The Faerie strolled toward Thistlemarsh, then paused. His eyes met hers.
With a jolt, Mouse realized he was waiting to be invited onto the stairs.
She did not invite him. He crossed his arms, arching an eyebrow. Mouse went to meet him.
When she reached him, she noticed that the grass leaned toward him. He seemed to revel in the attention, a false idol replacing the sun. A brave bee wobbled away from the others toward him. It landed gracefully on the branching line of his scar.
He did not flinch. He barely seemed to notice at all. Mouse looked back at the grounds, terrified that Mr.Hobb might already be working on the garden.
“I have taken the liberty of casting a small spell over the two of us. To anyone else, it will seem that you are just enjoying the view of the woods,” he said. “I imagine you would not like to be overheard.”
“You are late,” Mouse said stiffly, ignoring the frustrating fact that he had read her so easily.
Thornwood smiled the same predatory smile he wore the night before, more creature than man.
“By mere seconds. So pedantic, my lady.”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped.
“Alas, you refused to give me your name. What else am I to call you?”
“Everyone calls me Mouse. That will do just as well for you.”
The Faerie opened his hands wide at her words, his palms facing up. He breathed in steadily, the air hissing through his teeth like wind through leaves. A golden light grew from beneath his skin, radiating off him.
“Mouse,” he repeated. “That name has power. Not as much as your true name would have, but power nonetheless.”
“That’s all you’ll get from me.” Mouse crossed her arms over her chest.
The bee left the Faerie’s cheek. Flecks of gold formed on its fuzzy feet, like shining pollen that it had picked up from the Faerie’s presence.
“Did your teacher forget the most important lesson regarding Faeries? We must keep our word. Your distrust is unfair. We cannot lie.”
“It is because I know about Faeries that I know you are more complicated than that. You cannot lie, but you can do almost anything else to trick a mortal out of their soul.”
“You have such a poor opinion of us! What use would I have for your soul?” he said in mock hurt. “Why don’t we mend the bridge between our kinds and agree to be honest with each other?”
He held his hand out to her, and she eyed it warily.
“It’s best if we keep this interaction as simple as possible. No room for miscommunication,” she said.
His offered hand curled back into a white-knuckled fist, and his eyes hardened behind his smile.
“As you wish.”
“I need to attend to some errands this morning, but I will meet you at the rose garden on the side of the house after breakfast.” Mouse needed more time to think and to find her calm before they dealt further. “From there, we can determine exactly how much work needs doing and the cost.”
“You speak with such transactional terms,” the Faerie said.
“It’s my working-class upbringing. It betrays me at the worst moments. I can never bring myself to make small talk with someone when fewer words get the job done faster. Luckily, I think it will serve me well when dealing with a Faerie.”
“A very admirable trait indeed. If only more aristocrats adopted your outlook.”
“Are you very familiar with aristocrats of today?”
“I thought you told me you did not like small talk, my lady,” he said.
“It’s Mouse,” she hissed after him, but he had already melted in the spring air.