Six

A bevy of maids swarmed around the salon set aside for the women's use. Some servants bore needles and thread, ready to repair any sartorial mishaps. Others held brushes, combs, and pins, with which to tackle wayward hairdos. There even was a cobbler at hand to remedy footwear fiascos. All the vertical surfaces were covered with mirrors, allowing the women every opportunity to inspect and admire themselves. Many guests had painted their faces for the evening, and they utilized the multiple dressing tables, re-applying powder, rouge, and lip color. A maid near Sarah was helping a woman re-pencil her eyebrows. A pair of craftswomen in gowns of burnt orange damask stood ready with tiny pliers, lengths of fine gold and silver wire, glue, and boxes of gemstones in every conceivable size and color. As Sarah watched, they aided a guest whose earring had come adrift.

"The Royal Jewelers," said Inula, following Sarah's line of vision.

"I haven't seen them yet. They weren't on the official tour."

"They wouldn't be. Security is very strict. The queens of Aves have the most extensive jewel collection you'll see, especially because Petronia's brother Theridion was married off to Queen Portia of Aranea. Old Queen Eucissa brokered the match, and she insisted on a substantial marriage settlement in exchange for her son. Most of his jointure was paid in jewels."

Sarah nodded and made an interested but noncommittal noise.

Inula went on, "The jewelers here are experts at their craft. Of all the royal artisans, the jewelers undergo the most grueling apprenticeship. Only the most gifted are allowed to practice."

"You can see why," Sarah responded. "A dance routine or a piece of music can be repeated if it's not right, but a ruined gemstone can't be easily or cheaply replaced." In a mirror, she examined her own jewelry to make sure it was still on straight. The thick, punishing collar of amethysts and emeralds forced Sarah to hold her head very high, and she frowned at her arrogant reflection. She made a subtle adjustment to her stays, hoping her bust wouldn't come flying out of the corset when she was dancing. Many of the other women wore equally daring styles, but Sarah had not realized just how uncomfortable she'd be with this public semi-nudity and the attention it drew. Too late now, she thought, straightening up and trying to feel as self-possessed as the woman in the mirror appeared.

She couldn't help casting glances over at Inula and Marsilea. Inula's black gown was accented with jewelry of pearls and small diamonds. Marsilea wore an elegant rope of garnet and topaz, with matching stones in her ears. Both women looked completely appropriate for the occasion, but not overdone, and Sarah found herself wishing she'd likewise opted for something less ostentatious.

She excused herself to use one of the water closets, and the absurdity of her costume was brought home to her when two maids had to assist her, lifting the voluminous skirt so that she could hunker over the toilet. Outside, Sarah washed her hands in one of the many basins of rose-scented water that had been set out for the ladies' use. As she dried her hands on a proffered towel, she listened to the murmur of conversation, the ripples of laughter, and she inhaled the cloying perfumes of these pampered, over-indulged women.

A group seated nearby were gossiping about Lady Vibiana. Sarah pretended to fuss with her hair at a dressing table so she could eavesdrop.

"…able to keep dancing?"

"As a lady in waiting, I can't imagine she'll have time. She'll be waiting on Petronia hand and foot."

"Do you think it was deliberate? To keep her and Anser from dancing?"

"Who can say? Her majesty wouldn't want anyone to overshadow her pets, would she?"

A wave of unkind titters followed.

"She dances like she's throwing around vegetables in her mother's market stall." Sarah realized "she" must be Ralli.

"He's not much better," another voice opined. "A cobbler's son, isn't he?"

"No grace at all," said the first voice. "Their title ought to be Royal Court Acrobats, because they're certainly not dancers." More titters followed this.

"They keep those arms moving, though. It's like an optical illusion. If the judges hadn't been distracted by the arms and had paid more attention to the feet, maybe the results would've been different."

The complaints about Ralli and Picus piled up like letters in a post office.

"He throws her from one position to another."

"No unison."

"No line."

"No finesse."

"No musicality."

"No extension."

"Their routine was clever subterfuge—all that drama hid their flaws."

After a pause, someone said, "The competition was a farce. Why even bother? Petronia knew who she wanted."

"Petronia didn't judge, though," another woman pointed out.

"What difference did it make?" the first voice scoffed. "The judges knew the results Petronia wanted, and delivered them. Playing favorites, you can just tell."

The other woman argued, "And if Petronia's niece had been chosen, that wouldn't have been favoritism?"

Voices rose up, crossing over each other as each woman tried to interject her opinion, cutting the others off.

"Everyone knows Petronia hates Vibiana," one of the women hissed. "She'd never have her and Anser as her Court Dancers. Vibiana missing the third turn on that throw was just a convenient excuse. If the judges had been unbiased, they would've ranked Anser and Vibiana's basic skills over the other two's flailing and posturing."

Jesus, Sarah thought, it's like listening to a bunch of high school girls debate the results of a Miss America contest! Her mind went back to the night of the competition. She had not observed any obvious flaws in Picus and Ralli's basic technique, nor did she think that missing the triple turn had doomed Anser and Vibiana's chances. Ralli and Picus had undeniably had the better night, as difficult as that might be for their detractors to accept. "Flailing and posturing?" Sarah thought. Seriously? She suspected that class snobbery was coloring the women's opinion of the two dance teams. They couldn't wrap their minds around the notion that a couple of kids from the Market Circle might possess more talent than children of noble parentage.

The conversation switched courses, the women now debating whether a greengrocer and a cobbler should be allowed to lease houses in the Queen's Yards. Suddenly ashamed of herself for listening to the poisonous gossip, let alone giving it any credence, Sarah located Inula and Marsilea, lowering herself into an upholstered chair beside the two women.

"Are you all right?" murmured Marsilea.

"Yes, fine," Sarah breezed in response, schooling her angry scowl into a pleasant smile. She said, "There was so much food leftover from the feast; I wonder whatever happens to it all."

Inula told her, "Some of it will be served again tomorrow. Nobody's going to feel much like eating after tonight, so it doesn't make sense for the kitchens to prepare a lot of fresh dishes. Anything left after tomorrow will be available to the palace servants and city guards. At the end of the week, the remains will be distributed among the city's less fortunate."

Inula had been keeping her voice very quiet, and Sarah nodded her understanding. She could only imagine the state the food would be in after a week.

In a more ordinary speaking voice, Sarah said, "I was fascinated by the priestesses who performed the coronation. They all had such wonderful presence, and they made the ceremony so beautiful."

Inula nodded. "It was an honor to have them lead the ritual. Women who serve the Goddess live in the temple and not many are seen, only on public occasions."

"Where's the temple?" asked Sarah. "I don't believe I've seen it."

"It's at the very center of the palace, accessible only from an entrance in the queen's quarters," Inula said. "The priestesses lead a cloistered life, away from everyday concerns. They're said to have a tunnel that leads far outside the city walls, to a sacred woodland grove. Only those who serve the Goddess are allowed into it."

"That seems like a very difficult life," observed Sarah. "So little freedom."

Marsilea said, "It can't be easy, but girls who realize they have a calling would be terribly unhappy and feel out of place their entire lives if they weren't able to join the sisterhood."

"What are the signs that a girl's been called to serve?" asked Sarah.

Inula said, "Often, an infant has a peculiar birthmark. As a girl, she'll usually manifest some magical gifts. But the unmistakable sign is that the girl feels the call of the Goddess in her mind. Naturally she has to be examined by priestesses to assure her gifts are genuine. And if they are, the family undergoes a ceremony of giving up the child. That's the last time they'll ever see their daughter."

Sarah shuddered. "I can't imagine giving up Lizzie forever."

"Oh, they're never as young as that," said Inula. "Not babies. But girls aren't chosen if the gift hasn't manifested by adolescence. Once a girl has started bleeding, she's considered too old."

Marsilea added, "It's different from ordinary magic, which can become apparent at any age."

This discussion of talent brought another thought to the front of Sarah's mind. "What about dancers, musicians?" she asked. "How are those children identified?"

"The adepts of each craft always have an eye open for raw talent," Inula said. "Once a year, generally, each guild will hold an open session where parents can bring in their children for examination. Sometimes, though, it's serendipity—Ralli and Picus, for example, were discovered when they were playing in the market square."

"Do parents have to pay for the training?" asked Sarah.

This question seemed to take Inula by surprise. "Oh, no!" she said. "The Royal Treasury covers training expenses for all apprentices. Once they're accepted into a guild, they live in special dormitories. Everything they need is provided by the queen."

"Do all apprentices reach the adept level?" asked Sarah.

Inula gave a shout of merry laughter. "Goodness, no," she chuckled. "That's one important aspect of the apprenticeship process—weeding out anyone who might be unsuitable. Failed apprentices go back to their families. It's hardly unusual."

Sarah mulled over all this. On the surface, it sounded like a sensible process: the city's many craft guilds provided opportunities for gifted children to earn a living, with the concomitant education and training provided gratis by the crown. Further, girls who manifested a genuine religious vocation could make their life in the priestesshood of Aves. Sarah would have admired this system more if children from the Outer Boulevard were eligible.

A chiming of sweet bells interrupted her thoughts. The women's chatter dropped to a quiet hum, and the voice of a marshal announced that the Winter Hall was ready, and that the evening's entertainment would begin.

(ii)

Seats for the royal families had been arranged along the edges of the floor. Sarah settled into her chair beside Jareth, noting that a more casual, informal atmosphere had taken hold in the great hall. She was pleased to have the royal family of Vitis sitting beside them; if Jareth hadn't exactly made friends with Rumex and Agrostis, at least he was not overtly hostile toward them. And the music to which the guests were treated would have put him in a good mood no matter the seating arrangements.

An instrumental number started the program, the musicians still playing up in the gallery. Then a choral group wearing light fern came out onto the floor and performed a lively song. Next came a sextet of young dancers in costumes of elegant orchid. A soprano in a gown of celadon green performed a solo, followed by a trio of stringed instruments. There was a solo played on the harpsichord, then a pair of dancers in medium purple. The performers began to blur together in Sarah's mind: soloists, duos, trios, quartets, ensembles; singers, dancers, instrumentalists; novices and adepts.

When Sarah feared she would fall asleep if the parade of sound and movement didn't cease, Ralli and Picus emerged, to a tremendous burst of applause. The noise settled down, and the pair began their routine, an abbreviated version of the one they'd used to win their coveted honor. After a brief rest, they performed a simpler routine that looked to Sarah like something they'd repurposed from their younger years, a crowd-pleaser set to fast, energetic music, the choreography turning the two dancers into one plum-colored whirlwind. Ralli and Picus took a longer break after the second number and then began their third, a slower, more contemplative piece that emphasized their flexibility and ability to hold and sustain movement. If their previous two routines had drawn much enthusiastic stomping and cheering, this one drew gasps and quiet murmurs of pleasure.

Sarah followed each lissome nuance of the choreography, unable to stop herself from scrutinizing the dancers' feet. Whatever faults the women in the salon had complained about, Sarah could not detect in this performance. Everything Ralli and Picus did was impeccable. The music came to a languid close with the two dancers draped about each other, hands clasped, their faces serene. Sarah shot a quick glance at Petronia, who was blushing. Beside her, Tylas also had turned pink, and Sarah realized the routine had been choreographed especially for them. Maybe this piece of music had some significance for the couple. Sarah pulled her attention back to the dancers, getting to her feet for their standing ovation.

As the applause faded, the musicians in the gallery began to play a spirited waltz. Ralli and Picus, whose energy seemed to know no bounds, began to twirl together in time to the irresistible rhythm. Then Petronia led Tylas down from their dais and joined in, the queen draping the train of her gown over one arm with expert flair. Sarah found herself gobsmacked at the queen's grace in motion; she would not have expected Petronia could dance so well. The other royal couples began to take the floor one at a time. Jareth put an arm around Sarah's waist and took one of her hands; she rested the other on his shoulder, and they twirled their way into the growing crowd on the floor. A moment later, Inula and Rumex spun past them, moving with the ease of practice and long familiarity with each other's bodies. Then the younger members of the royal families came out onto the floor, then the nobility, and soon Jareth and Sarah were one of many spinning pairs.

"This is heaven," Sarah sighed. Moving felt so good after sitting for so long. The waltz reminded her how much she loved to dance, and Jareth's arms around her, his eyes smiling into her face, caused her to experience an inexpressibly giddy joy.

He murmured, "'O body swayed to music, O brightening glance—'"

Sarah finished the quote, from one of her favorite poems, "'How can we know the dancer from the dance?'"

There was a segue into an energetic jig, and Jareth asked, "Shall we show them how it's done?"

Sarah laughed, "Oh, yes," and they hurtled through the crowd, drawing gape-mouthed expressions of astonishment as they went.

(iii)

The festivities continued, hour after hour. If the musicians were tireless, so too were the revelers on the dance floor. In case the guests needed fueling or refreshment—a laughable idea, given the extent of the feast that had been consumed—there were food and drink available in elegant rooms off the great hall. Sarah discovered these en route to the water closet in the women's salon. While many guests remained on the dance floor, others rested in the rooms surrounding the great hall, lounging in indolent pleasure on chairs and sofas.

Sarah wanted to miss as little of the dancing as possible. Goblins might love creating noise, but their musical abilities were for the most part primitive; who knew when she and Jareth might have the chance again to enjoy such splendid music? Jareth was in his element, partnering Sarah masterfully around the floor of the great hall, his boundless skill covering for her occasional small mis-step. Not all the styles were familiar to her, but her goblin mind allowed her to learn rapidly the gist of those alien dances. Sarah savored most of all the slower numbers, when she and Jareth could dance close together, the heat of their bodies palpable even through their layers of heavy clothing.

The energy of the crowd grew more infectious as the evening wore on, reminding Sarah of her late nights as a college student. Many people had set aside their heavy cloaks and trains and ruffs so they could move unencumbered. Members of the dance and choral groups had emerged onto the floor, out of their performance dress and now clad in their own finery. At one end of the room, Petronia lolled in a large chair, laughing, attended by her visibly amorous husband and surrounded by a coterie of her ladies-in-waiting. Between numbers, Sarah chatted with Rumex and Inula, Marsilea and Agrostis. She caught glimpses from time to time of Lenia, radiant with happiness, spinning about the floor in a splash of crimson velvet, never in the arms of the same partner. Even Jareth had succumbed to the potent mix of wine, music, and high spirits: he was as openly happy and garrulous as Sarah had ever seen him.

In the early hours of the morning, couples began to slip away. Sarah was surprised when Tylas and Petronia left the great hall without any fuss or formal recognition; perhaps they felt no need to make a spectacle of their wish for privacy. The crowds on the floor began to thin out, but a good number remained, determined to dance through to the end of the ball. At last the musicians began to play a grand waltz that drew loud cheers, and everyone who wasn't dancing swarmed out onto the floor. When the music ended on a magnificent coda, a great swell of applause went up, and the musicians came forward to the banister of the gallery to take their bows. The women's faces were flushed beneath their blue head-dresses, glowing with sweat. Sarah could only imagine how exhausted they must be.

"And there's our cue," Jareth murmured. He and Sarah retrieved their long peacock cloaks and exited the great hall, clutching hands. Jareth seemed to have something specific in mind, because he darted across an empty drawing room and opened a door in the paneling.

"Shortcut?" Sarah whispered when they were inside the service corridor.

He kissed her in response, his scent and taste avid with passion. "And privacy," he murmured.

The darkened, secretive corridors stirred Sarah even more, and even the sound of her heels tapping on stone, the whisper of fabric, seemed to her the essence of desire. She paid no mind to their route: up, down, over, across, through one door after another, into an empty dining room, out into a hallway, through another door concealed in a wall. Jareth seemed to have the entire layout of the palace memorized. Sarah didn't bother to wonder where they were going: it might be back to their quarters; it might be somewhere else entirely. Not knowing was part of the tease.

Jareth led her into a completely unfamiliar part of the palace—deserted, judging by the cold, the complete absence of sound, and the paucity of light. Candle-lit lanterns were provided only at intervals, where corridors came together in a junction. Sarah guessed she and Jareth might be in the northernmost wing of the palace. Perhaps because of the silence, even a slight noise came as a surprise. Jareth slowed, and Sarah did likewise, both rising up onto their toes to muffle the sound of their footsteps.

The next thing they heard was an unmistakable groan of passion. The two goblins tiptoed along until they reached the source of the noise: the outline of another service door. Sarah spotted a peephole and paused for a look; someone else had sought out the solitude of this disused part of the palace. A quiet gasp caught in her throat.

She was looking into a bedroom whose furniture mostly was covered with dust sheets. A glass lantern had been placed on the mantelpiece, its fitful, flickering light providing the only illumination for the unfolding tableaux. On the bed lay Lenia, her dark hair tumbling across the dust sheet, a raven cascade in the dim candlelight. The bodice of her gown had been pulled open, her round breasts uncovered and jiggling with faint movements, her nipples two tiny hard pink tips pointing at the ceiling.

Her crimson velvet skirts were hiked up around her hips, her legs splayed apart. Between her thighs knelt a man whose face Sarah could not see, as he was pleasuring Lenia with his mouth. He must have possessed some skill because Lenia arched up and cried out, the fingers of one hand tangled in the man's hair, the other stroking her own breasts.

"Oh, please!" she gasped.

This spectacle of cunnilingus brought Sarah to full, immediate, throbbing arousal. Jareth tightened his arms around her, cupping her corseted breasts with his hands, his mouth sucking at her bare shoulder. Sarah forced herself to keep her eyes open, watching the scene on the bed and imagining how it would feel when Jareth pleasured her thus. When Lenia cried out again, Sarah came in a gush of wetness. In the room, the young man lifted his head, and Sarah froze: it was the good-looking red-haired dancer, the young Estridian. She didn't have time to ponder what this meant: he opened the front of his trousers, revealing his turgid cock, and mounted Lenia, who drew back her knees, offering herself. When he thrust into her, she jolted and cried out, causing Sarah to come again. The pair moved together, and Jareth rocked himself against Sarah, in rhythm with the other couple. Lenia was beside herself, thrashing in ecstasy beneath her partner, her hands clutching his backside, urging him on with her voice and the movements of her body. The young man held out admirably long, allowing Lenia to reach the pinnacle of pleasure again and again, before finally giving into his own release and collapsing atop her with a long, shuddering groan.

Then they were laughing, kissing and whispering to each other, their fingers threading together. Jareth disentangled himself from Sarah and tugged her by the hand. She trailed along behind him on wobbly legs, hoping they had not been heard, and hoping even more that they wouldn't have much further to go.

They passed through the maze of service corridors, heading away from the northern wing of the palace. Jareth slowed; he seemed to be looking for something in particular. To Sarah's surprise, he liberated one of the glass lanterns from its niche, using the light to examine closely the stone wall of the corridor. At last he found what he sought: a door cleverly concealed, discernible only by its outline. There was no handle, no keyhole. Jareth tapped the bricks until he found the right one, near the base of the wall: the stone depressed inward by an inch, and the door grudgingly budged open a crack. Jareth worked his fingers into the gap and opened the door wide enough to allow him and Sarah to slip behind it, then pushed the door shut.

Now Sarah knew the reason for the lantern. This corridor was completely dark, and it held a musty, disused smell. As Jareth and Sarah made their way along, Sarah brushed the occasional cobweb away from her face. Their breath made visible frosty puffs in the candlelight. Nobody's been here for a while, Sarah thought, wondering if this passageway led to the hidden temple. A thrilling shock went through her: surely Jareth did not mean for them to engage in sexual congress in the inner sanctum. Perhaps this was the tunnel Inula had mentioned, the one leading to the woodland grove of the priestesses. She rejected that notion: this was one of the palace's upper levels, and anyway, Jareth was too addicted to creature comforts for sex out in the freezing cold.

He slowed, tapping the dusty bricks, then made a noise of satisfaction when one depressed with a faint grind of stone against stone. Another hidden door opened, this one narrower than the last, moving stiffly on its rusty hinges. Sarah saw the foot of a staircase, stone steps spiraling up into stygian darkness. Another tingling jolt of adrenaline coursed through her bloodstream, and she throbbed anew as she started up the steps, Jareth closing the door behind them, pushing home three rusty bolts that would keep the door securely fastened.

Holding her skirts, Sarah tore up the steps on quick, light feet. Up, up, up she went, her wide gown brushing the walls of the narrow stairwell. Underfoot, the stairs turned from stone to wood, the steps terminating so abruptly that she almost hit her head on a ceiling. She made a careful exploration with her hands, finding two iron bolts. She gave one a wiggle, then a hard push, the metal complaining loudly against the wood. She worked the second bolt loose, and a heavy wooden trapdoor lowered down, its steps unfolding ingeniously to meet the top tower stairs. She scrambled up the creaky wooden steps and into a cold, spare room.

Jareth came up behind her, pulling closed the trap and fastening it in place with another pair of bolts. By the flickering candlelight, Sarah found they were at the top of the watchtower she'd spotted when they'd first arrived at the palace. This must be the highest point in Phoebetria. The room's windows were covered with shutters, but Sarah managed to open one enough to peer out: from here, one must be able to see over the entire countryside during daylight. Now she only could see the outlines of the vast bulk of the palace, the darkness punctuated here and there by the faint, glowing outlines of windows. Overhead, a full moon rode in the sky.

Sarah closed the shutter and turned. Jareth had placed the lantern on the simple, unadorned mantelpiece, whose cold grate looked as though it had not seen a fire in years. The only furniture was a single bed, a table with one chair, and a small chest of drawers, all of it covered with dust; the room was like an army barracks for one person. This might be the plainest, barest room in the palace, but it was one in which two people could tryst not only in privacy but in secrecy.

His mouth curled into a leering smile of exaggerated evil. "Locked up with the Goblin King," he said, his voice full of mock-menace. "No-one will ever think to look for you here."

Sarah let out a horrified squeal and pretended to make a dash for the trapdoor. Jareth raced to intercept her, catching her about the waist and pretending to drag her back toward the bed, "wrestling" her onto the bare mattress.

"Nooo," she wailed, but Jareth pinned her down, producing from somewhere in his frock coat a length of red satin ribbon. He pulled Sarah's arms up over her head, looped the ribbon about her wrists, and fastened the ends of the ribbon around an upright on the head of the metal bedframe, tugging the ribbon taut, and forcing Sarah's torso to arch up.

Now his face loomed over hers, laughing and crafty.

"Oh, yes," he breathed, tracing the curve of her swelling breasts with his fingertip.

"Please, don't," Sarah whimpered. "I'm—I'm to remain pure—for my wedding!"

"Pure?" he mocked. "Pure?" Now his lazy fingers drew up Sarah's skirts, layer by layer. She pretended to struggle; he pretended to force apart her legs. "Pure?" he chuckled as his fingers explored. "You're not just wet, my beauty, you're saturated." With that, one long finger slid up inside her, and Sarah choked out a little cry of outrage.

"Oh, my, someone must have misplaced her maidenhead, because it certainly is nowhere in here," Jareth teased, his finger moving in and out.

Sarah's eyes darted frantically back and forth. "Don't tell," she pleaded. "Please—don't tell!"

Jareth withdrew his finger, his face leaning down so that it almost touched Sarah's. "Only if you're good," he promised, kissing her lightly.

"Good?" she whispered, quaking.

His next kiss was deeper, "forcing" her lips apart and probing into her mouth with his tongue. "If you're very good, and do as you're told, and keep quiet—" he kissed her again—"we can be respectably married. But if you make so much a peep, everyone at court will learn how you've been sullied."

"M-married?" Sarah stammered. "To a—to a goblin?"

"Oh, yes," he laughed. "To a goblin."

Sarah paused for dramatic effect, then gulped and gave a shaky little nod.

Jareth laughed his evil laugh and kissed his way down Sarah's jawline, over the jeweled collar, and into her cleavage. Between kisses he taunted her. "What kind of maiden wears a gem that fairly invites the gaze of all men into her breasts?" He lifted the heart-shaped amethyst pendant with a quizzical lift of his curved brows.

Sarah whimpered, and he made a tsking noise. "Since you can't keep quiet…" Out came another length of scarlet ribbon. He didn't gag her with it, just covered her mouth and passed it around the back of her head. Satisfied, he pushed aside the pendant and returned to kissing her breasts, nuzzling down into the curves. It was a challenge for Sarah to stay quiet every time he nipped at the skin with his teeth.

His hands went to her thighs, encased in their long silk stockings. Sarah pretended to resist, and he made a noise of caution.

"I'll tell," he threatened. "They'll know." Sarah stopped fighting. "Now open your legs," he commanded. Sarah complied. "Wider," he said. "Wider. Now, bring back your knees. Further back." He laughed at the sight of her plump, fleshy mound, fully exposed, the black hair slick with wetness. "Oh, what a lovely quim, already glistening. What have you been thinking about, my beauty? Something quite naughty, by the look of things." With that, he pushed his mouth into Sarah's wet folds. She writhed with ecstasy, trying with all her might not to shriek as his tongue flicked across her clitoris. His teeth followed, nibbling, then his tongue again, causing Sarah nearly to weep with lust. The memory of how Lenia had looked, writhing in ecstasy, only added to her arousal.

When he'd driven her almost mad with pleasure, Jareth sat back, opening his tights and exposing his prodigious cock. Sarah made her eyes wide with feigned horror. He responded to her expression with another evil chuckle, then lowered himself onto her and pushed inside.

"Quiet," he hissed as he thrust, angling his body in a way that would cause Sarah the greatest pleasure. "Move against me," he ordered. "Like that. That." Sarah obeyed, pushing up against him, pretending to grimace with revulsion. His breath was hot against her neck as he thrust, faster, then faster. "You're not a pure maid, so don't feign innocence," he taunted. Sarah's fingers wrapped around the silk ribbons, clutching them tightly, trying to control her responses, trying not to scream, holding her orgasm at bay as long as physically possible.

"Oh, yes," he gasped. "Oh, yes—now, my beauty—now!"

With that, Sarah gave into her release, her cries of passion held strangled in her throat. Jareth's narrow hips kept thrusting in lovely undulations, and he urged her on with his voice, until his own need became too much to bear, and he shuddered all over. The sensation of his release—hot, wet, spurting with ferocity inside her—prompted Sarah to an orgasm that seemed to wrack through her viscera. She felt a thick, glutinous wetness gush out of her, enveloping Jareth's cock and oozing down the backs of her thighs, into the fabric of her petticoat. Then Jareth collapsed atop her, gasping, his body heaving. Sarah's legs relaxed, falling apart on either side of him. She slipped her hands out of the loops of red ribbon, caressing his naked backside.

For a long while, they just lay like that, enjoying each other's breath. Then Sarah began laughing.

"Did I play the outraged damsel well?" she teased, toying with his hair.

He groaned an affirmative. "It's a role you were born to play."

"And you, my glorious Goblin King, were born to play the part of the devilish seducer." Jareth worked his way up her body and kissed her. Sarah tasted her salty musk in his mouth, mingled with the sweet taste of wine and the bitter, metallic tang of adrenaline—a heady, potent mix—sex and danger.

After a while Sarah murmured, "How long did it take you to find the entrance to the tower?"

"I've been looking almost since we arrived," he admitted.

"Did you think it would be the perfect place to stage a seduction?"

He nuzzled into her neck. "So forbidding and mysterious. The dark, abandoned tower…"

"…where the Goblin King can spirit away and ravish the fair damsel," Sarah finished. Jareth's hands were on her ribs, then her waist, still encased in the confines of the unyielding corset. She could sense his frustration through the stays and the layers of silk and damask.

"I must confess, this… contraption is enough to drive one mad," he said.

"That's the whole point," Sarah teased. "It's the temptation, putting everything on display you can never have." She ran her fingertip down his spine. "Didn't you notice all the men gazing at me? Wanting me?" Her finger went to his lips. "But never able to have me?"

He made a frustrated, inarticulate noise, and Sarah laughed.

"Didn't it excite you," she whispered, "knowing all those men wanted to fuck me?"

"Oh, Sarah," he groaned.

Sarah pushed him onto his back. Her hands closed over the red ribbons, and she used them to secure Jareth to the bedframe, just as he'd done to her. His cock jutted up from his narrow hips, still glistening from their previous lovemaking, and his eyes were avid with lust.

Sarah straddled his chest, keeping her knees far enough apart for their bodies not to touch. She hiked up her skirts, keeping them out of the way with one hand, then used the other hand to pleasure herself.

"Oh," she moaned, rocking into her hand. "Oh, God, I'm so horny, it's unbearable." Jareth's mouth fell open, eyes almost bulging out of their sockets. "I wish Jareth would come and fuck me," she whispered. She continued masturbating until she climaxed, arching her back and crying out Jareth's name.

"Sarah," he moaned, "for the love of all the stars…"

"Is there something you desire?" she taunted.

"Oh, yes, Sarah, yes."

"And who is the most beautiful, most desirable woman in all the six kingdoms?"

"Sarah, Queen of the Goblins."

"Who has the longest, loveliest legs?" Sarah went on.

"Sarah, Queen of the Goblins."

"And who has the most deliciously beautiful breasts, the most perfect pink nipples?"

"Sarah, Queen of the Goblins."

"And who has the wettest, most irresistible quim?"

"Sarah, Queen of the Goblins," he moaned.

"And the most glorious hair?"

"Sarah, Queen of the Goblins."

"And who is more skilled at the womanly arts than even the most celebrated courtesan?"

"Sarah, Queen of the Goblins—a woman with no equal."

"And has Jareth been wicked?"

"Oh, yes, Jareth has been a terribly naughty goblin."

"Well, then, make amends for it." Sarah inched forward, lowering herself to Jareth's face. "Serve me," she ordered.

He obeyed with alacrity, his tongue flicking up, teasing her clitoris and lapping at the mouth of her quim.

"That's better," Sarah sighed, closing her eyes, giving into the release that caused her body to wrack with shudders. When it seemed she could bear no more, she worked her way back down, straddling Jareth's hips, and drawing him up inside her.

"Oh, my stallion," she groaned. She moved in fluid gyrations, his hips rocking up to meet hers. "Oh, yes, yes." Faster they went, faster, faster, until Sarah let out an unrestrained shriek of ecstasy, coming so hard she could barely keep Jareth beneath her, and he kept thrusting up into her until he reached the limit of his prowess and spurted into her again, shouting out her name: a mantra of sheer, voluptuous abandon.

(iv)

They must have fallen asleep, because when Sarah opened her eyes, the room's darkness had lightened from pitch black to charcoal gray. The candle in the lantern had burned down to a little stub. Sarah's goblin senses told her that dawn was about an hour away—the sun would rise late on this day, the shortest of the year. Now that the rush of adrenaline and pheromones had worn off, the bitter cold of the room was manifest, and Sarah's breath felt like ice in her lungs. But some sensation other than mere cold had awakened her: the uncanny feeling of being watched. Mortified that someone had followed her and Jareth, Sarah lifted her head. She thought she saw, standing near one of the windows, a thin, dark shade.

"Who's there?" Sarah demanded in a low voice. She blinked, and the shadow melted away. She gave Jareth, who sprawled supine beneath her, a little shake.

"We need to get out of here," she whispered. She was beginning to shiver from the cold. "It's almost morning. And it's freezing. Plus, I don't think we're completely alone up here."

He made an inarticulate noise of inquiry.

"I think it was a ghost," said Sarah, climbing off the bed, looking around, to see if the specter might be hiding in a corner. "Maybe the tower's haunted. Maybe that's why nobody comes up here."

She and Jareth hastily pulled themselves together, adjusting britches and skirts, donning the peacock cloaks over their finery. Sarah took the lantern from the mantelpiece and scanned the small room, making a close visual examination of everything to assure that no trace of themselves would be left behind. Because there was no room for anything but skin beneath her corset, Sarah had pinned her amulet to the inside of her overskirt, up near the waistline of her gown, so that she could feel for its presence with a light touch that would not draw attention. She made sure it was still there—the one thing she could not afford to mislay—before Jareth opened the trapdoor.

"I'll miss this place," she said, making a little erotic noise in her throat.

Jareth reached over to kiss her, and they clambered with caution down the wooden steps. "I've half a mind to keep you tied up in there, since you enjoy it so much."

"Wouldn't you be worried about the ghost having its wicked way with me?" Sarah taunted. "I'm sure he gets lonely, all by himself."

"No doubt he's pining away from lust, even as we speak."

"That would make you jealous, wouldn't it? Even a ghost wanting me."

"You could make a dead man come." Jareth pushed the trapdoor back into place and fastened the two bolts. Banter aside, Sarah was glad to be leaving the tower room behind.

They crept down the rickety steps, placing their weight very lightly until they were back onto solid stone. A thought occurred to Sarah as they made their way down the spiraling steps into the well of utter blackness.

"Where'd you get those ribbons?" she whispered, although they were the only people around, and the walls here were as thick as any fortress.

"Nicked them from the dressmakers," he said, and Sarah stifled a burst of raucous laughter.

(v)

Jareth re-traced their steps from the tower to the hidden corridor, back into the service corridor. He even paused to return the lantern to its niche. From there they navigated the maze of halls, stairways, and doors, until—somewhat to Sarah's amazement—they emerged into a small, cold salon in the southwest wing. From there they only need to go up a flight of stairs to the corridor where the entrance to the Falcon Wing was located.

"Home at last," Sarah said through her chattering teeth.

Inside their room, Jareth added kindling to the glowing embers that had been banked for the night, building up the fire in the bedroom and the bathroom. Sarah drew back the bedding. She moved to the dressing table, where she removed her rings and earrings and unpinned the multitude of combs and clips from her hair. She unpinned her amulet from beneath the overskirt and placed it on the table.

Jareth stepped behind her to unfasten the choker, and Sarah let out a sigh of relief as the thick collar came away. She turned, helping Jareth remove his outer layer of clothes.

"Unhook me," she said, gesturing over her shoulder. Jareth undid the hooks of the bodice one by one. Sarah slid her arms out of the sleeves, and the heavy gown slithered down over her petticoats, landing on the carpet in a pool of purple and teal damask. Sarah stepped out of her Louis heels, amused to realize she'd kept them on her feet the entire time she and Jareth were in the tower. Off came one petticoat, then the second, then the panniers. Without Sarah's realizing it, the simple act of undressing had become the slow, deliberate movements of a striptease.

He turned her around to face him, so that he could get a better look at the corset. Mesmerized, her ran his hands over the smooth satin, the way the fabric curved so dramatically from hip to waist to bosom. He tried to knead her breasts through the corset, but the stays frustrated him.

"Come here." Sarah led him by the hand over to the bedside and turned her back to him. "Undo the laces."

He complied, and right away, her breasts sprang free with an almost comical effect. Sarah burst out laughing, and Jareth slid his hands around, clearly pleased to be able to caress her fully. He began to tweak her nipples, and Sarah groaned at the friction created by his lightly callused thumbs. He didn't rush, though he was pressed up close to her, and Sarah could feel the stiffness of his cock through the thin silk of her shift. The thumbs went back and forth, very gently, teasing. Sarah's body stirred to arousal all over again, but Jareth did nothing else to hasten her release, just kept his attention focused on her nipples, until Sarah was half-mad from longing.

With easy, languid movements, he drew up her shift and slipped one hand between her thighs. Two fingers parted her folds, and a third began to tease her clitoris in light, quick strokes. His left arm still encircled her breasts, his thumb tweaking the right nipple. Sarah moaned, and his mouth fastened onto her neck, hot and sucking. Then he began to rub his rigid erection against the curve of her buttocks, slowly, taunting her with erotic stimulation. The exquisite torture continued until Sarah finally shuddered in climax, her wetness gushing into Jareth's hand.

He pushed her forward then, so that she leaned over the high bed, taking her from behind. Sarah cried out: they normally didn't make love in this position, though she enjoyed the way it felt, the sensation of pressure in different places. Jareth set up a steady thrusting, one fingertip grazing her clitoris, one thumb on her nipple, in time with the rhythm of their bodies. Sarah beat the coverlet with her fists; she began to come riotously, again and again, Jareth not letting up until she was utterly spent, at which point he gave in to the urgency of his own agonizingly delayed release. By then, Sarah's stockings were soaked almost all the way down to her feet.

Jareth drew away from her with a sigh of satisfaction. "Now, where was I?" he murmured. "Oh, yes." He finished unlacing her corset, working the cords out of the grommets with lazy slowness until the garment finally fell away, slipping down to Sarah's feet. He eased the shift over her head. The ribbons that held up Sarah's stockings were so wet she could barely untie them, which caused Jareth to smirk.

"And who gets me this way, hmm?" she inquired, leaning in for another kiss. He finished peeling off his own clothes, and they went into the bathroom to wash. By now, the room had warmed up, though the pink marble was still icy underfoot, and Sarah hastened into the tepid water. Jareth joined her, and they tenderly washed each other, rinsing off the layers of dried sex and sweat. They toweled dry and then slipped nude into their bed, Jareth pulling the draperies around them. The sheets were freezing, but as they spooned together, their body heat began to generate warmth. Sarah's last conscious recollection, before sweet exhaustion took her into slumber, was the quiet sound of her maids, picking up the soiled finery.

(vi)

A deeply unpleasant sensation brought Sarah to consciousness: the feeling of pressure beneath her ribs. She groaned, trying to open eyes whose lids seemed gummed together. After some effort, she managed to get one open a bare slit, enough to ascertain the hour: mid-afternoon. The bed draperies, shutters, and curtains were all still drawn, but daylight intruded nevertheless. Jareth was nowhere to be seen. When Sarah swallowed, her throat protested. She turned onto her back, aware that there was no part of her body that didn't hurt. She would have liked to stay in bed forever, but her bladder had other ideas. She sat, waiting until the room stopped spinning before crawling out of the bed and making her way gingerly to the bathroom.

After relieving herself, she slipped into the tub of clean water that sat ready, still tepid, it had been drawn several hours earlier. She ran the tap for more hot water. While she washed, Sarah ran her hands over her ribs, breasts, and waist, which still bore deep red indentations from the stays of her corset. Never wearing that damned thing again, she thought, mentally cursing Lenia for having talked her into tight-lacing in the first place.

After a long soak, Sarah dried herself, dismayed to see that an angry band of red encircled her neck where the choker had been. And that was a good idea, why? Her feet in particular were killing her from the long hours dancing and running around the palace in high heels. Her quim felt tender from repeated penetration, her over-stimulated clitoris sensitive to the touch, but that, at least, Sarah didn't mind.

She wrapped herself in one of the large towels and rang for Wulfrun and Elfswhit. Since she had nowhere special to be, Sarah chose one of her own gowns and her most lightly-boned corset to wear beneath it. In the dining room, she found that a buffet had been set out, but there were no servants in evidence; evidently, the staff was taking things easily for the day. A pot of herbal tea still retained warmth, and Sarah drank a couple of cups sweetened with honey in between nibbles of bread, the only thing for which she had any appetite. She wasn't hung over—she hadn't been able to drink enough wine for that—but she could feel how the corset had shifted her internal organs, and something was still pressing uncomfortably against her stomach, causing the sick-making queasiness. And she'd been wearing the thing for well over twelve hours: eating, drinking, dancing, running around the palace, to say nothing of her and Jareth's vigorous fucking.

In the unkind light of day, Sarah felt, if not exactly ashamed, at least chagrined that they hadn't come back to their own rooms. Had she really needed to have Jareth chase her around like that to be turned on? She told herself they were married and in love, and as consenting adults they were entitled to whatever form of sexual play they wanted, but the previous night's pleasures still struck her as nothing more than the infantile self-indulgence of two spoiled, overgrown children. She thought again of the vast new wardrobe she'd purchased—why on earth had she done that? She might never wear any of those clothes again, a colossal waste of money and time.

Finishing her tea, Sarah realized with another unwelcome stab of reality that today was the Winter Solstice—in her own world, the twenty-first of December—and therefore, her birthday. She was now twenty-three years old. Twenty-three, married, and with a child. She'd never even finished her college degree. True, the passage of time meant little to Sarah now that she was part goblin and would live for centuries, but she couldn't help a sense of dismay that she'd squandered her intelligence and potential to run away to fairy-land.

She wondered what her family and friends were doing now, how they were faring. In four days or so, it would be Christmas, and for the first time since her marriage, Sarah thought of how painful the holiday would be for Robert for the rest of his life. Knowing him, he would be worried sick about her, terrified that she'd been kidnapped by a cult, raped, murdered; that she even now might be held against her will and suffering. Sarah had written him a letter before she'd left the human world for good, but she suspected he wouldn't believe a word of it.

If only there was some way to let him know I'm all right, Sarah lamented. Even Jareth could only travel between worlds in the form of an owl; he could not appear as himself unless he were directly summoned by a wish. That kind of transformation required powerful magical ability, and great skill was required to travel across the Void without being irretrievably lost. By the time Sarah mastered such magic, Robert might well be centuries in his grave.

Sarah wondered, too, about her high school and college friends, wondered what they were doing, and if they ever thought of her, the girl who had vanished into thin air. She sat gazing about the inside of the dining room, but in her mind's eye, she saw the interior of Riley Hall, her college dormitory, a place Sarah had loved more than any other, save her childhood home. She didn't exactly wish herself back there, but she couldn't ward off the realization that she would never see it again. Everything in her past life was lost to her. Nothing came without price, and the price of Sarah's love for Jareth was that she could not exist in both worlds. She knew if given a choice, she would make the same decision all over again, gladly, but that did not negate the grief she now felt.

She realized she was crying, tears streaming down her face, and she dropped her aching head into her hands. Too late she heard quick, light footsteps in the hallway and had no way to clean her face before Lenia whirled into the dining room.

"Oh!" the girl exclaimed. "I'm so sorry—if I'm intruding—"

"No, no." Sarah grabbed a napkin and used it to mop away the tears. "Please." She felt very much in need of company.

Lenia lowered herself into a chair across from Sarah. Unlike Sarah, the previous night's sexual activity seemed to have left her energized and sparkling with happiness. Gaiety infused her every movement. There was high color in her cheeks, and a lively light in her eyes. She wore another of those lovely embroidered gowns, a fur-trimmed cape about her shoulders.

Lenia waited until Sarah had composed herself before asking, "Do you mind if I ask what the matter is? Are you ill?"

"No, I'm just… I miss my family." The words tumbled out before Sarah could stop them. She added, "They… you know, they don't approve of my marriage to Jareth. So I can't see them any more." That was true enough.

"I'm so sorry. That must be so difficult."

"If I could only… I don't know, communicate with them. Or at least see how they're doing. I know they must be worried about me."

Lenia tactfully did not ask which kingdom her family lived in; she may well have been shrewd enough to guess Sarah was human—and almost certainly her mother or grandmother had discerned the truth. Instead, she asked, "Can't you scry?"

"I've tried," Sarah admitted. "It's one aspect of magic I have difficulty with."

Drumming her fingertips on the table top, Lenia asked, "Have you tried using water?"

"No." Sarah refrained from mentioning her seeing-mirror, knowing this might lead the conversation into dangerous territory. Above all, she wanted to avoid talking about the Living Sands; Jareth would not want to share this source of magical power with the Clade Tinamotus.

"Water is a good aid to scrying," said Lenia. "Especially tidal pools." She asked Sarah, "Why don't you and King Jareth come with me and Mother tomorrow? We're going to the coast so she can work a weather-working spell. It's not even a half-day's ride away. We're bringing a picnic with us. She has to cast the spell at low tide, and there'll be plenty of tidal pools."

Sarah frowned. "What about the Pax Deorum? How can she cast a spell while that's in effect?"

Lenia lowered her voice. "In the Great Temple, there's a massive hourglass," she whispered. "It takes twenty-eight days for the sand to flow through. When the Pax Deorum was set, the High Priestess used the hourglass to put the spell into motion. But the sand in the hourglass comes from the beach at the coast—even the glass itself was made from the sand. At high and low tide, it's the one place in the kingdom where the Pax Deorum doesn't have any effect, so it's possible still to work magic there."

"Does anybody else know this?" Sarah murmured.

"Me, Mother, Grandmother, and Queen Petronia. And the High Priestess, of course. The queen wants a weather forecast—the ice festival is coming up, and after the coronation festivities, she wants to travel around the countryside a bit. As far as anyone knows, we're just going for a ride to the coast."

The thought of a long ride in the fresh air, seeing the ocean, deeply appealed to Sarah. She asked, "Will the queen mind if Jareth and I know about the weather-working spell?"

Lenia grinned. "Mother won't care. I don't imagine Petronia would, either. Just don't say anything about it. I'm your official hostess for the coronation, so it's not at all odd for you to be coming with us. Bring your daughter, too."

At this mention of Lizzie, Sarah felt that she had not seen her daughter in ages, and her arms ached for the feel of her baby's sturdy little body.

"We'll go," Sarah decided. "It's so lovely of you to invite us on your picnic."

Lenia grinned. "Oh, and I'm supposed to invite you to dinner tonight."

Sarah groaned, "Not more food!"

"No, no, it's going to be a light supper. All the monarchs are invited, and their children. Queen Petronia said she has a special surprise."

The last thing Sarah felt like was yet another formal occasion, but she nodded and said, "Of course we'll come," hoping that Jareth would not raise any objections.

(vii)

By the time she had to dress for dinner, the red indentations in Sarah's ribs had mostly faded, although traces of the rash on her neck remained. Her internal organs seemed to have returned to their habitual places, and Sarah's appetite returned with them. Lenia had assured her that this was an informal occasion, but Sarah didn't see how any meal with Petronia could be considered casual, so she took care to dress well. She'd brought with her a lovely gown of white taffeta that Petronia's seamstresses had made over: Sarah chose it because of its high, almost Victorian collar and simple cut. Cloth of silver had been added to line the sleeves and trim the hemline; the collar and the cuffs had been embroidered with scarlet thread. To pick up the red accents, she added a pair of ruby earrings. Her amulet was once again safely ensconced beneath her corset, and the high collar of the gown concealed the rash on her neck.

Jareth also wore white, a color Sarah loved to see on him, with a doublet embroidered in silver thread. His boots were black, and he also sported a new cloak: silver-embroidered white damask, with a stunning red lining.

They'd spent most of the afternoon playing with Lizzie and watching her cavort with the other goblins, and now Sarah handed her daughter over to the maids with some reluctance. At the appointed hour, Lenia appeared to collect them, still glowing with happiness.

On this night, Jareth and Sarah's invitation allowed them further into the Eagle Suite, into a formal dining room. A fire blazed, and numerous candles provided a soft, golden light. The table was very long, with seating enough for all the royal families. The youngest children were not present, but those who were adolescent or older had been included, and Sarah smiled at one of the princesses from Eutheria, who sat preening with evident self-importance.

Petronia sat at one end of the table, Tylas at the other. Jareth and Sarah were seated in the middle, across from each other, with Inula and Rumex on one side, Marsilea and Agrostis on the other. Lenia had been seated down near Tylas, and it didn't escape Sarah that Baroness Gannet and Lady Jacama also had been included at this dinner.

Petronia wore a deep blue gown with an empire waist, a style Sarah had not observed on other women in Aves. No formal announcement had been made about the queen's condition, but Petronia could not be advertising it more obviously. Tylas had a look of smug satisfaction, and no wonder: as his wife's belly expanded, his family's fortunes grew with it. Sitting to the immediate right of Tylas was a youth who appeared to be his kinsman, seventeen or eighteen. The boy's curly hair, pale gray eyes, and sensuous features marked him as a member of the Clade Tinamotus—the king's young cousin, perhaps. Sarah remembered seeing him dance with some skill at the ball after the coronation.

The meal was pleasant; wine flowed liberally, assuring a relaxed atmosphere and easy conversation. Sarah recognized many dishes, which she judged had not been touched, from the coronation feast. From the corner of her right eye, she observed Petronia turning up her nose at much of the food and making periodic loud complaints about the way everything tasted "bitter and metallic." Sarah didn't miss the knowing looks that ricocheted around the table.

A sweet course followed the meal, accompanied by small glasses of the peach brandy that Jareth and Sarah had brought as gifts. Jareth's eyebrows went up in an amused query: was Petronia using this blatant gesture to curry his favor? Down at the end of the table, the queen was enjoying her dessert, complimenting the brandy, and proclaiming it the only beverage that didn't taste "off."

As if on some unspoken cue, the conversation quieted to a murmur when the sweet course was taken away, and as the servants vanished into the paneling, three dozen pairs of eyes turned to the queen, the air of expectation swelling like a balloon. Everyone assumed that Petronia had invited them to this meal for a specific reason.

The queen took to her feet. She had a plump figure, but still, the slight extrusion beneath the skirt of her gown was visibly caused by something besides body fat. Sarah hazarded a guess that Petronia was about two months along. She realized she was holding her breath, waiting for the queen to make her happy announcement.

"It's an honor to have you all here tonight, to share in our celebration," Petronia began. "The Seven Kingdoms haven't come together for centuries. This is an important occasion, not just for Aves, but for all of us. We're pleased to see old friendships rekindled and new alliances forged." The queen paused for a moment to let this sink in, and Sarah discerned a sudden, tense shift in the atmosphere. What promises, she wondered, would Petronia extract from guests who were essentially her hostages for a month?

"My counselors and I have been in negotiations with our brother king, Colobrid, concerning his two younger children." Her counselors, Sarah guessed, consisted of Gannet and Jacama. "As you know, his son and heir, Ramphoreon, is already married." The multitude of eyes now turned their focus down the length of the table to the young man with green and purple tattoos on his cheeks, his white-blond hair cropped very short. "Likewise, Colobrid's elder daughter, Tantilla, is also wed." The girl in question sat across from her brother, practically his female clone, her flaxen hair cut short and spiky, showing off the array of gemmed studs that pierced through the outer edges of her ears.

Petronia went on, "The younger princess of Varan, Abronia, is still unwedded. Tonight, it's our pleasure to announce an alliance between the royal families of Aves and Varan. This pact will be sealed with the marriage of Princess Abronia to our good husband's second cousin, Winsel of the Clade Tinamotus."

A murmur of approval, mingled with surprise, went through the guests, more glances shooting like pinballs across the table. This announcement confirmed, in Sarah's mind, the queen's condition. She suspected the King of Varan would not have allowed his daughter to marry into the Clade Tinamotus had he not been assured of that family's ascension to power.

The young man seated to the right of Tylas stood up and circled the table to where the young princess sat. She stood, taking his arm, and they went to Petronia, where they knelt to receive her blessing. The queen presented Winsel with a golden bracelet, which he kissed and slipped onto the left wrist of Princess Abronia. That gesture appeared to seal their betrothal. Everyone applauded, and the young couple returned to their seats, flushed and stealing shy glances at each other. Sarah wondered if the poor kids had even known about the plans for their engagement, though they did not seem displeased by it.

Petronia gazed about the table with her beatific smile. "King Colobrid and Queen Galvodea also have an unmarried son, the Prince Cerastis." Attention shifted to the younger of the two princes of Varan, a fair-haired teenage boy who lacked the cheek tattoos of his father and brother. His gray eyes held a startled expression at finding himself the object of scrutiny. "As a gesture of good faith, Colobrid and Galvodea have agreed that Cerastis should marry into the royal family of Aves and live here among us."

Of course, Sarah thought. Winsel would be going to live in Varan with his bride, so Petronia would want one of Colobrid's children living in Aves—to keep the balance of power between the two kingdoms.

"So it pleases us that Prince Cerastis will marry our own lovely niece, Aellenia."

Sarah's head snapped around to stare at her friend. Lenia's face was frozen into an expression of gape-mouthed shock. Sarah didn't miss the angry elbow that Lady Jacama jabbed into her daughter's side. Lenia jolted, rising to her feet, a multitude of emotions warring for control of her face, and made her dutiful way to the stunned young prince of Varan. The couple went to Petronia for her blessing, and Prince Cerastis presented Lenia with a bracelet of gold.

Holy shit! Sarah thought. From the excited murmurs and startled expressions around her, she guessed that while the first engagement had been expected, this one had taken the company unawares. Sarah thought of last night, Lenia in the passionate embrace of the red-haired Estridian dancer, and she understood why the light in her friend's eyes was utterly extinguished, her face a mask of cold, sepulchral stone.

To be continued…

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