“I’ve never bloody held one, have I? Besides, you can’t just throw swords at people!”
Thornwood continued as though she had not spoken. “A dagger is probably more practical for you anyway.”
This time, when his arm emerged from the pack, it grasped a silver dagger, the hilt glimmering with a string of red stones.
He walked to her, laying the hilt in her hand and closing her fingers around it.
“Do not drop that.”
“I didn’t drop the first one on purpose!”
Ignoring her, Thornwood strapped the sword to his belt before drawing it. Then, with elegant strides, he flourished the sword, parrying an invisible enemy.
Mouse filed away the confirmation that silver did not affect Faeries, as iron might. She held the hilt of the dagger. “I hope you aren’t relying on me to do anything with this. I obviously have no skills in that department whatsoever.”
“Just imagine yourself going after a weed in the garden, and you’ll be fine.”
“I don’t usually fend off weeds with a dagger.”
“Yet, a shovel has a blade, and I’ve already seen that you are quite skilled with it. The only thing to worry about when it comes to sword work is getting the sharp end in the enemy. Everything else is affectation.”
Dubious, she held the weapon up to eye level. “I am fairly sure it is more complicated than that.”
“Not in this case,” he said. “We’d best get started before we lose our daylight.”
Thornwood unbuttoned his shirt, and Mouse coughed. He paused.
“Are you planning on going in dressed like that?” he asked drolly. “The water will weigh down your clothes, and you’ll drown.”
“You are so dramatic,” she said, but she shimmied out of her skirt and the jumper, leaving only her underclothes. Thornwood had stripped down to his underthings, belt, and sword. A surprising spray of freckles dotted his torso, and she noticed his muscles flex as he moved. He tightened his sword belt across his hips, and she quickly looked away, cheeks hot.
During her time in France, Mouse had seen her fair share of men in various states of dress. However, she’d never been this close to oneoutside of her nursing duties. Not to mention, many of the men she had seen during the war were injured, leaving little time to notice much about them besides where the blood was coming from.
Not that Mouse was completely ignorant. A Canadian officer took her dancing one giddy night while she was on leave. She let him kiss her, pressed up against her boardinghouse doorway. He was a decent fellow, but one had to be unmarried to serve as a nurse and she felt it was unfair to lead him on when her plans revolved around Roger.
Thornwood shoved his clothes and Mouse’s into the bag and deposited it on the garden path to retrieve when they emerged from whatever challenge waited for them at the well.
They inched up to the bank.
“Ready?” Thornwood asked. She looked at him.
She recalled the whisper that drifted to her from beyond the mirrors and through the walls.
We must not buy their fruits…She shook away the words.
“Ready.”
16
The water felt thin. It slid past Mouse, and plants parted for them as they bobbed through the water lilies.
Orange fish skirted around them as they waded deeper into the pond. Mouse was ready for the smell of must. But instead, the smell of salt and brine permeated the air. Thornwood tilted his head, taking in a long breath.
“The scent is coming from under the water,” he said. “It is definitely magical.”
“The well is this way,” Mouse said, taking the lead. Thornwood followed; his nose tilted up until they were floating just above the grave of the old well. Thin stalks of golden magic sprouted above the water’s surface, as tall as cattails.
“The smell is coming from there,” Thornwood said. “It must be the next elemental source of magic linked back to the house.”