Page 106 of A Lady’s Guide to Fae Kings

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The Grendel was nearly three times as tall as Pippa and as wide as a bull. It had shaggy gray fur, and lethal claws.

And it did not like being at the center of the Labyrinth any more than they did.

It was trapped inside a circle of iron nails, just out of reach of a fairy ring of moss and red-capped mushrooms. Blood matted its fur.

Hellebore swung her sword, making ready.

“Don’t!” Pippa shouted before she could attack.

“I don’t owe you anything, Librarian,” Hellebore spat. “And I need that wish.”

“The wish will only get you killed,” Pippa said.

Hellebore snorted. “Sod off with that shite.”

Pippa knew she could not convince the other woman, and she definitely could not fight her off. She called on her fire, cracking it like whips. It sizzled, cutting into the grass, slashing at Hellebore’s boots.

“I’ll stab you in the throat,” Hellebore promised.

Molly frowned. “What do you mean, the wish will kill us?”

“Someone’s trying to steal it,” Pippa replied.

“Yes, you are!” Hellebore spat.

“Someone else wants the power of the wish and is using old magic to get it. It requires the sacrifice of the winning Tithe.”

“You’re lying,” Hellebore said.

Molly sighed, annoyed. “You and I both know she’s not the type.”

“I don’t care.”

The whips of fire snapped again. Roman came thundering up the side of the hill, closely followed by Jude. They would outnumber Pippa and overpower her soon. She called on the dregs of her fitful fire, shaping it into a moat around her and the Grendel.

The Grendel growled and clacked her impressive jaws.

Pippa could read twenty-seven languages. Regrettably, she did not speak Grendel. But she could hazard an educated guess that Grendel dialects were likely close to those of Orcs and Minotaurs. They had similar legends, after all. They were even sorted in the same section of the Library. Surely that meant something. Not that she needed to translate the general gnashing and growling. That was easy enough to understand.

But she needed a dose of Fae trickery, because she was not about to decapitate the poor thing, even if she were strong enough to make the attempt. Instead, Pippa scrawled in the sand in several different languages: Orc, Minotaur, but also Troll and Ogre and ancient Norse for good measure. If it was good enough for Beowulf, it was good enough for her.

In the end, it was a combination of Old English, Norse, and Minotaur that worked.

We want the same thing, Pippa wrote. The fire continued to burn around them, keeping the others out. But it was faltering. She was running out of magic, out of everything. Hellebore was promising to cut her head off after she did the same to the Grendel.

We want to get out of here and stop this Tithe. Please help me. Please. You’ll be free.

The Grendel paused, tilting its head.

Pippa waited, spine prickling, breath clogging in her throat.

The Grendel finally nodded once.

Pippa wilted in relief. “Thank God.” She approached slowly, stopping when the Grendel snarled softly. “I won’t hurt you.” She crept closer and waited. Closer still.

She was nearly in reach when Hellebore threw one of her daggers, slicing Pippa’s upper arm. She jerked, pain biting and blood staining her sleeve. The Grendel roared.