouse said. “If you really loved her, you would respect her wishes that it should remain undisturbed.”
With a growl of impatience, the King pounced. Everything moved in slow motion. Mouse felt the cold of the vase in her hand. Then, she dropped it.
She opened her fingers wide, willing the vase to fall quickly.
The Faerie King snatched it from the air as soon as it left her hands. She clawed at him, but he merely snapped his fingers.
Mouse found herself floating a few feet off the platform, suspended in the air by magic. She struggled, but to no avail. The Faerie King twisted the vase, and it vanished.