“Are you all right?” Thornwood asked. Mouse twitched.
“I will be fine,” she said.
“Well, I am here, if you would like to discuss it. I do know a thing or two about turning to stone.”
The image of Thornwood as Dante, crumbling into the earth over the course of a hundred years, made Mouse shudder.
“It was awful,” she whispered. “How did you stand it?”
Thornwood shrugged, but Mouse saw the hitch in his shoulders. “I got used to it, I suppose. Time moved differently, as though I was in a dream. There are worse fates. But I am grateful that you did not have to suffer the same.”
“How did it happen?” Mouse asked. “I mean, I saw, but only fragments.”
He stiffened. The fire popped furiously, sending a burst of red dots up the chimney.
“I’m sorry,” Mouse said softly, the words streaming together. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Please,” Thornwood said, holding up his hand. “It may take me a moment to gather my thoughts. I’ve never spoken about this to anyone, and I hardly know how to tell the story.”
Thornwood did not speak for a few minutes. He took a sudden interest in the upholstery of his chair. After pulling at a few loose threads, he sighed.
“For centuries, my father was the chief adviser to the Faerie King. He took care of everything for him: finances, political engagements, parties, and anything else the King did not want to do himself. Father considered the Faerie King his closest friend. The court adored my parents.” Thornwood laughed. It was a bitter sound. “Except their enemies, of course.
“Mother was a particular friend of Princess Viola, the King’s only daughter. You may know from your mortal Faerie stories that our kind rarely have children. Usually, they only have one, if any, so Princess Viola was very precious. The same could be said about me. My parents were elated when I was born. Perhaps I was spoiled, due to this pride.
“Viola was much older than me, but I knew she was stubborn even then. She always had to have her way.
“My parents supported this behavior. They all grew up togetherand had the same wild temperament. Unfortunately, my father made the mistake of publicly supporting Viola.”
“A rebellion?” Mouse gasped. Thornwood raised his eyebrows.
“Not a rebellion. Worse. The princess ventured into the human world and fell in love with a mortal.”
Thornwood read the look on her face. “The romance destroyed my family. The humans eventually turned on the princess. She died.”
His words slowed, and his face went blank as he looked out at the fire.
“The King blamed my father and, to a lesser extent, my mother.”
“What happened to them?”
“I am not sure about my mother—I have not seen her since. I like to think she is banished, as I am.”
“And your father?”
Thornwood shook his head almost imperceptibly. He did not elaborate, but his eyes were haunted. Mouse did not press him.
“I don’t understand. Why punish you? You had nothing to do with what happened.”
“I had the same politics as my parents, if not more extreme. We were all pro-mortal, which is not the side to be on when they’ve murdered the princess. Besides, I was a popular figure in court. I’m sure he saw it as killing two birds with one stone: making an example of our family while ridding himself of a potential rival.”
He thumbed at his ring, and Mouse remembered how it glimmered with magic in the vision of his past. He caught her look. Instead of hiding his hand, as he had any other time he saw her staring at the ring, he slid it off his finger.
“Would you like to hold it?” he asked. She flushed, but held out her hand.
The ring was heavy in her palm. The crack in the gem buzzed, as though a current of electricity ran through it. Although Thornwoodleaned back in his chair as soon as she had the ring, his eyes followed it, hungry.
“You mentioned that High Faeries sometimes store their magic outside of themselves. Is this where you stored yours?” She passed it back to him.