Music guided them along deserted corridors. There was laughter interlaced with the notes, high-pitched and giggling, and Lily felt Troy tense more and more with each step.

“Any last-minute advice?” Lily said when they could see open space beyond the arch of their corridor.

“Do endeavor not to appear too out of place.”

And then they had crossed the arch and had joined the ball. The music enveloped them and thrummed in Lily’s veins like a living thing, and it was all she could do not to join the dancing figures that twirled and twisted around, silk skirts and scarves trailing behind like a kaleidoscope. The dancers were all beautiful, perfect enough to be surreal. They were men and women, if men and women could be untouched by pain and worry and grief, if they didn’t know the meaning of time and toil, if their only purpose in life were to be admired and make merry.

“Gaping does make you appear out of place,” said Troy in her ear.

Lily clamped her mouth shut and wrenched her eyes from the whirlwind of color and life that devoured the center of the party. She turned her eyes to the edges of the room and noticed her hand had fallen from Troy’s elbow without her consent and she had taken a couple of steps ahead of him, wanting to join the revelry.

She kept forgetting how this beauty was meant to mask the dangerous and, when she moved closer to the high, white stone walls that encircled the glen where the ball took place, she remembered stories of humans dancing and dancing until death. After listening to the faerie music, watching their fluid motions and experiencing the longing to be part of the festivities, she could see where the danger came from.

“Okay. I’ve got it now,” she said, ignoring his dubious look. “Where is he?”

Troy pointed discreetly with his chin and she lifted her eyes to find rows of exquisitely carved balconies. Some stood empty, but ethereal figures lounged in others, watching the dancing from afar. One of such figures, a man of white-blond hair and silver robes over silver-blue clothing, was leaning on the railing and staring at them. While Lily looked at him, he pushed back and disappeared into the shadows.

“He saw us. Let us reach the tables in the back and meet him there.”

They began to circle around, avoiding the dancers at one side and trying not to shove the onlookers at the other. As they weaved their way, Lily saw that some of the attending fay, particularly those standing on the sidelines, didn’t look quite as human-like as her initial observation had led her to believe. Some were too thin, some were much too short, others presented a curious tinge to their skin. Those who were not too engrossed in the dance stared at her with curiosity and she tried to stiffen her back and hold her head high. She couldn’t blend in, but she could look like she didn’t care.

Just like Troy looked like he didn’t mind the hostile looks he received. From the moment they had entered the room, he had transformed like an actor on stage, shedding tension and worry and showing only a half smirk of mild entertainment. He looked like a tourist examining the little quaint traits of a people far beneath him, she realized. How he did it, how he could be so confident when he was surrounded by that many people staring at him was a mystery.

As if feeling her gaze on him, he sidestepped to walk by her side instead of guiding her. “You may relax,” he whispered. “This is not one of their main festivals and only the lower ranks of the court are present.”

“A mob this big is a pain, never mind the self-proclaimed importance of its members,” she said.

Troy laughed openly, drawing even more stares their way. “A mob. Bravo, Lily. That is one fitting name and I for one would enjoy their expression if they heard you bestow it upon them.”

“No, you wouldn’t. That’s the point where pitchforks come out, you know.” But she felt the corner of her lips tilting upward anyway. She tried to sober up then because it was not the time nor the place for jesting, much less at the expense of the very people she hoped to ask for information. “So, Troy. Can I ask you something?”

“You will do so regardless of the answer, will you not?” He cut her a sideways glance and smirked.

“I’m not that bad,” she grumbled.

“I beg to differ. But do tell me. What troubles you now?”

“Why are they looking at you?”

He stopped, the tables already in sight, and gave her an amused look. “Is that what you truly wish to ask?”

“No.” She sighed. “Why does it look like everybody here knows you and dislikes you?”

“I daresay it might be because they do,” he said. His eyes were laughing and she thought it wasn’t part of the mask of nonchalance he was wearing.

“You love being difficult.”

“I do enjoy it.” He resumed walking. “You almost played the game correctly this time, too.”

“But I didn’t almost win.”

“No. Not quite. Which makes me wonder how you intend to win the next match,” he said, nodding toward the lone figure that sat at a table, waiting for them with an unreadable smile.

Cadowain. Her grandmother’s former boyfriend.

Lily took a deep breath. “Well, to be honest, I would settle for a stalemate at this point.”

They reached the table and Troy pulled out a chair opposite Cadowain’s for her. When she took it, he leaned in and his lips brushed her ear. A shiver ran down her spine and her cheeks flushed, involuntarily providing the perfect farce to hide one last message.

“Never aim for anything less than victory, Lily.”