Page 15 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

The Fae grew even more restless, and ruthless. Bored. The gates between worlds became dangerous places. War scratched and bit at the earth. Magic stifled and tangled. It devoured and strangled and stole. From anyone. From everyone. It had no court, no king.

When the blood started to stain the rivers and the grass, treaties and bargains were made.

Thus, the Revels were born, a Tithe paid between worlds.

Only thirteen would be taken through the faery ring. The Tithes had to go willingly—but as ever, Fae bargains were tricky things. Once taken, the Tithes provided entertainment. Where music and dance was once enough, now the Labyrinth offered trials to be defeated. The winner had to prove themselves worthy of having their wish granted. And the rest were promised to the Fae courts for the remainder of their lives, to serve and to amuse.

Some bargains worked out better than others. Some wishes were worth the risk.

Only the desperate made a wish to the Fae.

And only the desperate answered.

The Wishing Well was guarded by a gray thorn tree with gnarled branches reaching every which way. It was hung with bones wrapped in gold thread, mermaid teeth in glass vials, the wings of beetles strung together like a banner.

Will-o’-the-wisps danced, lights flickering, urging revelers to abandon the village square, the cozy hearth, and dance out on the edge of the crashing sea below the wall. Something hungry sang a song below.

The longest night of the year meant something different to the Fae.

Pippa took the narrow path edged with dangerous flowers poking through the snow. She came to three iron nails crossing each other in a circle of salt.

The last warning.

Pippa stepped closer.

There were candles nestled between the foxgloves and set along the roots of the tree. The flames suddenly leapt, burning too high, dancing blue hearts eating at the gray bark. She hastily patted out the sparks. “Stop it,” she begged under her breath. Nothing good happened to those who burned down a Faery tree, accidentally or not.

The iron around her wrist bit at her flesh in warning. But it only served to harden her resolve. A white owl flew over her, screeching.

Her breath trembled as she approached the well. The gray stone was carved with spirals. There was deep darkness in its center, and the smell of cold water. The hairs on the back of Pippa’s neck lifted. Fae magic was a dark, primal thing. She knew if she leaned over any farther and looked into the water, something would look back.

She took a coin from her pocket.

She wanted to control her fire, wanted it enough to make a wish.

She tossed the coin into the darkness. It took a long moment before she heard the faintest splash.

A candle flame shot high.

And another.

She half expected the ground to open up under her feet or for someone to pluck her from the sky. But nothing else happened.

Only thirteen were chosen, after all. And wishes were being made all over Britain, not just Lyonesse.

And she was still just Pippa, desperately trying to put out the fire.

When everyone scattered to various parties and family suppers and cottage hearths, Pippa returned to the Library.

She considered retiring to her room but decided against it. The apprentice lodgings were reached by a covered walkway through a rose garden that grew roses bigger than anywhere else in the country, even before the unfortunate incident with the theft of a moon charm that had overrun the island with roses and a sleep curse. Librarians were known to forget to go outside, more used to the jewel-like glow of the famous stained glass windows than actual sunlight. The gardens were meant to lure them out once in a while. They were stunningly magnificent…and yet still not as effective as expected.

Roses were nice, but books on the symbolism of roses in fairy tales or the uses of rosehips in tonics for the blood and thorns rolled in black salt for hexes were so much more interesting.

There was a reason witch Librarians were ill suited for any other work. It was a peculiar calling, and one Pippa adored. Where better to spend solstice night, than waiting for the sun to rise among books that had seen hundreds of solstices?

Especially as it might well be her last chance to do so.

She wound her way through the corridors and stone arcades of the University, frost glittering on the ivy leaves. The heels of her shoes found the worn grooves, leading to the side door of the Library.