Page 189 of Mountain of Mirrors and Starlight
“Do you know one thing that both dwarves and fae have in common?” he asked smugly. “They always expect tricks to be magic. We dressed up Miriam to look like me with a wax mask. I don’t imagine they’ll be able to keep up the ruse for long, but it got them into the city.”
“I take it they’re all armed?”
Hawthorn grinned. “To the teeth.”
“They shouldn’t go into the palace,” Aislinn said. “They’ve an army there—” She started to move, still determined to warn them.
Hawthorn grabbed her arm. “Miriam and your mother know what they’re doing. They are quite experienced in matters of warfare and espionage. Now, are you alone here? Is there somewhere we can go? Tell me everything.”
Aislinn and Beau had just reached the end of their tale when they arrived back at the safehouse. Hawthorn had listened patiently throughout, not chiding them for any poor decisions and only occasionally stopping them to say things like, “Dillon’salive?” and “Cerridwentoo?”
He offered a brief overview of what he had been doing—initially smoothing things with King Owen and then politely making their way back across the border to ‘assist with the search’ for their missing children. Once they reached Faerie, however, Hawthorn had heard the vines calling to him—carrying the message they’d given. Aislinn’s pendant had helped with locating her, but it was the vines who had revealed the location to Avalinth’s tunnels.
“I wonder why they have never done so before now,” Beau mused. “Many a monarch must have wanted to discover the city.”
Hawthorn shrugged. “We can control the vines, but I do not think they submit to us without their freewill. I think we belong to them more than they belong to us.”
This certainly matched with Dillon’s revelations about them, but they had no time to discuss it further—they were back at the safehouse.
Dillon unbarred the door and let them in. “Hawthorn,” he said, staring dumbly. “I mean, sire. Prince. My liege?”
“Dillon!” Hawthorn threw his arms around him. “Terrific to see you! Looking a little worse for the wear, but no matter. Juliana will be delighted—”
“Juliana?” Cerridwen came racing forward. “Is she—”
“She’s here, Ser Cerridwen,” Hawthorn began, “but engaged at present with a little business at the castle—”
Cerridwen bolted for the door. Hawthorn stood in her way. “You Ardencourt women!” He sighed exasperatedly. “You’re all exactly the same! Always racing off into danger, never thinking things through—”
“My daughter—”
“Is most excellent at looking after herself, and also doesn’t know you’re alive. I think seeing you standing in the midst of battle might be somewhat of a distraction for her, don’t you?”
Cerridwen relented, standing down. The door was finally shut behind them.
“Also, hello,” Hawthorn said, dropping into a bow, the lacy cuffs of his silk shirt flopping artistically at his wrists. “Delightful to meet you, mother-in-law, dearest. I hope the children haven’t been too much trouble.”
Cerridwen blinked at him, clearly lost for words, and didn’t find them before Minerva came forward to introduce herself. The others followed, one by one, although Aislinn barely noticed. Caer was still asleep, and she found it hard to concentrate on anything but the uneven rise and fall of his chest. At least he seemed to be sleeping soundly.
“Your Majesty, Mr Faerie King, Sir,” asked Luna quietly. “I don’t suppose—your magic being the greatest that there is—you could, um, try healing Dillon?”
Hawthorn looked back at him, his expression grim. Someone had obviously tried to stitch him back together after his escape from the palace, but he now looked more thread than flesh.
“I can certainly give it a try!” he said, and steered him into a nearby seat so he could reach his face. Light radiated from his palms… but the flesh below made no attempt to knit back together.
Hawthorn sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I could weave you a glamour, of course, but it wouldn’t help much with the present company.”
Dillon’s jaw tightened, almost imperceptibly. Luna’s fingers laced into his. “I don’t care what you look like,” she told him, and leant across to kiss his cheek.
“Noneof us do,” added Beau. “Although I won’t be kissing you.”
A light, forced chuckle spread through the room. It was true that no one cared, but Aislinn imagined Dillon did… and worried more if this spell, or his body, would last.
She tugged on her father’s sleeve.
“What about him?” Aislinn asked, gesturing to Caer in the corner.
Hawthorn’s gaze sharpened. “The Prince, I take it?”
