Okay then.
If she couldn’t get through on her own, she’d have to find a partner and dance her way across. She tried stepping onto the floor and waving, but it seemed she was once again invisible to the dancers.
The gorgeously gowned and extravagantly suited dancers.
She glanced down at her clothing: the leggings tucked into rugged boots, the rustic vest and woolen cloak. Definitely not the thing to wear to a ball.
Taking a deep breath, she summoned the copper apple again. If she was wrong, she’d waste the final wish. Giving the fruit a rub, she whispered the words.
“I need a fancy ball gown.”
The apple did its glittery thing, though instead of closing it simply vanished. Her last wish, gone. She desperately hoped it had been the right one.
With a whoosh, a gown made of gauze and satin floated down out of the air. Its bodice was deepest rose, the skirts shading out to purple. The overskirt was a silver material that flowed and glimmered like water. It was gorgeous, though not exactly the best outfit for doing battle.
If this worked, though, she wouldn’t have to fight. Spark pulled off her cloak and placed it, and her bow and arrows, into her inventory. She tugged the gown over her vest and breeches, and kept her boots on, her dagger firmly tucked in place.
The gown settled about her like rays of sunset, the skirts just skimming the floor. Now all she needed was a partner.
As if the thought had summoned him, a tall faerie approached. He was clad in silken fabric that flowed from deep purple to midnight black. His long, pale hair hung unbound down his back, held away from his face by a circlet of braided ivy.
He was completely dreamy—if you counted nightmares in that description. His eyes were full of terrors, and Spark swallowed, hard, when he held out his hand.
“Dance, milady?” he asked, in a voice that sounded soft. The way a cat’s paw was soft, until it shot out its wickedly sharp claws.
But she didn’t have much choice if she wanted to get to the far end of the hall and snatch the silver apple.
She put her hand in his, trying not to flinch when his extra-long fingers closed over hers. His skin was cold and pale, as though he were crafted of the marble surrounding them. With a sharp smile, he drew her into the dance, one hand at the small of her back.
Spark gingerly set her hand on his shoulder. It hadn’t escaped her notice that his teeth ended in sharp points. The music rose about them, moving into a waltz tempo. Good—she kind of knew how to waltz, as opposed to the fancier moves she’d seen the dancers making earlier.
Despite her inexperience—did waltzing with her pillow when she was in middle school count?—she found herself gliding with ease. Her partner guided her surely about the floor, and there was probably some faerie magic in the air that helped. The hardest part was keeping track of where she was in relation to the apple.
Every time she got the location fixed, her partner would swirl her around and she’d lose sight of the silver apple again. His grip was firm and implacable, though he didn’t look at her as they waltzed. She was just as glad not to be the focus of those incredibly scary eyes.
Spark counted under her breath. Every twenty-four steps they’d circle back to the niche holding the apple. She counted twice more, to be sure.
The next pass around the hall, she was ready. At twenty-one, she braced herself. Twenty-two, lifted her arm. Twenty-three, ducked out into a twirl. Twenty-four, reached, ignoring the painful pull of the faerie’s grip.
She leaned out, stretching toward the shining silver fruit. Her fingertips brushed it, and it wobbled.
No—she’d missed.
In slow motion, the apple teetered and plummeted from its niche. The music slowed, and the dancers let out gasps of horror. Spark lunged, ripping free of her partner’s grasp, and hit the floor hard, one hand outstretched. Her other wrist bent too sharply, trapped between her and the marble, and she felt something give way with a snapping pain.
The apple fell into her palm, heavy and solid. Despite the agony in her left wrist, Spark smiled. Quest complete.
She looked up, expecting the fey dancers to rush her, demanding their prize back. But the hall was empty. She’d beaten all three challenges and won the silver apple.
With a whimper, she sat up. She tried to wiggle the fingers of her left hand, and hot fire flashed along her nerves, making her gasp.
Great. She’d won this round—but now she had a damaged wrist, and she hadn’t finished questing through to the Dark Court. Spark tucked the apple away, then rose to her feet, bracing herself against the smooth marble wall.
Now what? The idea of facing the queen one-handed wasn’t appealing. And if Jennet and Tam were right, her wrist would be injured in the real world, too. She had to log off and get medical attention. And somehow explain how she’d ended up getting hurt.