“I got it,” Niteesh said. “We’ll tell Vonda we have to brush up our PVP skills, since we know the Terabins are going to keep trying to jump us.”
“But we both won our duels with them,” Spark said. “It’s not a good enough excuse.”
“Then tell her your interface is glitchy, and that’s why you had issues today. Because, I tell you, your play was clearly off.”
More lies. She was getting tired of them—but what could she do?
“Okay. I’ll go back and talk to Vonda.”
“If that doesn’t work, we can always break into the FullD trailer late at night, bring an auxiliary power source, and get you going that way.” He grinned and flexed his fingers. “I’m good with security codes.”
“Too dangerous. I’m sure VirtuMax has serious safeguards on those systems. Let me talk to Vonda first, before we try anything too crazy.”
Though it could come to that. Her “glitchy interface” excuse would only work once, and Spark had a feeling she’d need a couple of sessions in-game to get to the Dark Court.
Jennet had talked a little bit about when she’d first played Feyland. There were several levels the gamer had to complete, each one leading closer and closer to the court, until at last they faced the Dark Queen.
Spark had to win her way to the court and battle the queen in order to free whoever was trapped there. The thought sent a chill down her spine. How much worse was it for the poor gamer who had somehow stumbled into the Realm of Faerie? Even now they could be in terrible danger.
Nine by Night: A Multi-Author Urban Fantasy Bundle of Kickass Heroines, Adventure, Magic
CHAPTER TWELVE
Aran followed Thomas down the dim path leading to the Dark Court. His fingers were cold, and he pulled the thick cloak closer about his shoulders. Not that a fancy new outfit could ease the chill he felt at the thought of standing before the Dark Queen again.
Thomas had come up with an intricate set of clothing for Aran to wear for his audience. The shirt and close-fitting pants were nice and basic, but the tooled leather boots and vest embroidered in indigo and silver were too gaudy for his taste. Still, he didn’t argue about putting them on. At least the dark blue cloak covered much of the vest, and he could live with the ornate pin holding it closed at his throat.
Thomas paused at the edge of the court clearing, his figure silhouetted by the eerie violet light of the bonfire.
“Any last-minute advice?” Aran asked. He tried to make the question cocky, though it came out a little scared.
“Speak but few words. The less you say, the less fuel you provide for the queen’s anger.”
“Right.”
At some point, Aran intended to find out why the queen was so mad. So far, Thomas had dodged his questions, claiming it wasn’t a good idea to discuss anywhere near the Dark Court.
“Show me your formal bow once again,” Thomas said.
“Are you sure it’s necessary?”
Although Aran thought of himself as fairly coordinated, the complex court bow Thomas had drilled into him was not an easy move to master.
“Yes.” There was no room for argument in Thomas’s tone.
With a deep breath, Aran swept back the cloak, then stepped forward onto his right foot. He dipped low, sweeping his right arm out, while his left went behind him for balance. When he started to straighten, Thomas tapped him on the back.
“Hold,” he said. “You may not rise until the queen gives you leave.”
“My leg is killing me.”
“’Tis not a matter for joking, BlackWing. More than your leg will be in pain, should you disrespect the queen.”
Aran gritted his teeth and held the position, ignoring the hot jabs of discomfort in his muscles. Yeah, he was a rebel, like Spark had said—but there were times when you played by the rules. Until you knew when, where, and how to break them.
“Rise,” Thomas said. “You are ready.”
Provided he didn’t fall flat on his face. Aran unbent and rocked back onto his heels, easing the tension from his body.
“Ready as I’ll be,” he said. “Lead on.”
As they stepped into the clearing, the babble of fey voices rose. The figures cavorting in front of the fire paused, watching him with avid gazes. At the far side of the clearing, a tall figure stood, his head crowned with antlers gilded silver by the distant moon. Lithe hounds curled, serpentine, around his feet. There was something incredibly creepy about him, and Aran averted his eyes.
Thomas led him past the banquet tables laid with food he couldn’t eat. Not that he’d want to—the silver goblets were filled with a heavy, dark red liquid that looked like blood, and the delicacies glowed with strange colors on their burnished plates.