Page 38 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

Pippa nodded, smiling the same placating smile that she saved for Mr. Brackenberry. She was starting to wonder if the old ghost also had hob blood. “I meant no disrespect.”

“A Tithe washing dishes,” Hedgewort muttered, as scandalized as any elderly spinster on her first seaside vacation. “The very idea.”

“Terribly sorry,” Pippa tried again.

Lachlan nearly smiled. It was crooked and sweet, and she found herself staring, utterly bound. No fairy fruit or fairy wine required.

Hedgewort stomped to a door painted with owls and opened it, still eyeing her suspiciously.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Pippa murmured, and there was no placating, no politeness. It was simply the truth. Everything was silver and the sharp pale green of spring leaves. Silver thread on a silk coverlet, green velvet cushions, black marble floors. There were rugs and tapestries and clever little tables carved to look like they were cradled on owl wings. And there were books on the padded windowsill, a perfect corner to curl up and read in. The titles, Pippa could not help but notice, were some of her favorites.

And there were moths: embroidered on the drapery, carved into the stones, painted on the mantel. “This is much nicer than your oubliette,” she remarked to Lachlan.

“The oubliette!” Hedgewort squeaked. His next words were more of a roar. “Where are your manners, boy?” This time, his cane definitely made contact with Lachlan—with his shin, to be precise.

Lachlan swore and slid Pippa a sidelong glance. “You did that on purpose.”

She smiled innocently. “I did, yes.”

Hedgewort wagged his cane again, very threateningly, and then vanished. She needn’t have worried about his navigating the stairs. Lachlan leaned in the doorway, watching her skim her fingertips over the coverlet embroidered with more silver moths, the crystal candlestick holder, the ornate mantelpiece.

The table of fruits seemed to multiply in front of her eyes. There were purple grapes and plums and cherries. Pears and apricots and gooseberries. Figs and pomegranates. Her mouth watered.

Lachlan’s voice was a whip of power. “Don’t eat the fruit, Pippa.”

Her name cut through the longing, the craving, the way she licked her top lip, desperate for a taste. A single bite. She wrenched her gaze away. “Why have so much fruit here if I cannot eat it?”

“I didn’t put it there,” he said. “It’s Elphame trying to keep you.”

“Aren’t I already trapped?” she asked. The blackberries looked so ripe and perfect. She just knew they would be tart and sweet on her tongue. And since she was already a Tithe, what was the harm, really?

Except when she swayed closer, Lachlan was there again. A sword cutting through the soft veils, the silver thread, the longing. She swallowed back tears.

“There are many ways to be bound,” he said quietly. “And I may still get you home. Don’t give up yet.”

If he found a way to get her home before she won her wish, what was she going home to? Uncontrollable fire? Being banished from every library on Lyonesse? In Britain?

Easier to eat a blackberry. Bite into an apple. Lick peach juice as it ran down her wrist.

“Pippa.”

She finally dragged her gaze back up to Lachlan’s face.

“Don’t move,” he ordered. He tugged the lace curtains from the window and draped them over the fruits. It helped.

Pippa inhaled a shaky breath.

Lachlan slipped in the space between her and the fruits and pointed to another table she had not even noticed. There were baskets of dark breads, cinnamon pastries, shortbread cookies. There was meat stew, roasted carrots, and tiny potatoes coated in butter. A teapot engraved with moths, a coffee carafe. “This you can eat,” he said. “As much as you’d like.”

She nodded and went straight to the teapot. The cups were delicate crystal that caught the light and threw rainbows. The tea was strong and scalding and put her to rights. She nodded again. “If I cannot handle a table of fruits, how am I going to get through the Labyrinth?”

“Fae temptations are meant to trap you as sure as any bargain,” Lachlan said. “You did better than Professor Fairfax when he visited two years ago,” he added.

Professor Fairfax made other professors cry on a regular basis.

“I had to punch him in the face and then tie him to a chair. He still wept when the gooseberry tarts appeared.”

Pippa bit her lip on a startled chuckle. “I remember he had a bruised eye. That was you?”