Page 43 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

Instead, she dropped low, grasping Hellebore’s wrists. She hissed. Pippa could not announce herself. She tapped on Hellebore’s arm and hoped it was enough. A Red Lady would not bother. Ennis would have stepped on her fingers. Roman might have stepped on her actual head.

Pippa tightened her grip and pulled. The ground was very far below them. The sun was burning the back of her neck. There was fire in her skull, in her bones, aching to be free, and her palms turned sweaty. Hellebore slipped, barely catching herself. Pippa gave another yank, and Hellebore managed to hoist herself up, her strong arms straining, her legs swinging up.

Some of the Fae behind them clapped. Too many made howls of disappointment, as if they had wanted to see Hellebore fall.

Pippa turned and smashed the nearest mirror on principle.

It felt rather good.

The Red Lady who had abandoned her for Ennis turned back at the Fae protests. Her eyes narrowed on Pippa, who slipped her bracelet off with trembling fingers. The fire surged to the surface, always eager to escape its iron prison. It seared through her, leaving equal parts dread and relief in its wake.

Don’t lose this.

You know your knot magic, don’t you?

Pippa was about to find out if it really was a clue.

Why Lachlan would bother giving her a clue in the first place would have to wait until later. He was still watching her, and his fist hit the mirror as though he were trying to get through it. Pippa let the fire rush through her body, into her hands. The heat made her queasy and her scars were slicked with sweat. You owe me, she thought at her magic.

She touched the red velvet around her neck, using her witch knot on the opposite palm as a funnel. The fire shot from her, hungry and wild. She focused on the velvet ribbon.

The first spark took the Red Lady by surprise.

The second was a conflagration, fire born of magic burned differently. Regular flames might not touch a spirit, but Pippa’s flames could. And her fire had been starved for so long.

Sparks bit at the ribbon, burning, burning.

When the ribbon knot burned away, the Red Lady grasped at her neck. Her head lolled dangerously. Blood dripped like rubies. Pippa’s voice came back, prickling painfully. “The ribbons,” she coughed out in case anyone else could hear her.

She flung her fire at the Red Lady cornering Ennis. The sparks danced prettily for a long moment, suspended like yellow pollen. Then they nibbled delicately at her garnet-studded snood, the embroidered panel of her bodice, and finally, finally, her red ribbon. The Red Lady opened her mouth on a silent screech, clutching at her neck.

Hellebore blinked, her pupils turning black, the irises back to brown. She glared at the Red Ladies, then at Pippa. “Run, idiot.”

Pippa ran.

Someone screamed from the other tower. It was followed by the sound of what could only be a body hitting the ground. Pippa leapt over the last few steps. Red petals scattered underfoot, crushed and smelling sweet. Hellebore was at her heels, blinking as if her sight was still blurry.

The oak tree sprawled majestically, iron skeleton keys dangling with the mirror shards, each flashing a Fae eye: lavender, or green, slitted like a cat’s, double-pupiled. All eager for their entertainment. The Tithes who had made it down the winding stairs ran toward the roots, intertwined like giant snakes. A gust of wind tossed the branches. It smelled like wine and salt. And blood. Mirrors clanged; acorns were crushed underfoot.

Roman punched Jude so hard he flew into the air.

Molly smiled softly and ducked under him, reaching up to snatch the first key. Hellebore snatched the second.

Pippa reached the last key where it spun on a red ribbon. Vesta tried to grab her, but Pippa had already pulled it free. She dropped it down into her stays, between her breasts.

Vesta shrieked, hands curling into claws. Roman swung his fist and nearly clipped Pippa in the eye, but she had caught a glimpse of him in a shard and ducked. She scrambled back out from under the tree. A bell rang.

The trial was over.

The Red Ladies, furious at having been foiled, did not agree. They continued to advance, circling the Tithes and the oak tree. A bell rang louder.

“Well, shite,” Molly said. “That’s not good.”

“Stay behind me,” Pippa said. The grass was already smoldering at her feet. Sparks danced like will-o’-the-wisps, waiting to lure an innocent traveler into a bog.

The fire burned in a circle around them, snapping at the Red Ladies when they tried to cross. Pippa’s eyes stung and blisters bit at her fingertips. She gritted her teeth and tried to rein the fire in.

She was not successful. The iron key heated between her breasts.