Page 26 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

Chapter Seven

Pippa fought the wave of lightheadedness as the light seared her eyes and the scent of roses choked her. She stumbled back, but Lachlan was right behind her, blocking her path.

“Ah-ah,” he scolded softly. “You made a wish,” he reminded her, voice quiet but hard. The silver-tipped thorns of her flower circlet stung her scalp. “And I heard you.”

“I didn’t wish for this!”

“We both know that’s not how magic works,” he said.

She knew it. She nodded once, trying to locate her courage and seize it with both hands.

“Tithes, step forward.” The Swan Queen’s voice was like a bird, soaring and dipping into the crowd.

Thirteen humans stepped forward, some hesitating; some stepping boldly. As the milling crowd cleared, a giant walking spinning wheel was revealed, turned by an unseen hand. A ribbon fluttered from a spoke, creating a kind of rhythm, an eerie song.

“One drop of blood to seal your oath,” Kerne demanded. “Should you try to run, the Hunt will track you down. Never doubt it. You are ours and ours you will remain.”

That was hardly welcoming.

Neither was the way he looked directly at Pippa when he spoke.

“For the Hawk Court, Roman.”

Roman strode toward the spinning wheel and jabbed himself in the thumb, not waiting for the assistance of one of the sprites who pouted. Magic sparked as his blood seeped into the wood. Kerne kept the sharpened silver tip stained with his blood and replaced it with a new one. As spinning wheels did not generally sport such sharp edges, it was purely for the magic of it. The bite of pain. The binding hex on blood. Fae tricks.

“For the Swan Court, Hellebore.” Hellebore was small and lean and had the air of someone who could rip out your heart with her teeth and carry on with her day.

“For Serpent Court, Molly.” Molly was brown haired and buxom. “Musician.”

“For the Toad Court, Vesta. Midwife.”

The names went on: Ophelia the fiddler, Ennis the acrobat, Jude the painter. Artist, poet, musician. The wheel spun, gorged on drops of blood. Beth, for the Hare Court, trembled violently when she approached. And then it was Pippa’s turn.

“And for the Owl Court, Pippa of the Hallow Library.”

Pippa took her turn at the spinning wheel. Fae magic was so thick inside the circle that it was like walking through honey: sticky, sweet, surprisingly strong. She pricked her thumb, the pain sharp and quick. A drop of bright red welled on her skin. Kerne added the silver spindle needle tip to the basket with the others. Iron nails were wound around the handle, with red thread knotted across.

Pippa joined the Thirteen, roses twining at their feet, linking them together.

“You have thirteen days to enjoy the Revels,” Kerne announced. “Tonight you may return home, after which the Hunt will be summoned should you try to cross through a ring without permission.”

There would be no fairy ring to take them away from this. No way back home.

“But for now, the Courts’ pleasures are yours to command,” Cai added. His crown glinted, his teeth white as petals. “You will be bound by the rules of hospitality, and cannot be harmed, not by Fae hands, nor by the other Tithes. Until you enter the Labyrinth. Solve it and your wish is granted.”

There was a hush, the kind of pause that shivered up the spine. “You made your wishes willingly,” Kerne said. “But there are always those who wish to change their minds. To rescind.”

Before she could even decide whether to rescind her wish, Lachlan’s palm closed over her mouth. He pressed her head back against his chest. She was pinned again. There was no give to his hard frame, to the magic lashing through the bower. To the desperation trampling through her. “I wouldn’t,” he advised quietly.

“I withdraw,” Beth called out with the same desperate relief Lachlan refused to let Pippa feel. Beth wore red shoes, and had freckles on her nose. The Hare Queen behind her sighed, annoyed.

Dread uncurled like the vines of roses, strangling Pippa.

But Beth had already spoken. Everything inside Pippa wanted to shout at her to stop. To take it back. Lachlan was both a standing stone, immovable at her back, and sharp as a sword.

“You made a wish,” Kerne said. There was no anger in his face, only the flickering gilt of the lightning above. “Did you not?”

“Not for this.”