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Dru had never thought of herself as much of a dress person, and certainly not a gown person—she was a black T-shirts and blacker eyeliner kind of girl. But the feel of the fabric under her fingertips was strangely seductive. Each dress was different—one was like the overlapping petals of roses, in shades of pink, red, and cream, one seemed spun of silver spiderwebs, and another was deep velvet in a shade like morning glories: a jewel-like purplish violet.

Dru let her fingers sink into the nap of the velvet dress. “This one,” she said.

Elara helped her into the gown, which slid over her like warm water, soft and smooth. There were gold clasps at the wrists, turning back the sleeves to show that the dress was lined in gold silk. More gold silk edged the low-cut neckline. The skirt clung to her hips before falling in folds to the stone floor.

Dru caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the stone basin where she washed her hands. The purple of the dress contrasted sharply with the blue green of her eyes, and the soft velvet hugged her body in a way that made her look more mature, her curves more lush. Even her dyed-black hair seemed shinier, the blue streaks more vibrant. The ability to flatter must be sewn into the material, Dru thought, a faerie glamour of sorts.

Elara was looking at Dru critically. “Something else is needed.” She reached up and pulled a pair of objects out of her own hair, letting it fall over her shoulders in coiled braids. “Here. These will look nice.”

They were hairpins, made of thin, delicate silver. Dru’s eyes flicked from them to Elara, who was holding them out to her with a placid smile. Faeries cannot lie with words, but they can with expressions, gestures, even laughter.

“Thanks.” Dru took them, twisted her hair into a messy bun at the back of her head, and tucked the hairpins into it. It was the closest she’d been to having a weapon of her own in days. She felt a little shiver, just as a knock came at the door.

“Come. Bonecrusher will lead you to the banquet.” Elara gestured for Dru to follow her, and together they went out into the hallway, where a redcap guard with a patchy beard and gleaming yellow eyes, wearing the rust-stained uniform of his kind, was waiting for them.

Bonecrusher, Dru thought wryly. Now, there’s a reassuring name.

He was not alone. Behind him, her wrists bound with silver wire, was Clary, whose eyes widened when she saw Dru. Clary, too, had been put into a gown, but hers was of a rather unfortunate pink lace, with ruffles around the hem. Her hair was threaded with white pearls. To Dru’s relief, she bore no visible bruises or signs of mistreatment.

Dru started toward her, but the redcap guard moved between them. “This one’s hands must also be bound,” he said to Elara, who stepped back reluctantly. In a moment, he had fastened the same wire around Dru’s wrists, tight enough to hurt. “Follow behind me,” he said, and set off down the corridor.

Bonecrusher remained a step ahead of them as they went, and Elara a few steps behind, her eyes on the ground.

“Are you okay?” Dru whispered while they made their way down the darkened corridors. Torches had been set at intervals along the walls, burning with blue-green fire. Dru could hear raised voices, slightly muffled by distance and earth. Various of the gentry fey hurrying to the banquet, she guessed.

“I’m fine,” Clary said in a low voice. “The Queen came by to mock me, but I managed to ignore her. And Janus hasn’t laid a hand on me. Not yet. Though he did pick out this dress, which is a cruel and unusual punishment of its own.” She plucked at the pink lace in distaste. “Why do you get the gorgeous velvet dress and I look like a wedding cake?”

Clary’s voice was determinedly light. She’s trying to pretend like she’s not scared, like everything’s all right. She’s trying to protect me, Dru thought. She wanted to tell Clary that she’d been through horror before, that she was older inside than she looked on the outside.

But it was easier to play along. “Ash hasn’t treated me badly either,” she said. “He just wants me to train him in Shadowhunter fighting.”

“Is he any good at it?”

“He’s a natural,” Dru said glumly. “You know, I wonder why the Queen suddenly decided it was fine for the Court to know about us? I thought we were supposed to stay hidden.”

“I’ve met the Seelie Queen more than once,” Clary said. “She’s always playing some kind of game. Janus seems to think he has her under his influence, but…” She shook her head, which made the pearls in her hair shimmer. “I doubt it. The only interests she serves are her own. The only person she cares about is herself.”

Bonecrusher turned his head to glare at them. “Quiet. We’re nearly there.”

Clary and Dru exchanged a single apprehensive look before the corridor turned and opened up into a massive underground cavern, all its stone surfaces engraved with images so that it looked as if they were inside a cathedral, although the carvings depicted faerie battles, woods, and wild creatures instead of religious scenes.

Long stone benches, also carved into the walls, curved around a single great table made from a halved tree trunk. One seat sat empty at the table’s head; it was carved of bone, with a backrest that rose into the shape of two swans. The Queen’s.

The rock above was veined with luminescent moss, and will-o’-the-wisps, glowing, circled dangling crystals that caught and refracted the light, spinning rainbows across the room. No food had been laid out on the table yet, though there were serving maids, barefoot and dressed in gray, moving among the gentry, silver pitchers in their hands. Every so often someone would beckon one of them over, holding out an empty crystal goblet to be filled with scarlet wine. When the goblets caught the light, they glimmered like icicles dipped in blood.

Pretty, Dru thought. But of course it was pretty. Everything in Faerie was beautiful and deceitful, possessed of an aching loveliness like the haunting image of someone you adored, beckoning you closer and closer until you stepped directly off a cliff.

The moment she and Clary entered, a murmur went up among the assembled faeries. They were gentry fey, elegantly dressed in silks and velvets, gems sparkling on their fingers and around their necks. Among them, near the head of the table, was Ash, all in white. For the first time in Dru’s recollection, he was wearing a crown, a slim silver circlet that bound his brow.

He had been in conversation with the faeries seated nearest him, but looked up when Clary and Dru were brought in. His expression changed little, yet Dru thought he looked almost surprised at the sight of her.

In a moment, he had excused himself from the table and crossed the room to them. There was a scowl on his face. Most people looked unattractive when they scowled; Ash looked like an avenging angel, all stern fury and fiery beauty. It was like looking at the heart of a star.

Stop, Dru told herself. Remember: You can notice he’s hot, as long as you dismiss it.

“Unbind them,” Ash said to Bonecrusher, gesturing at Dru and Clary. Bonecrusher looked as if he wanted to object, but thought better of it. In a moment, Dru’s wrists were free. They ached and her fingers tingled, but she refused to acknowledge the pain. It would have felt like weakness.

“Come, Aunt Clarissa,” Ash said smoothly, as if the last time he’d seen Clary he hadn’t been firing daggers in her direction. “I will show you the place Janus has selected for you. And, Dru,” he added, as if she were an afterthought, “you will have to sit where the Queen can see you. She will wish to lay eyes upon you.”