Sarah stopped struggling at the last minute as they crossed the threshold, trying to compose herself, but to her surprise and immense relief, no one paid them very much attention.
Most of the guests didn't even pause in their conversations. A few who were close to the door stopped talking long enough to flit an airy, dismissive glance in their direction, but they quickly returned to their conversations. Sarah waited for someone to announce them, but no one did, and likewise the Goblin King did not do or say anything to get the attention of his guests. He only continued walking briskly, dragging her along with him, until they stood at the head of the room, still some distance from the nearest chatting clique, and stopped, holding himself perfectly still.
Bewildered, Sarah took a moment to collect herself. When he had said "dancing," her mind had immediately conjured up images of the room where they had last danced together, the crowded, claustrophobic maze of candelabras and gauzy curtains where dancers had leered at her through sinister masks everywhere she turned. She was relieved to see the spacious hall stretching out before them. The decorations and furniture were simple; the walls were covered in some light drapery and there were a number of long,narrow tables with platters and rows of glasses against one wall. Clusters of small, glowing yellow lights, like the ones that had been in the antechamber, hung in a row down the center of the hall several feet above her head, reminding her of candelabras. There was more than enough space for the two or three hundred guests it held.
In fact, if anything, it was too big. The guests were clustered together chatting in small groups, but each of the groups stood a considerable distance from the others, and there were vast, empty spaces throughout the hall where no one stood. The row of lights down the center of the hall was not enough to penetrate the shadowy corners. She could imagine how grand and imposing such an enormous hall would be if it were elaborately decorated and filled with double or triple the number of people, but as it was the hall looked lonely and, even with all the guests, abandoned.
After taking in the hall, she turned her attention to the guests. At first glance, they seemed normal. One head, two arms and two legs apiece. The ladies wore dresses; the men suits. But the longer she looked, the more oddities she saw. None of the gowns were the same style or even from the same era as her own. Nor, Sarah realized as she looked from one clique to the next, were any of the gowns quite the same as any other. It was as if the entire party had raided the costume shop of an enormous, expensive theater. There were women in a variety of tight, form fitting kirtles under long, loose medieval surcoats with armscyes that stretched down to the hips standing next to ladies with heavily powdered hair who were tightly laced into frothy Rococo affairs with pannier-supported skirts that jutted out several feet on either side. Sarah could see several other women in richly jeweled Italian Renaissance gowns, bodices and sleeves artfully slashed and stiff with embroidery and jewels, low, square Tudor necklines with stiff gable hoods, and dozens more styles and eras that she could not identify.
The men wore the same anachronistic hodge-podge of styles, some in tuxedos like the Goblin King's that looked almost modern except for the extraordinarily long coat tails, others in doublets and tights that looked right out of a production of As You Like It. One man towards the back of the room, by a large fire, was pacing back and forth in breeches and a jacket that reminded Sarah of a painting she had seen of Paul Revere. None of those present could be called old, but some of the gentlemen who looked well along in middle age wore simple tunics over buckskin leggings that she would have described as crude if they hadn't been made of such rich-looking materials.
The longer she looked, the stranger the guests appeared to her, deepening her sense of unease. The differences weren't physical exactly, though she saw many eyes that were spaced just a touch too far apart to look natural, and some eyebrows that angled strangely. It was more the way they behaved. The stately grace with which they held themselves was too perfect, too controlled. It was something behind all the eyes, the intensity that gleamed in them as they flicked from back and forth between their companions with apparent boredom. It had a watchful, waiting quality that raised the hair on the back of her neck and woke a voice from somewhere deep in the back of her brain that whispered insistently to her to begin backing her way out of the room.
Sarah swallowed hard and turned towards the Goblin King, a hissing complaint on the tip of her tongue, when she noticed a dark-haired woman whose expression made her breath catch in her throat.
The woman was one of the more simply dressed among the company, in a late medieval style gown cut along long, flowing lines that perfectly suited her willowy figure, her dark hair was uncovered and gathered in braids behind her head. The expression on her face was one of surprise and horror, as though she had just seen something that she never would have dreamed she'd see outside her nightmares. Sarah shrank back against the Goblin King in confusion as she realized that the woman was not staring at him–but at her.
As she watched, the woman's lips moved, murmuring something Sarah could not hear —and then, like a stain seeping through fabric, silence spread throughout the crowd. Those standing closest to the woman stopped conversing, turned to look, and froze, eyes locking onto her like the eyes of a snake on some small, scurrying thing. None looked as horror-stricken as the dark-haired woman. A few looked angry or disgusted, but most simply seemed shocked or confused.
With each new pair of strange, cold eyes fastening onto her the sensation grew. It was like the air had grown heavier, pressing in around her, squeezing all the strength out of her body as more and more people turned to stare. As the silence rippled out to the edges of the crowd it became more and more difficult to move her chest in and out, her breath came quick and shallow. A dizzying coolness washed over her from the top of her head down to the tips of her toes and distant buzzing rose in her ears. She cringed back against the Goblin King and swallowed thickly, clinging to his arm as her knees trembled and it became a struggle to stay upright.
Then a laugh rang out, and the weight that was crushing her lifted so suddenly she almost jumped as she snapped upright.
The laughter was full-bellied and irreverent, coming from somewhere near the roaring fire at the back of the hall. Sarah squinted and saw a man, lean and dark-haired, somewhat shorter than the other men assembled in the hall, who stood by the fire a little ways apart from those around him. His clothing was among the most old-fashioned of those assembled there, little more than leggings and a belted tunic. He was not close enough for her to make out the expression on his face, but there was something very unpleasant about his laughter; it was the laughter of someone who has suddenly understood a cruel joke made at someone else's expense and finds it very satisfying.
The sound had shaken the other guests from their shocked stupor; every single one of them turned their eyes away from her and fastened first on him, then on the Goblin King as they waited to see his reaction. She peered anxiously up into his face. It was hard to read his expression. He was frowning, but he did not seem angry—perhaps annoyed, but not that exactly. There was a tilt to his upper lip that could have been disdain, but she thought it might be a smug satisfaction, as though the horrified stares had been exactly what he'd been hoping for.
Suddenly he raised his hands, and she jumped, stumbling a little as he jerked his arm out of her grip. He clapped his hands twice in quick succession, the sound echoing across the hall.
"Come!" he said, and his voice was bright and jovial, his eyes gleaming like a pleased cat. "Honored guests. My lady and I have kept you waiting long enough." He held cupped hands out in front of him, and a crystal appeared in them, sparkling in the reflections of the fairy lights twisting lazily above their heads, and Sarah checked the impulse to flinch away from it. He held it up for a moment, then tossed it carelessly up towards the vaulted ceiling. Halfway up it exploded in a shower of softly glittering sparks, and as it did music filled the room, a rousing, bouncy tune full of strings and trilling flutes.
With that, a great deal of the tension seemed to melt away, though there was a undercurrent of unease that showed itself in the way the other guest carefully avoided looking at her. Everyone was moving now, the small clusters of people dissolving and reforming down the center of the room. Couples found each other and arranged themselves according to some complex, spiraling pattern. Others moved out of the center of the floor to make room, taking up positions against the walls.
The Goblin King turned to her and inclined his head in the slightest of bows.
"Shall we?" His smile was warm and inviting as he offered her his hand
Automatically, she took it, and stifled a small gasp as warmth flowed into her own hand, steadying her–steadying her so much, in fact, that as he led her toward the center of the pattern, weaving through the other couples , her feet seemed to move of their own accord. She looked at him, questioning, as he guided her to the only open place remaining on the floor, but he studiously avoided her eyes, fixing his gaze on her forehead.
Then, as if according to some signal she did not see or hear, the entire company lept into motion, and she moved with them, and she was flying. The world around her spun in a frenzy of motion, moving far too fast for her to follow–yet somehow she did. She lept, she jumped, she spun around and around and around again. Confusion, fear, self-consciousness–all of it left her. She was moving too fast to feel. She was moving too fast to think–and she didn't have to. Something had taken over her body, or at least the parts of her body required for the dance, and whatever it was, it was doing all the work. She was just along for the ride.
The face of the Goblin King swam in and out of view, as did those other dancers. The glowing orbs of fairy light blurred into long, bright streams as she whirled around and around. She threw her head back, letting her eyes close. She was aware of the music changing, different tunes flowing one into the next, some faster, some slower, but only dimly. The music doesn't really matter. All that mattered was that she could feel the bouncing tattoo of the music as it pounded away in her blood. Her body felt as light as air; her mind was a complete, blissful blank.
The dance went on and on; it did not slow or stop, only ebbed and flowed. Gradually she became aware of the sensation of discomfort , distantly, on the borders of her attention. It niggled at her, hesitant at first, then more and more insistent. She opened her eyes, and was greeted by a dizzying whirl of lights and faces. There was a strong, burning ache in her calves and in her feet, and the dance no longer seemed quite as exhilarating as it once had.
She tried to slow down a bit; she did not want to stop, just get her bearings. When she was not able to do anything to slow the frenetic pace of her dancing, the fear that blossomed in the pit of her stomach helped to clear her mind. For several long, terrible moments, she felt her body hurling itself through space at dizzying speeds, and knew she had not the slightest power to stop it. Eventually, she realized that she could still feel the grip of the Goblin King's hand on hers; on instinct, she focused all her will and intention on that hand–and yanked it free.
The dance came to an abrupt, crashing halt; the other dancers around them just managed to stop in time to keep from crashing into one another. She heard startled exclamations and irritable mumbling as sensation flowed back into her lower body, and she staggered on aching feet and legs that shook with exhaustion. She felt nauseous, as though she had been sprinting full-out for miles. Her breath came in shuddering gasps.
The Goblin King was glowering down at her. The music was too loud for them to speak, but he held his hand out for her to take again. She shrank away from it, shaking her head and backing away. The other dancers parted to make way for her, all of them careful to avoid looking at her as she cast her eyes about the room, trying to get a sense of where she was in the room.
The Goblin Kings' expression turned venomous as she pulled away from him, but he did not _. Abruptly, he turned away to his right and offered his hand, to a woman with long blond hair that flowed down her back who wore an elaborate blue and silver silk gown as pale and shining as the inside of a seashell. Hesitantly, she took it, her face a blank, polite mask, and as she continued backing towards the wall Sarah saw a man in a green doublet and cream-colored hose who must have been her partner turn his back and stalk away.
The dance began again as Sarah reached the wall. The speed with which the dancers moved made her dizzy to watch, the more so as she thought about how she had been part of that swirling mass of bodies. She pressed her back against the wall, the solidity of the wood and stone through the thin silken hangings comforting her. She leaned heavily against it, giving her shaking legs some relief as she caught her breath, and closed her eyes.
For a little while, as she recovered, she was too exhausted for thought. But as her breathing slowed and her legs, though still shaky, felt steadier underneath her. she felt hot anger rising in her. First the dress, then the necklace, then he hijacked her body so that he can parade her around in front of his creepy subjects. Even as she tried to hide herself against the wall she could feel the pressure of their eyes crawling over her body, really feel it as physical sensation. When she remembered the way they had all stared at her her face burned with a shame she did not fully understand and did not want to think about.
Several times, she tried opening her eyes and glancing quickly from side to side, but whichever way she turned she could not catch anyone staring. When that failed, she tried to do some staring of her own, trying to study some of the other guests who stood against the wall nearby, but somehow she couldn't seem to focus on them. She was able to take in the superficial details like the person's height, clothing, hair color, and facial expression, her attention seemed to just…wander off. She found herself studying the floor (made of long, think boards, unlike the stone flags of the corridor and the antechamber), the ceiling (vaulted, supported by a network incredibly thick wooden arches carved in graceful, swooping designs), and her own shoes over and over again before she realized what was happening and admitted defeat.
She closed her eyes again, fuming as the music and the dance drummed on. She'd been prepared for a tedious, awkward night of hanging silently on his arm like a hood ornament while he peered around. She'd hoped, maybe, to meet other people like him, perhaps even find someone who could help her, even in some small way. That was certainly not going to happen. None of these people would look at her, or let alone get near enough to her to have a conversation. She was surrounded by hundreds of people, and she was being ignored so thoroughly she might as well be alone. Sarah bit back an angry huff and slouched deeper against the wall. Why had she even agreed to come?
That thought echoed in her mind as she shifted her weight from one throbbing foot to the other, trying to get some relief. She had agreed to come–well, hadn't she done that? Here she was, all dolled up, and she'd even danced a few dances with him, despite his lack of consideration and shockingly bad manners. Hadn't she fulfilled the terms of that particular bargain?
Trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, she opened her eyes and looked for an exit. She saw that she was on the other side of the room, far from the doors where they had come in. She could see another set of large double doors further down the wall, and near it a few of the long, narrow tables set with rows of champagne flutes and little plates.
She slid off the wall, wincing as she put her full weight on her aching feet, and slowly made her way to the tables, casual, trying to look as if she was thirsty and just wanted a drink. As she moved, the few guests who were not dancing and stood in her path glided smoothly away. Their movements were graceful and unhurried, as though they had always intended to move five feet to the right or left at that precise moment, and she had nothing to do with it. Worried this flurry of movement would attract the Goblin King's attention, she looked hastily back over her shoulder at the dancers. They were all moving too fast for her to see his face in more than quick flashes, but from what she could make out he did not seem to be looking at her. She quickly looked away.
She tried to keep the excitement off her face, as she approached the table and took a flute of golden champagne. The modern glassware looked strange in the otherwise medieval surroundings, but no more so than her own gown and the clothing of the other guests. Absently, her hand shaking a bit from exhaustion and nervousness, she turned back to the dance, taking a small sip. It tasted like strawberries and a cool, crisp spring breeze. Carefully not looking back at the dancers to check whether the Goblin King was watching, she moved towards the doors. If he objected, she could pretend she was stepping out to get some air. She forced herself to walk slowly as she passed under the threshold and into the hallway.
She found herself in another antechamber, similar to the one where she had entered, cool and quiet, fairy lights dancing softly in the rafters above. Despite the open doors she could only just barely hear the music. Immediately, it was easier for her to think. She waited anxiously, but the music did not stop–the Goblin King did not shout–no one rushed after her to demand that she return.
She was alone.
A smile spread over her face. She was alone. In the castle–and the Goblin King was at least temporarily distracted. Before her the antechamber opened onto passageways to the right and left as well as in front of her, all lit with the soft glow of torches that hung from the brackets on the wall as far as she could see.
She could go anywhere.
She drained her glass, and the champagne bubbled delicately all the way down to her stomach. Despite her exhaustion, her feet felt light as she turned and walked quickly towards the passageway on her right.
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