Grave Dance (Alex Craft, #2)(108)

“Make merry with us, planeweaver,” she said, and I wasn’t sure if she was ignoring my statement or just continuing with her apparent plan of awing me with the grandeur of her court. “Let me find you a partner.”

She pointed and a man who appeared to be around my own age stepped forward. Judging by the bright yel ow of own age stepped forward. Judging by the bright yel ow of his soul, I guessed he was a human changeling.

“Jarrid is a splendid dancer,” she said as he approached the dais.

I smiled at him, but said, “I am not interested in a dance.”

After al , from my experience, dances in Faerie were dangerous things. Okay, so the bal had none of the frantic, addictive energy of the Endless Dance, but stil , better safe than sorry.

The queen frowned and dismissed Jarrid with a flick of her hand. Then she pointed into the crowd again. “This is Alrick, one of the last remaining of his kin.”

The fae she motioned forward was shaped like a man, but instead of skin, fine scales that glittered like cut sapphires covered him. When he reached the dais, he bowed to me, holding out a hand tipped in golden nails.

“I’m not dressed to dance.”

It was an excuse, and a flimsy one, which the queen dismissed with the wave of her hand. Or at least, I thought she was dismissing the excuse. Then a draft ran across my shoulders.

I looked down. My tank top and hip-huggers had vanished, replaced by a pale off-the-shoulder gown shot through with silver embroidery and accented with delicate ice flowers. My red purse was also gone, PC now hanging in an iciclestudded silver sling. I could see through glamour, so I saw reality waver, both my street clothes and the gown solid. Then reality settled on the gown, and my own clothes simply ceased to exist. Oh, that is so not fair. And for the queen’s glamour to not only fool reality, but actual y change it, meant she was extremely powerful.

Her glamour had also vanished the gloves Rianna had given me, and a hushed gasp traveled through the bal room as my bloody palms were exposed for al to see. The queen’s thin eyebrows lifted, just a notch, and she waved her hand again. Pale gloves of the softest material I’d ever touched appeared on my hands. They matched the dress, touched appeared on my hands. They matched the dress, with threads of silver woven through them al the way to where they ended at the middle of my biceps. Hol y’s ruby amulet dangling from my silver charm bracelet stood out like a wound against al that snowy fabric.

“It is a beautiful”— unwanted—“dress. But I must pass on the dance.”

The queen pursed her lips. Then she scanned the crowd, as if uncertain. Final y she pointed at the Sleagh Maith who had toasted me when I first arrived. “This is Ryese, the son of my beloved sister.”

I looked at the crystal-haired fae. The queen had now offered me three partners, each of higher rank than the last.

There was often significance in actions made three times, and I had the feeling that if I declined again, I would not only be dismissing the offers of her court but insulting her bloodline. What do I do?

I glanced around the assembled fae, my gaze stumbling over more than a dozen with the icy cords binding them. “A magnificent partner, but I must pass.”

Ryese looked stunned, but the queen just looked irritated.

“Is there no one in my court who interests you?”

“There is.”

“You are the guest of honor. You must join one dance before the night is through. So pick your partner, planeweaver. My court is yours to choose from.”

I didn’t look at Falin. It took every ounce of self-control in my body, but I didn’t even glance at him. He was chained to the queen—I doubted she’d give him to me, even if I asked.

Which I won’t. But the way the queen said “must” made me believe I actual y did have to join the dance. I turned, searching the crowd of fae.

“Him.” I pointed at Caleb.

“An unusual choice.” She waved him forward. “Do unburden yourself first.”

I looked down at PC. I didn’t want to get separated from him—he was an awful y smal dog—but the look the queen him—he was an awful y smal dog—but the look the queen gave me said this wasn’t a negotiable point. I unslung the bag and set it on the edge of the dais.

“Stay,” I whispered.

He whined, and then immediately jumped out of the bag and pranced across the dais. He stopped in front of Falin and pawed the man’s leg. Falin didn’t move, but the edge of his mouth on the side facing away from the queen twitched upward, just a hair, and I swear I saw his gaze flicker toward me.

“Bad dog,” I mumbled, and then Caleb was leading me to the dance floor.

I don’t dance. It’s sort of a personal rule. I’ve never been good enough at it to reach the point at which dancing became fun. And this wasn’t mere dancing. This dance had choreographed steps.

The dance started with a bow, and I didn’t realize I was supposed to be curtsying, not bowing, until the woman beside me cleared her throat. Then the women made a line and danced in a smal circle. I was pretty sure there was some move I was supposed to be doing with my feet, but my feet weren’t visible under the gown anyway, so I just tried to keep pace. Then the men danced because, of course, this couldn’t be a dance where the men and women did the same thing at the same time. I was gritting my teeth again by the time the lines of men and women joined.