Page 94 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

As he began to sing the old spells, more leaves grew from his head, from his knuckles and his knees. He was as green as a midsummer garden. His saplings leaned toward him.

Pippa swiped an ointment of paper dust and ink on the back of her neck before tucking the vial away. It was an old-fashioned spell, not often used. It was so rarely needed in the Library, where there were scores of scribes dedicated to writing everything down, and spells available for the patrons who did not have assistants. It might not be fashionable any longer, but it worked all the same.

The words etched themselves onto her skin. It stung and prickled, but after years of ignoring the searing pain of her binding spell, she barely blinked. Lachlan still watched her, calculating, frowning faintly. He would sense the magic, even if he could not see its effects yet.

“NO SNOW!” Cornelius bellowed suddenly.

Pippa jumped, startled. The snow that Lachlan wore as a crown dissipated. Cornelius grumbled, gingerly patting an oak sapling several feet away.

“Mr. Yarrow?” Pippa said cautiously. “Is that all you can remember?”

He turned to frown at her. “I remembered it all! And I even have my notes right here.” He pulled a folded stack of pages from a basket under his desk, smeared with earth. “I remember where everything is. He has to wait outside.”

Lachlan straightened, silver eye gleaming a warning. Pippa widened her own eyes at him and nodded to the door. He waited far too long—just to be contrary, she was certain—before he ducked under the lintel. He left the door open. Pointedly.

Cornelius sighed with relief. “That’s better. A bit of winter is good for a tree, but not for a sapling. And it makes me sleepy.”

“I do apologize for him,” Pippa said.

“Don’t,” Lachlan called from where he leaned against a stone urn. One of the toads hopped onto his foot.

Pippa closed the door in his face.

Cornelious cackled. “Much better,” he said. “You should leave him and join the Solitary Fae. We are much more interesting.”

An icicle formed on the end of his nose. He batted at it with a stifled yelp. Frost crawled across the window pane with an ominous crackle. Lachlan’s owl landed, pecking at the glass.

“You are not helping,” Pippa called, knowing perfectly well they could both hear her through the door.

The frost halted but did not melt away. Cornelius shot it a concerned glance.

“Are there more spells?” Pippa asked. None of the ones he had sung seemed connected to wish magic. “So that I may take him away from your garden as soon as may be?”

Cornelius nodded and closed his blackberry-dark eyes as he recited the last verses at a considerably quicker pace. The words chased each other across her skin.

“Thank you, Mr. Yarrow.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied. “Miss Cavendish.” He winked. “Keep him on his toes. It doesn’t do for those ones to get too high in the instep.”

“I completely understand.”

Pippa thanked him again and hurried out of the cottage before her fire nibbled free of its restraints. Her heart felt lodged in her throat. Possibly permanently.

Lachlan straightened. “You never said you were a mesmerist,” he said. “Nothing else could account for the total capitulation I just witnessed. Do you know how rare it is for a tree spirit to talk to anyone at all? Never mind sing an entire compilation of spells on request?”

“I have been dealing with irascible men for a very long time.”

“Are you calling me irascible?”

“Quite.”