With the help of some of the more industrious goblins, Sarah managed to get into the gown on the morning of the ball.
She suspected that they had been a little more enthusiastic than strictly necessary when lacing the corset, but with her own proclivity for transfiguring them into inanimate objects whenever the urge struck her, she couldn't really hold it against them.
When she was ready, Sarah turned to the mirror at the foot of her bed to see the results, and caught her breath. The woman staring back at her was regal, as Jareth had said, 'resplendent'. The black silk of the bodice clung to her figure like it had been painted on, and the skirt swirled like a sky full of stars. She'd had some of the goblins braid her hair, and, ill feelings aside, they had done a splendid job; her dark hair was braided into hundreds of tiny little plaits, and wrapped up in an elaborate coiffure with black silk ribbons and strings of opals that dangled like teardrops. Perched upon the bridge of her nose was a small mask of glittering black gossamer, fashioned entirely out of interlapping scales of the thinnest fabric Sarah had ever seen.
There was only one problem: where was she supposed to carry the wand?
Not that she didn't have a newfound appreciation for the value of a good corset, but it made hiding things down your front a little inconvenient. Well, if nothing presented itself, she would just have to carry it, she decided.
"Jareth, I seem to be having a little—" Sarah came to an abrupt stop on the landing and gaped. Most of the throne room was taken up with what looked a lot like a giant bubble. Jareth was regarding the thing thoughtfully, and as she watched, he gestured at it, and it seemed to inflate a little larger. "—problem. What the hell is that?"
Jareth turned around and went very still at the sight of her. She was beautiful—well, he often thought of her as beautiful, but he had never seen her in a gown before, or with her hair up in that fascinating manner. It made her look refined and mature in a way that jeans and a t-shirt failed to.
"You look lovely," he said.
His black clothing and silver brocade doublet were a perfect match for her own outfit. His mask was a simple silver thing, tied in place so that the chords were concealed beneath his silver-blond hair.
"Thanks. The same to you," Sarah said absently. "Jareth, what are you doing?"
He looked puzzled for a moment, then followed her gaze to the bubble. "Arranging transport."
"Oh," she supposed that made sense—as much as anything concerning the Goblin King made sense. "Could you maybe help me with something?"
He lifted a brow and watched her approach him with the wand in her hand. "What?" he asked warily.
"Well, I guess I could just carry it, or leave it here, but I really thought—"
"Absolutely not."
"Excuse me?"
"You are never to let that out of your sight. It would be, well, it would be a bad idea." He tapped his top lip with a finger and thought about it. "It would also be inconvenient for you to be seen with it," he mumbled. "Might give them the wrong idea, as it were."
"Or the right one," Sarah said under her breath.
He smiled. "Or the right one," he agreed.
"Wonderful, what are we going to do about it?"
Jareth plucked the wand from her fingers. "This," he said. He closed his palms together over the wand, twisted once, and held up a small wand-shaped pendant.
"Wow," Sarah said.
"Indeed." he grinned and moved behind her to fasten the clasp around her neck. "There. Perfect. Hidden in plain sight, and as long as there is contact with your skin, you still have access to its powers."
"Does this mean I can do that waving thing you do?" She gave a demonstrative wave and sent a wood chair crashing into a wall. "Wow," she said again, and in her excitement, threw her arms around Jareth.
He predictably took full advantage of their positions and closed his mouth over hers in a kiss. It began light and careful, but when Sarah didn't resist, he deepened it. He coaxed her mouth open with a nip of his teeth, then slid his tongue over hers. He tasted sweet, like honey and magic, and his tongue was rough, like a cat's, sparking sensations down her nerves like pleasure tripping down a wire. Sarah felt her blood heat as his hands came up to cup the backs of her shoulders and hold her against him, and it took a supreme effort to make herself pull away.
"Jesus," she whispered, holding the back of a hand to her mouth and staring at him in shock.
Jareth was smiling, damn him, but when he took a step toward her, his intent boldly gleaming in his eyes, she held up a hand. "Don't."
Jareth halted and regarded her with mild confusion. "Why not? It's the most natural thing in the world, Sarah, for—"
"No," she snapped, then forced her voice to lighten a little. "We are not doing this. Not now."
He lifted a brow. "Bad timing?"
She laughed dryly. "The worst. But that's only part of it. I'm not doing this, not with you."
"Why not?" His face had lost all expression.
"Because you only want me because I defy you. No one else does. No one would dare. But I do."
Jareth didn't try to deny that was part of the appeal. But it wasn't all of it; it never had been. However, he didn't tell her that because he could see she'd already made up her mind about the whole thing, and unless he was willing to push her more than she was willing to give right now, it was best to just let it drop. For now.
"We, then we should be going," he said, turning his back on her and moving back toward the bubble. "We are already going to be unfashionably tardy as it is."
"We're getting there in that?" Sarah looked at the fragile silver bubble doubtfully.
"Yes," Jareth said. "Under other circumstances I would just take my bird form and fly there, but of course, you can't do that, and we really should arrive at the same time."
"Why couldn't I just transform myself into a crow or something with this?" she asked, gesturing to the pendant.
Jareth smiled patiently. "No reason, except that transfiguring yourself is much more advanced magic say, than turning goblins into chamber pots. It requires both a complete understanding of your physical self, as well as the creature or object you wish to transform into."
"Oh." Sarah was a little disappointed that she wouldn't be able to fly around the Castle any time soon.
"Don't look so crestfallen," Jareth said with a light chuckle. "Most Fae these days cannot even turn water into tea, so you're leagues ahead of them, even if you never so much as change your hair color."
Sarah shrugged. It didn't really matter, but it would have made getting over the Labyrinth a lot easier, and she still had hopes of seeing Hoggle again.
"So, exactly how are we getting there in this?" she asked. Why wasn't a simple horse-drawn carriage, or a limo good enough for the Goblin King? He had to make everything into an exhibition.
"It's very simple," Jareth said, and to demonstrate, he stepped through the wall of the bubble and grinned out at her from inside. "Come on."
He held a hand out to her through the bubble and Sarah took it and stepped forward.
He was right, it was simple. One minute she was standing in the throne room, the next, without the slightest displacement of air, she was standing beside him inside the bubble. From outside it had looked like just a bubble, one like little children liked to make by mixing their mother's dish soap with water, but inside it was a small circular room that made Sarah think uneasily of a sultan's harem. There were chase lounges piled with colorful pillows, fabulous Turkish carpets along the floor, and small blue lights, like fireflies, hovering in the air, casting the entire thing in an eerie intimate glow.
She gave Jareth a distrustful look and plopped down on one of the lounges with a heavy sigh. When Jareth moved to sit beside her, she glared at him. He shrugged indifferently and went to sit across from her amid a pile of pillows.
Sarah looked around at the gleaming silver walls, but she couldn't see out of the room. "So when do we start moving?" she asked.
Jareth smiled. "We are moving right now."
"Oh." They were both quiet for a few minutes, then unable to stand the silence, Sarah asked, "How long until we get there?"
"Not long."
She sighed and would have raked a frustrated hand through her hair if she hadn't remembered in time that it would mess up her coiffure. "Talk to me, Jareth, please. I can't stand this . . ."
"What would you have me talk about?" he asked in a frustratingly mild voice. Before she could think of anything to say to that, Jareth said, "We've arrived," and stood to help her out of the bubble.
"That was fast," Sarah said.
"Was it?" he asked. "I suppose it was. You'll find that time and space in the Underground is rather relative."
"Relative to what?"
"To each other."
Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean, Sarah thought. Then she looked up at the large gates before her and all thoughts of time and space and their relation to one another vanished from her mind.
The palace had been carved into the side of a great mountain, with towers and spires stabbing the sky like viscously sharp swords. The ramparts and parapets were magnificent, if entirely unnecessary due to the location. The palace looked impenetrable. It was beautiful, in a fierce, barbaric sort of way, and very intimidating.
"Jareth, I—"
She was brought up short by the appearance of a dark colored falcon, that swooped down, and in a flash of glitter, became a man.
"King Raspiel," Jareth greeted the newcomer. He swept the man a bow, with his eyes never leaving the man's face. It was the way one might bow before someone they thought might take their head if they were careless.
"Jareth," Raspiel said, his mouth twisting into a slight sneer. "We were not expecting you. And who is this lovely creature at your side? A new conquest, mayhap?"
He turned his eyes on Sarah and she noticed, with mild curiosity, that they were a pale, and completely unnatural, shade of lavender. He was really very handsome; tall, with dark chestnut hair and skin the swarthy color of varnished pine. He was also very much aware of it.
Sarah took one look at him and decided on the spot that she didn't like him.
"This is my companion, Sarah," Jareth told him by way of introduction.
"Sarah. Sarah," he rolled the word on his tongue as though tasting it. "What a bizarre name."
This from someone with the unfortunate title of 'Raspiel'? Sarah smiled at him politely. She wished he would stop looking at her like he was going to pounce on her and start chewing her neck at any moment. It was very disturbing.
"Well, where are my manners?" he said, abruptly shifting his attention back to Jareth. "The dance has already begun, and my lady will want to meet you. It's been such a long time since you've graced us with your presence, Jareth, I'm afraid she's never had the pleasure."
Jareth nodded and took Sarah's hand as Raspiel led them to the gates and, with a weave, opened them.
"I'm sure there are others who will be glad at a chance to renew old friendships," Raspiel continued as he led them down a corridor and up a twisting flight of stairs. "You will be staying for the banquet, won't you?"
"Yes," Jareth said. He took Sarah's hand as they made their way up the last few steps and entered the bright ball room. "We will be staying for the banquet,"
"Splendid," Raspiel said, his uncanny eyes lingering on Sarah, before darting back to Jareth. "That's just splendid."