He grimaced. “I thought I would offer you a deal regarding your brother.”
Mouse jerked.
“You would use my brother as a bargaining chip, after your own mother has been used as one for years?” she asked.
Thornwood shrugged listlessly. “That was my plan. I can see now how it would seem horrible by mortal standards, but I truly thought I was being generous. My plan was to heal him. Or at least to heal the physical symptoms. Magic is not adept at healing mental ailments, but I was willing to try as well, in return for the house. Regardless, it did not happen. Thistlemarsh was lost, and the only way for it to stay with you, and therefore with me, was through marriage.”
“I know you are a Faerie, but you are also a fool. Why didn’t you just ask me for Thistlemarsh? If I knew your mother was trapped, I would want to help you. I’m sure together we could have come up with something better than your terrible plans.”
He blanched, looking as though he might be sick. “You would have helped me?”
“Yes, I think I would have. But I suppose now we will never know.”
Thornwood stared into his cup. Mouse hummed, bile biting at the back of her tongue. She thought she had prepared herself for disappointment after the last month, but knowing she was a strategic factor in his plan struck her like another house falling around her head.
His fingers flexed against the mug. Black stained his fingertips and palms, reaching up along his forearms. Mouse charted the darkness up the gashes in his clothes. He was still shaking.
“Here,” she said, shrugging off her wool blanket. He glared at it asif she had offered him a damp rag. She rolled her eyes before forcing it over his shoulders. “Don’t be a stubborn ass.”
He took the blanket without further fuss, tucking the corners around him. Some of his stiffness faded into tired resignation.
“I ran into Carlyle in the woods, by the way. You did not do the best job hiding your handiwork,” she said. She was proud that the sticky heartache in her throat worked to clip her words rather than shake them.
“I did not intend to hide it,” Thornwood said, cold as winter frost. “That is one of the few things I do not regret about this debacle.”
“It was such a charming wedding gift for your new bride to stumble upon while running for her life,” Mouse said. He winced again. She let the words hover between them for a few moments before continuing. “I would ask you to change him back, but he does make a rather charming ornament. He has what he wants—he will be a permanent fixture at Thistlemarsh, at least until he’s learned his lesson.”
Thornwood’s fingers clinked against the mug in an erratic pattern. He was nervous. He had not expected her matter-of-fact manner and did not know how to handle her reasonable, detached quips.
Good, she thought.He should know how it feels to be on the back foot for once.
“You are not as angry as I was expecting,” he said.
“Oh, I am angry,” Mouse said, lifting the cup from his hands and emptying the contents onto the lawn. She tucked the mug behind her heel. Without his ceramic shield, Thornwood’s hands retreated into the blanket. “I was foolish enough to think you cared for me.”
“I do!” he said, leaning toward her. She raised her eyebrow at him in her best imitation of Mickelwaithe, and he flinched. “I know I ruined it, but I do.”
Mouse stopped herself from comforting him. She did not trust herself at that moment. There were too many emotions fighting inher chest, and she needed at least a full night’s sleep and an egg sandwich before she could begin to untangle them.
“Self-pity is a very unattractive trait, especially for those groveling for forgiveness,” Mouse said, pushing herself up off the bench. “We both need to go in for observation overnight at the village hospital.”
“I’m not interested in being watched like an animal in a zoo.”
“Stop overdramatizing. Besides, the town will ask fewer questions the more cooperative we are. I prefer to move forward without an inquiry into your origins, if we can help it.”
Thornwood shrank down further under the blanket.
“Think of it as part of your penance,” Mouse said.
He blinked at her in confusion. “Penance?”
“Isn’t that what we’ve been talking about for the past few minutes?” She sighed. Her eyes started to ache as well. She smoothed her fingers over the bridge of her nose, reveling in momentary relief. “Never mind all that. I can barely understand what I’m saying. I’m going to the clinic, and you should as well.”
When he did not respond, she took a deep, steadying breath and marched back to the circle of villagers.
“He’s definitely more stubborn than you,” Mouse said as she reached John.
“Perhaps not,” he whispered back. Mouse looked over her shoulder. Thornwood stood on the edge of the group, a moon on the outer orbit of the villagers’ circle. “Best to meet him halfway.”