“Stupid animal, she is not in a fit state to play with you.”
The dog ignored him, although it moved slower now. It was all black, except for the bottoms of its front feet and from the top of its eyes down past its nose to its neck, where its fur turned golden. Its eyes shone black, a dog’s eyes except for the slight points on its pupils. Its tail was missing, although its hips shook in a pantomime of wagging. Delicately, it laid its gold paws next to her shoulder. A pink tongue darted out of its lips and licked her chin.
“I would not be surprised if it stayed in that form even after it recovers its strength. It appears happy enough,” Thornwood said. “It managed to enchant your Mr.Hobb where I failed.”
Mouse lifted her fingers to its jaw, and it leaned into her touch. The texture of its fur did not change from the gold fur to the black, although Mouse could not help wincing at the memory of burned silk and scales.
“Smudge,” she said. It licked her fingers.
“Oh, you’ve named it already.” Thornwood sighed. “Mickelwaithe said you might. I must warn you not to get too attached. Dragons are mercurial—this one might fly away at a shift in the wind.”
“I’m glad. She suffered too long in that room. She deserves freedom.”
“She?”
Mouse nodded solemnly, her fingers finding a good scratchingpoint on the dog’s shoulder. Smudge let out a cheerful bark and sank onto her stomach, her back legs sticking out straight behind her and her head balanced on her front legs.
Thornwood settled in his chair with the book propped open in his lap. “Do not blame me if it starts coughing up fireballs on your bedspread.”
“Don’t listen to the rude Faerie, Smudge.”
Silence fell, and soon Smudge was asleep at her side, paws pressed against Mouse’s shoulder while Mouse stroked her belly. In the dark, candlelight illuminated Thornwood’s face and the pages flipping between his fingers.
His hair caught the colors of the fire, and his scar stood out on his cheek, a white line against the flickering shadows. She wondered what had happened so that even a Faerie’s magic could not heal the wound.
His black robe pooled around him, and the juxtaposition of the dark color sharpened his jaw in the soft light. A line formed between his brows as he read, as though he was trying to make out a puzzle. She traced the lines of his jaw with her eyes. The initial power of his magic had worn off, and she could look at him without her eyes watering as though she was looking into the sun.
He was attractive, Mouse realized. Beautiful, even. Before, he was gorgeous, but it was a terrifying and untouchable beauty. Now, the lines of his face were still sharp, but some of the glints of malicious disdain were gone, made soft.
His gaze snapped up from the page to her face.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing. I’m just trying my best to read from here.”
“Bored, are you?”
Mouse flushed. “Yes.”
The Faerie smiled. “You are right. The beginning was very dull.”
He flashed her the cover ofJane Eyre.
“You read it anyway?”
He shrugged. “Your contempt made me curious.”
“So, where are you now?”
“I am sitting in a chair at your bedside.”
Mouse rolled her eyes.
He continued, a smug smile leaking into his voice. “But in the story, she has just set off for her new position.”
“Ah, so where I told you to start.”
“I must admit it is already more interesting.”