Vines wrapped more tightly about Theo’s legs and chest, and they now bore vicious, needle-sharp thorns which slid easily through the cloth of his shirt, jacket, and trousers into his flesh. Turned toward the door of the room as he was, he could no longer see the simulacrum now trapped in Oliver’s place.
For a moment, both hands were still free, and he fought to liberate one leg. The thorns lengthened, and he hissed in pain. Blood flowed freely from the punctures, leaving gruesome streaks down his formerly white shirt. Abandoning the attempt to free his leg, he cupped his hands and caught some of the blood that dripped from a wound in his side, then breathed the last of his borrowed binding magic into the crimson liquid. Then he flung both hands out wide to spray the blood in tiny droplets across the room, where they splattered across the floor and opposite wall.
Lord Ash Willowvale strolled into the room just as the vines caught Theo’s wrists. Thorns stabbed through the cuffs of his shirt and into the thin skin of his wrists. They slid between the fine bones to hold him with arms outstretched.
The fairy lord stepped closer and tilted his head. “I did not expect to see you here, puppy.”
Theo smiled. “I cannot say the same, unfortunately.”
“I’m impressed that your effort to free Oliver Hathaway was successful,” Lord Willowvale said.
Theo nodded, hiding a wince as a particularly cruel thorn dug deeper into his side.
The fairy continued, “However, you must be disappointed that he was recaptured so quickly.”
Theo nodded again. “I did expect you to be prompt, but I admit I am impressed. You’re quite thorough, considering.”
Lord Willowvale took a few steps toward the young man, studying him with cold eyes. “Considering what?”
“How arrogant you are.” Theo met the fairy’s icy gaze unflinchingly. “Hubris, my dear Lord Willowvale, has been the downfall of many greater than either of us. It would be wise to avoid it.”
The fairy glanced over Theo’s shoulder and apparently recognized the simulacrum for what it was. Theo felt his shock more than he saw it. It was a ripple of dismay that came through Willowvale’s vines, a tremor in the air that smelled of roses and blood, a flicker of the golden light that flooded the room. His eyes narrowed, and he looked back at Theo, who smiled radiantly.
The fairy clenched one hand, and the vines complied, piercing Theo ever more deeply. The pointed thorn ends grated against bone, then found new angles and slid farther in.
“You are ruled by your hatred,” Theo whispered. The fairy’s clenched hand made the vines so tight they creaked. “You should try love. When you love more deeply than you fear, you can do nearly anything.”
“I do hate you,” Lord Willowvale said. He surveyed the thorns and noted the one just touching the right side of Theo’s throat close to the vein. The young man had grown increasingly pale as the wounds continued to bleed.
The fairy made a little motion with one hand, and the thorn at Theo’s throat grew longer. Theo could not shift away; a hundred other thorns pinned him in place.
“Yet I think it would be to my advantage to show the king what insolent human has dared infiltrate his court. He will be intrigued to learn how you did it.”
“Do you think I would tell you?” Theo whispered.
The thorn slid through his skin and pierced the vein so that a slow, steady pulse of blood welled up on the skin. It dripped down the vine to the ground.
Theo held his chin high, though his eyes had become slightly glassy. “How entertaining should I be when His Majesty Silverthorn arrives?”
“As much as possible.” Lord Willowvale smiled. “It won’t be long.”
“I will be delighted to surprise him, then.”
Lord Willowvale stood with his hands behind his back, studying Theo’s bloody form with distaste. “You have been a great deal of trouble to us,” he murmured, as if to himself.
Theo tried to keep his breaths steady, but his heart seemed to be racing inconveniently. “That was not my goal, if you can believe it,” he said at last.
“Was it not?” Lord Willowvale said conversationally. “What was your goal, then?”
“The children.” Theo smiled with all the cheerfulness he could muster. “Piquing your pride was only a pleasant side effect.”
The fairy made a careless motion with his hand, and the thorns dug deeper. Theo closed his eyes and thought of Lily.
Eyes still closed, he murmured, “How did you find the children’s home, Lord Willowvale?”
The fairy gave a startled huff. “Your wife was unwise enough to admit that she had seen the children and that they were well-cared for. I reviewed my surveillance of her brother’s movements over the last months and realized where it must be.” He gave a low, malicious chuckle. “That must rankle you, I wager, that your wife and her brother were so instrumental in your downfall.”
Theo smiled, giddy with relief that Lily’s blunder had been so slight and so accidental. He whispered, “How many children does His Majesty have at the palace now?”
Lord Willowvale surveyed his helpless prisoner. The thorns were now nearly three inches long, though the length could not be seen since so much was buried in the Wraith’s all-too-human flesh. The barb at his throat was shorter; His Majesty Silverthorn would want to question him, and even the king could not revive him once he were truly dead.
“Twelve,” said the fairy at last. “Does that irritate you?”
Had the magic been working long enough? Time seemed a fuzzy concept to Theo at the moment, but he felt that it was probably nearly time to act.
He opened his eyes to meet Lord Willowvale’s icy gaze. “No. I am furious, my lord, not irritated.” His voice shook, just a little, and he prayed the fairy thought it anger, not pain and dizziness. “But I do not hate you, nor the Fair Lands. There is much beauty here.”
Lord Willowvale stepped closer to look into his eyes, bright pale blue to warm hazel. “I did not think there was anything on which we would agree.” The fairy smiled coolly. “Yet you do speak truth now. I love the Fair Lands above all else. Why, then, would you seek to destroy it?”
“I do not.” Theo smiled as warmly as he could, considering the haze that suffused his vision. “The soul of the Fair Lands is far too beautiful to save by sacrificing children, Lord Willowvale.” He took a slow, agonized breath, feeling the thorns sliding between his ribs.
The magic must have had enough time by now. “Watch me save your land my way, and be ashamed.”
His fingers had grown numb, but the thorns had left him just enough mobility to snap his thumb and finger. Theo and the vines surrounding him, thorns and all, fell into the tunnel that opened just beneath his feet. It closed with a snap just behind him.
Theo fell to the floor of the veil in a tangle of three-inch thorns that nearly put his eyes out. The sudden pain was so intense that he could not have screamed, even if he’d wanted to.
After a moment trying to steady his breathing, he used the whisper of magic he still carried to produce a bright yellow glow a few feet in front of his face. It was risky, to be sure; he could feel something big moving in the tunnel not too far away. But the thorns were near to eviscerating him, had already punctured several important organs, and it would be difficult enough to free himself with the aid of the light; in the dark, it would be impossible.
One thorn had cut a deep gash from his right eyebrow up to his hairline, and the blood kept dripping into his eye most frustratingly. He pulled a thorn from his left wrist, where it had slithered between the bones and out the other side. He brought the light to him and tried to heat it, but his magic was too weak to do much. He gathered himself and tried again, trading light and his dwindling strength for heat.
The vine hissed and protested, then began to unwind itself from him. Several of the thorns from the segments of vine wrapped around his back pulled back, and the piercing agony nearly brought Theo back to his knees.
He pressed the hot, fading flicker to his chest, and the warmth of it brought him clarity, if not relief from the pain.
Cedar would be waiting, if he were still free.
Theo pressed a hand to his chest and began to run.