4
A n eerie quiet had settled over Spring. No birdsong, no breeze shivering through the tall grass, no sound of laughter echoing through the trees. Never had Clarion seen Pixie Hollow quite like this. It felt almost desolate.
Darkness descended slowly, trickling down through the cherry blossom trees and onto the meadows. Far below her, she caught a glimpse of her glow reflected on a pond. Fading sunlight glittered on the water, but with no water-talents to carve ripples into it, the surface was disconcertingly glass-like in its stillness. One of the dewdrop mosaics Iris had mentioned lay unfinished on the shore, clearly abandoned once the scouts had sounded the alarms.
As she neared the border, the sound of rushing water reached Clarion. Gradually, the trees thinned as they shied away from a river’s muddy banks. With a flutter of her wings, Clarion descended and landed with a soft thud of her slippers in the grass. Blackberries and sweetbriar grew wild in the underbrush, and the delicate smell of evening primrose perfumed the air. As she approached the river dividing Spring from Winter, she felt oddly exposed, with no woods enfolding her and the glow of her wings undampened by a traveling cloak. She’d never been this close to the border before.
She’d never been this alone.
A root of the Pixie Dust Tree twisted out of the earth and spanned the river’s breadth. Bridges like this one existed between each season in an unbroken ring: from Winter to Spring, Spring to Summer, Summer to Autumn, and Autumn to Winter. When Clarion first arrived, their existence had puzzled her. What use did fairies have for them, when so few of them walked anywhere at all? Now, she marveled at the powerful magic flowing through them.
The four seasons existed simultaneously in Pixie Hollow, thanks to the roots of the Pixie Dust Tree binding them together in one place. A thought—one she knew very well she should not entertain—bubbled up in her mind: If Winter and the warm seasons were truly meant to be apart, then why did this bridge exist at all?
A distant rustle of the trees snapped her from her thoughts. Unease worked its way down her spine in a shiver. The sound had come from the Winter Woods. When she turned her attention to it, she would have sworn she saw a flash of light disappear behind a row of stark white trees. The dark knotholes on their trunks stared back at her like unblinking eyes.
Perhaps she’d found what she’d come for, after all.
Steeling herself, Clarion stepped onto the bridge. Halfway across, the lush moss carpeting the bark gave way to a thick layer of snow. Icicles dripped off its sides, glinting wickedly in the glare of sunset. Clarion stopped just short of the frost lacing the very edge of Spring.
In the gloaming, everything across the river was painted in silver and charcoal. Flurries drifted lazily through the air, a cold mirror to the cherry blossoms floating down from Spring’s canopy. The snowfall seemed to her a veil separating their worlds. It felt more magical than she’d anticipated, but she could not let down her guard—or forget why she had come here in the first place.
The shadows seemed darker in Winter, but her wings gave off enough light to see by. Pixie dust shed from them as she moved, the motes glowing like embers in the darkness. The snow blanketing the earth was undisturbed: no paw prints, no divots, nothing. The scout had said this monster resembled a fox. If it was large enough to be seen at a great distance, radiating some sinister aura, where could it have gone?
Suddenly, she felt very foolish indeed. She must have imagined that sound entirely. What had she been thinking, wandering off in search of a monster? At the time, the plan had seemed so obvious—so sensible . Now, she saw it for how ridiculous it was. The stress and the doubt of her impending coronation had muddled everything. The truly sensible thing to do would be to turn back now.
But then, where did that leave her? She could not bear the thought of returning to her empty bedroom, or worse, to a council chamber she’d been shut out of.
Besides, she was here , so near to a place that had called to her for years. It was so strangely tempting to reach out and catch a snowflake. Even this close to the border, the spring air still held its pleasant evening chill. How close would she have to get to feel the bite of true cold? Very tentatively, she brought her hand to the very edge of the border, letting it hover a bare inch away from the flurries. Finally, she felt the slightest sigh of winter against her skin. Steeling herself, she let her fingers slip through to the other side.
Bone-deep cold seized hold of her, sharp and sudden enough to make her gasp. It raised all the hairs on the backs of her arms. Clarion snatched her hand back and puffed warm breath into her cupped palms. Well, she certainly had no doubts now about her inability to cross. Even so, the sting left her somewhat exhilarated. She’d never felt anything quite like it.
Another flicker of movement caught her attention. This time, she could see it clearly: a faint silver glow glaring out of the darkness. No, she thought, an aura. The spectral light wreathed a shadow peeling off from the night itself. Clarion fluttered backward a few feet. This was it: the monster.
“Stay back!”
But as soon as the words left her mouth, the shadow came into focus. Clarion tried and failed to swallow her growing mortification. This was no monster.
It was a sparrow man.
He looked to be delicately shaped from snow, with his fair skin and bone-white hair. It fell to his shoulders, with half of it pulled back from his face to reveal the pointed tips of his ears. His wings shimmered like ice beneath the light of the fading sun. Against the stark backdrop of Winter, he was almost…ethereal.
A winter fairy.
She had not imagined a winter fairy would be so unassuming. He was just a boy , no older than her. And yet, looks could be deceiving. She could not underestimate him.
She arranged her face into some semblance of composure. Too late, evidently, for he lifted his hands placatingly and said, “My apologies. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
His politeness surprised her even more than his sudden appearance had.
“You didn’t,” she said guardedly.
“Well,” he replied, visibly taken aback, “that’s a relief.”
The winter fairy slowly drew closer to the border, his every stride measured, as though giving her the opportunity to retreat. She forced herself to remain rooted where she stood. With each step he took, the snow crunched beneath his boots and her anticipation mounted. He stopped just at the edge of the border.
This close, she could see every plane of his face, from his broad cheekbones to his square jaw. There was no warmth in the young sparrow man’s eyes. His gaze was wary and trained on her, as though she were a wounded animal poised to strike. Whatever mistrust Clarion harbored, it seemed it was entirely mutual.
“Who are you?” Clarion demanded. Her voice came out exactly as she’d practiced: authoritative, cool, dispassionate. The voice of a queen, even if it wasn’t exactly her voice.
“I don’t mean any harm,” he said. Clarion resisted the urge to laugh. As if simply saying that could put her at ease. “My name is Milori.”
“And what business do you have here”—she paused, giving him another once-over—“Milori?”
If he was at all bothered by her skeptical tone, he did not show it. From his neutral expression to his drawn-back shoulders, he was the very picture of confidence. “I’ve come to request an audience with the Queen of Pixie Hollow.” After a pause, he added, “And it seems I’ve gotten one.”
“You know who I am?” In her shock, Clarion abandoned her queenly hauteur. The question sounded far more hopeful than she intended.
“Of course I do.” He sounded almost puzzled. A strange glint entered his eye—one not entirely unpleasant but one that she couldn’t exactly read.
It hardly mattered to her, because he knew who she was .
He knew who she was, and he hadn’t flinched away from her or demurred or panicked. She could count on one hand the number of fairies who dared look her in the eye—who dared speak to her unbidden at all. Perhaps they had no respect or love for warm-season royalty in the Winter Woods, but she would gladly take impertinence over reverence.
“May I ask what gave it away?” she asked, trying not to sound too eager.
That glint in his eyes intensified. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he looked amused. “Your regal bearing.”
Clarion glared at him. “I beg your pardon?”
His smirk indicated she had rather proven his point. “And your wings,” he added, more soberly. “They’re very distinctive—and bright. I saw you coming at quite a distance away.”
Self-consciously, Clarion folded them against her back. She suddenly wished she had brought her traveling cloak after all. “I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not actually the Queen of Pixie Hollow. You’re looking for Queen Elvina. I’m only the queen-in-training.”
And not a very good one, at that, she almost added.
“I see,” he replied. All of the mirth drained from his expression. Clarion found she missed it when it was gone; such somberness did not belong on a face like his. “And what do I call you?”
A small part of her knew that she should insist on decorum. No one called her by her name but Elvina and Petra. Your Highness, she almost said. But what came out of her mouth was “Clarion.”
“Clarion,” he repeated. How strange it was to hear her name in his lilting accent—in that voice as cool and smooth as a pane of glass. It made a shiver pass through her, one that had nothing to do with the cold.
Clarion smoothed her hands over her skirts, doing her best to appear disinterested. “Shall I pass on your message to Queen Elvina?”
“If you would. Tell her that the Warden of the Winter Woods wishes to speak with her. It’s an urgent matter—one that concerns both our realms.”
Could he be talking about the monster? Her mind whirred with the possibilities. She had hoped to bring information back to Elvina—and what information could be more valuable than something that came from the Warden of the Winter Woods himself?
“She’ll never agree to it.” It wasn’t a lie; Elvina had never exactly encouraged her interest in the Winter Woods. “But perhaps I can meet with the warden.”
A rather peculiar expression crossed his features, there and gone in an instant. “That can be arranged, if you wish.”
Clarion fought to keep the excitement from pouring out of her. She’d have to orchestrate another escape, which might prove difficult once the situation had stabilized. But for the safety of Pixie Hollow—for the chance to prove herself—she could manage it. “I do. Just tell me when—and where.”
“Would here and now work?”
“Here and…?” Clarion nearly toppled into the river as the realization struck her. Milori was the Warden of the Winter Woods. The Warden of the Winter Woods was here , speaking to her as though it were the most natural thing in the world. She could not keep the accusation out of her voice when she said, “You might have begun with that! Do they not teach propriety in Winter? And what is the Warden of the Winter Woods doing on the border?”
“I suppose the same thing the Queen of Pixie Hollow is.” He paused to consider it. “Or the queen-in-training, as it were. You’re looking for something.”
She could not argue with that. She crossed her arms over her chest and pinned him with a challenging stare. “I suppose I am.”
The silence pulled taut between them.
“I’m happy to conduct our meeting from this distance,” he said, tilting his head at her. Wryness played over his features as he surveyed the space she’d created when he first emerged from the woods. “But it might be easier if you came closer.”
The snowfall thickened, and when a wind gusted by, it swirled around him, partially obscuring him from view. The border was as good as a barrier between them. Besides, if he’d meant her any harm, beyond the blow he’d already dealt to her dignity, he surely would have done something by now. Tentatively, Clarion crossed the distance between them again and came to stand just on the edge of Spring. Frost crunched beneath her feet when she landed.
Clarion resented the fact she had to tip her head back just slightly to meet his gaze. His eyes were as gray as the winter sky and steady on hers, and there was such terrible weariness behind them. The realization made her feel oddly off-kilter. What could trouble him enough to wear it so plainly?
Up close, she drank him in anew. A few stray wisps of hair curled around his pointed ears. But what struck her the most were his arms, wiry with muscle and completely bare beneath his lamb’s-ear tunic. She couldn’t fathom how he wasn’t chilled. Passing her hand through the border for one moment had been enough to pierce her to the bone. Would he feel similarly, if he reached toward her? Would she be hot to the touch, like holding his hand to a flame? Clarion cleared her throat, determined to end that line of thought.
“What is it, then?” she asked.
The angle of the fading sunlight cast half his face in shadow. “I believe a monster will soon cross into your realm.”
It was a grim proclamation, but it had come too late. Still, if he had any information about this monster, this excursion had been worth it. She wouldn’t return to the palace entirely empty- handed. “I’m afraid it already has. Our scouts saw it just before dawn this morning.”
“I’m sorry,” he replied quietly. Something like guilt wrote itself across his expression. “I’d hoped I would have time to warn you before it reached Spring.”
To warn me? Clarion frowned. “You saw it?”
“And I regret that I could not stop it,” he said, as though he could not speak quickly enough. She did not think she mistook the strangled emotion in those words. “But that’s why I’ve come to ask for your help.”
“My help?” She couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice. “Tell me what this monster is first.”
Surprise flickered across his face. For a moment, he said nothing, as if he had not heard her correctly. “You don’t know.”
Clarion was certain she looked just as baffled as he did now. “How would I?”
“Your predecessor has not been forthcoming with you,” he said, with a touch of bitterness.
“Excuse me?” She reeled back. How dare he fling such accusations? And if he knew what this monster was—if it had come from his realm—then he had no high ground to stand on. “Perhaps you should leash your beasts before letting them tear through the warm seasons!”
Milori looked stung, but he did not try to defend himself. It made some of her anger fizzle out. He extended a hand, as if he meant to reach through the border and still her before she fled. In the end, he must have thought better of it. He curled his fingers into a fist at his side. “Listen to me, Clarion. I can explain, but—”
“I am listening.”
“—but it’s too dangerous to stay here much longer. The monster is only active in darkness.”
Clarion was growing sick of being denied information she wanted. “Oh, how very convenient.”
He had the grace, at least, to look chastened. “I can be here first thing in the morning, if you’d like.”
“I…” She would like that, if only to satisfy her curiosity. “I can’t.”
Some of the gravity bled out of him, replaced instead with befuddlement. “Why not?”
“I do not know what duties you have, Warden of the Winter Woods,” she said, feeling oddly flustered, “but I have obligations. I can’t abandon them to go wherever I please—especially not to the border of Winter.”
“I see.” He raked a hand through his hair, looking somewhat overwhelmed. “The queen does not know you’re here, does she?”
“No. I snuck out.” Clarion deflated. It embarrassed her only a little to admit it. Perhaps he would think less of her, now that he knew how stymied she was in her role. “Dangerous or not, evenings are the only time that’s truly mine.”
“Very well,” he said, clearly undeterred. “I will see you at sunset tomorrow.”
With that, he turned on his heel.
“Wait!” Indignation—and panic—flared bright within her. What if she could not make it tomorrow? What if she needed time to think about what she was committing to? “I…I did not agree to that!”
Milori paused, as if considering. “If you are interested in solving this problem rather than avoiding it, you know where to find me. I will be waiting here, at sunset, every night for a week.” He studied her face, and the searching intensity of his stare made heat crawl up her neck. Whatever he found made a faint smile curl on his lips. That, she thought weakly, suited him far more than gravity. “Good night, Clarion.”
He took wing. Clarion could only stare up at him as he soared deeper into the Winter Woods—and she caught the exact moment moonlight gilded his wings and cast their delicate shadow across the snow.
She threw up her hands, then dragged them down her face in frustration. She had come here for answers, but she would leave with far more questions than she’d had before.