“It is all right,” she said. “There are no more hunters.”
The animal sighed a final time. Then its stripes unspooled like thread, and it was gone.
“You are unlike any human I’ve ever met,” Thornwood said after a beat of heavy silence.
Mouse brushed her sleeve across her eyes. “You’ve just met unkind humans.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. When Mouse turned to him,there was a look in his eyes that she could not pin down. “That’s not it.”
He shook his head again. “We need to get to the guest path.”
Mouse stared up at him, uncomprehending.
“We have not returned to Thistlemarsh’s entrance hall yet. Our best chance to get out of here is where the caster and their guests would have been. As the spell unravels, that may be where an exit will open.”
“What?” Mouse’s emotions and thoughts were muted, detached, as though she was observing them through a microscope.
“We need to go!” he shouted, wrenching her up below her shoulder. At his touch, she felt a shock run through her, bringing her emotions back to the forefront.
“What was that? I felt as though I was underwater,” she asked as they ran.
“The spell is dying. It is trying to find something to fill in for the hunters and the creature latched onto you. Keep moving. It will try it again.”
Around them, the edges of the enchantment unraveled. Trees tumbled into piles of green and brown thread. Branches caught and snagged behind them, ripping and collapsing into scraps.
“No matter what happens, do not slow down,” Thornwood bellowed into her ear.
He moved faster than any human could, and his hold on her shoulder slid down to her waist. He hauled her behind him, taking large sections of the path in strides. Mouse’s feet were nearly off the ground when they tumbled onto the guest path.
Before Mouse could register what he meant to do, Thornwood lifted her into his arms. She squeaked, her arms twisting around his neck.
“I can run,” she said, hyperaware of spots where her fingers met the skin of his neck. His hair brushed against her wrists.
“You are too slow,” he said softly. “Hold on.”
The world whizzed by them, and they were at the end of the path in seconds. The branches of the tree transformed from sturdy oak to the soft canopy of a willow tree. The bark pulled apart and fell to the ground like a waterfall.
When Thornwood ducked under the cascade of thread, a small door appeared on the floor. Thornwood lifted the single circular handle after depositing Mouse next to the opening. Below, she could make out Thistlemarsh’s entry hall, but turned sideways. Thornwood groaned.
“At least it is not upside down. It will likely hurt when we go through, as we will have to slide across the floor. Brace yourself.”
The crooks in the branches dipped low enough to rest on Mouse’s shoulders. She sat on the edge of the hatch, then pushed herself through.
It felt as if she had been falling for a long time, but it could not have been more than a few seconds before she felt her stomach twist, as though she was somersaulting through the air. Then, she hit the floor, sliding along on her back until she ground to a halt. The skin exposed on her arm stung. A second later, Thornwood arrived the same way, crumpling in a heap next to her. He looked as bedraggled as she felt, with his hair tangled and dirt smudged on his nose.
As soon as the first bite of pain faded, an overwhelming feeling of wrongness invaded her senses. Her stomach rolled. The air was different, and it felt like the press of poison on her tongue. She turned to ask Thornwood if he sensed it, too, but he was already moving.
He sprang to his feet, and magic swelled in his hands. The gem on his ring was shining, the crack only a thin white vein on its surface.Mouse remembered him saying he would need an excess of power to fix it himself.
Mouse wondered how she’d missed the return of his strength so completely, considering how much time they’d spent together and how limited he’d proclaimed to be when first confronted with the spell on Thistlemarsh.
His magic billowed outward like a thunderstorm growing between his palms, filling the room. And just like that, the vines of gold magic connecting the walls and the thin spiderweb lines between paintings vanished.
Thornwood turned on his heel, grinning. Pulling Mouse to her feet, he swept her into a swift dance. The hall swirled around them, and she gasped.
“The spell is gone,” he laughed.
The sound was contagious, and Mouse joined in, despite the unease growing in her gut.