7
C larion hardly recalled being brought back to the palace.
The scouts had arrived only minutes after the serpent escaped, alighting around her in formation on quiet feet. None of them said a word to her; at least, if they did, she did not hear it. Her grief had pulled a gauze over the world; behind it, nothing felt entirely real. Behind it, nothing could truly touch her. She vaguely remembered the scouts surveying the scene in silent horror. She remembered the dull sensation of pain when she noticed the scrapes on her arm. Then: Artemis steering her away from the Autumn Forest.
Now, she sat numbly in Elvina’s quarters, perched on a chaise longue. At some point, Artemis had removed her cloak and wrapped it around Clarion’s shoulders. It was warm with body heat, but Clarion still shivered. Someone had also pressed a cup of tea into her hands, but it had gone cold. The room was cozily dark, with the heavy curtains drawn over the windows and candlelight gilding every surface. Shadows flickered across Elvina’s face.
“Clarion.” Elvina’s voice—gentler than she’d heard it in quite some time—jolted her back into her body. “What happened?”
Clarion took a sip of her tea, if only to save herself from answering immediately. She pulled air into her lungs until the haze over her thoughts cleared. “I’m not sure I can describe it properly. It all happened very quickly.”
“I understand. But please try.”
And so, Clarion did. How one moment, everything had been normal—and how the next, the air had gone cold and heavy. How a shadow had come to life before her very eyes, only half-formed. How fairies dropped like stones from the sky and did not rouse themselves. How dread had felt like a living weight on her when she came face to face with the beast, rooting her in place. The very thought of it made her shudder.
As Clarion spoke, Elvina’s expression did not change. No surprise—no horror—registered. She only looked grimly resigned. By the time Clarion finished recounting the evening, a sick sense of certainty washed over her. The doubt Milori had introduced no longer felt so ridiculous.
“You know what they are,” she said.
The firelight glimmered in Elvina’s eyes. The shadows it threw carved stark lines into her face. For a moment, her expression was unreadable. Would she deny it, even now? Then, with a displeased twist of her mouth, she said, “They’re called Nightmares.”
“Nightmares?” Even saying it aloud chilled her.
“As you’ve now seen, they have a terrible power,” Elvina continued. “They plunge their victims into a terror-filled slumber. The moment we received the first alarm, I had our healers begin work on an antidote. So far, none of their efforts have worked. The Minister of Autumn and ten other citizens of Pixie Hollow have yet to be roused.”
Clarion could hardly process it. Until they developed an antidote, eleven fairies would suffer for as long as they lived. Guilt bubbled up within her, but stronger still was her frustration. Right now, all Clarion could think of was how Elvina had kept this from her. If she had known what she was up against—if she could have prepared herself…
“You knew what they were capable of?”
“And I have made plans to deal with it,” Elvina replied. Clarion detected the defensive edge to her voice. “The healing-talents will continue to work around the clock until they find the cure. They will keep everyone as comfortable as possible until their task is complete.”
No, she would not allow Elvina to keep her in the dark any longer. “What are they?”
“No one knows exactly.” Elvina settled on the chaise longue beside her and folded her hands in her lap. She stared straight ahead, her expression oddly vacant. “Once, a very long time ago, queens remembered the origin of Nightmares. But knowledge of them has faded with time. All we have are fragments.
“Titania, the first Queen of Pixie Hollow, entrusted the story to her apprentice—and so on down the line, until now. By the time it reached me, it had grown distorted and vague. It was more like a fairy tale, one worn smooth with repetition until it hardly seemed real at all. All I can tell you is that Nightmares dwell in the Winter Woods, where the nights are long and the cold feels like a familiar embrace. No one had seen them in an eternity, but my mentor imparted this to me: if they ever reemerged, we must act swiftly.”
Her words sank in slowly. Over the years, Elvina had given Clarion morsels of Pixie Hollow’s history. But no mention had ever been made of Nightmares . Clearly, it was a deliberate omission. Before she could stop herself, before she could swallow yet another flash of hurt, she said, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“It didn’t seem important.”
“It seems important now.”
“What would you have me do?” Elvina said through her teeth. “You cannot yet access the full range of your abilities. Legends about things that might very well have never come to pass—that might never have even existed—would only have distracted you.”
“You cannot decide what I should and should not know.” Clarion’s voice trembled with the force of her anger. The attack had shaken her far too much for her to maintain her usual composure. Eleven people wounded because of her failures—and because of Elvina’s lack of caution. “What else have you not told me?”
Elvina sighed as though the conversation had thoroughly exhausted her. “Clarion. Contain yourself.”
Control. Focus. If she could not present herself as a proper queen, Elvina would not treat her as one. Clarion drew in a deep breath, doing her utmost to smooth her features into passivity. This was how Elvina liked her best. This was how she could convince her that she was capable.
“I have to be prepared for all eventualities,” said Clarion. “How can I be prepared if I don’t know what I’m up against?”
With her composure restored, Elvina regarded her less like a Sprinting Thistle about to tear through Springtime Square. Back into familiar territory, at last. With equal measure, the queen said, “It will be handled.”
Clarion set her teacup down on its saucer with a clink as brittle as her nerves. “How?”
Silence descended over them. For a moment, Clarion thought that would be the end of the discussion. But Elvina shocked her by responding.
“We must minimize the risk of repeating another tragedy. I will convene a meeting tomorrow to discuss the safety plan for Pixie Hollow. In the meantime, the scouts will handle flushing out the Nightmares—and disposing of them.”
Clarion could only think of how quickly the Nightmare had struck; of fairies falling from the sky, silhouetted by the bloodred sunlight, pixie dust streaming from their limp wings. There was no way to dispose of a beast like that so neatly. But then she remembered how it had fled when she’d unleashed her magic, like a roach skittering away from a sudden flood of light. Clarion still did not know how she’d done it, or if she could do it again.
But Elvina could.
“They’re frightened of our magic.”
Surprise passed over Elvina’s face. “Oh?”
“I was able to summon my magic—just briefly. If only you could have seen it.” Clarion tamped down her enthusiasm as much as she could. She reminded herself that composure, not conviction, would win her mentor over. “None of Artemis’s weapons did a thing to it. But if you or I accompanied the scouts—”
“No. It is out of the question, Clarion.” Elvina rose from her seat abruptly, her tone turning frigid. “Pixie Hollow is only as strong as its queen.”
What good is a queen if she’s forbidden to do a single thing?
Better than a dead one.
Her heart twisted. If that were true, then Pixie Hollow should have been unbreakable. Elvina, after all, was the perfect queen. Though now, Clarion was not so certain. Elvina would not hear counsel. She would not share valuable information, which could have prevented all of this from unfolding as catastrophically as it did.
If you are interested in solving this problem rather than avoiding it, you know where to find me. In that moment, she could think only of Milori and his sad gray eyes: someone with a plan to act.
Elvina was not lying to her, surely, but she clearly was not telling her the entire truth, either. Unless Clarion wanted to sit quietly—unless she wanted to completely smother her own intuition forever—she had no options left. For the good of Pixie Hollow, she would swallow her reservations. The moment she could, she would find Milori where Spring bled into Winter.
The next morning, Elvina convened an assembly.
On her orders, everyone set aside their work for the day and poured into the palace’s throne room. Ivy and flowering vines hung from the ceiling like royal banners, and sunlight filtered in from delicate fissures in the wood, washing the space in gold.
The throne itself sprouted from the earth: a sapling’s trunk, carved into a seat. Twisting branches, lush with summer leaves, formed the armrests and back. It was beautiful, but Clarion had always suspected it to be terribly uncomfortable. Here on the moss-carpeted dais, she towered above the fairies gathered below. It astounded her, just how many lives she would one day hold in her hands. She hadn’t seen all her subjects in one place since the day she arrived.
Elvina stood at the very edge of the dais, regal and utterly resplendent. She wore her full regalia today: her horned crown, woven with wildflowers, and her wide-skirted gown, glistering and golden with pixie dust. Clarion stood a short distance behind her, flanked on either side by the Ministers of Spring and Summer. Neither of them had said a word all morning. Without Rowan—without the lively discussion and laughter he sparked—they seemed almost lost. Their silence had suited her fine. Clarion startled at every rattle of leaves in the breeze, at every lengthening shadow.
Murmurs rippled through the gathered masses. In their upturned faces, Clarion saw all her worry reflected back at her a thousandfold. Absently, she reached for that spark of power within her and found nothing. Why had it abandoned her again, when it had come to her so easily yesterday? In that moment of danger, faced with that beast, something within her had given way.
But what ?
For the life of her, she could not remember what technique she had employed. At the time, her mind had been consumed with a sort of blankness, somewhere between desperation and resignation. It was entirely impossible to replicate here of all places, and she did not know how she could re-create those conditions unless she decided to make a habit of throwing herself headlong into life-threatening situations. Besides, she did not know whether she wanted to find out if—when it truly mattered—she could summon the power she needed to save someone.
Elvina lifted a hand, and a hush fell instantly over the crowd. There was that governing-talent magnetism at work. It never failed to impress Clarion.
“Thank you all for gathering here today,” said Elvina. “I understand this is unusual and that you all have work to finish, so I will endeavor to keep this brief. However, there is a dire situation in Pixie Hollow—one that I am sure many of you have heard of through rumors and speculation. Yesterday, a group of fairies was attacked in the Autumn Forest by a creature that crossed from the Winter Woods.”
Gasps and shouts of alarm met Elvina’s words.
“I know many of you have questions.” Elvina’s voice carried above the crowds, echoing off the high ceilings. “I know many of you are concerned. I want to put those worries to rest and assure you that we are doing everything in our power to keep all residents of Pixie Hollow safe. All the victims are alive and in stable condition. While we do not have much information to share, it seems these monsters can ensnare their prey in a slumber they cannot wake from. While we have not been able to rouse the victims, our healers are hard at work to restore them. Now—”
A storm-talent dressed in a gown of rain lilies shot up in the crowd. “With all due respect, Your Majesty, how did this happen? Just the other day, all of us were placed under a curfew—then assured the threat had been handled.”
Clarion tried not to let her surprise show on her face. In all her seventeen years, she had never heard someone question Elvina so openly. But many in the crowd nodded their agreement.
“Our scouts did not find any evidence of a continued threat at the time,” Elvina replied, with some ice in her tone. “With the information we had—and given Princess Clarion’s imminent coronation—it seemed the best course of action to resume normal activity. I very much regret the lack of caution, and I assure you such an oversight will not happen again. What happened was a tragedy, and I accept responsibility. Now, if I may?”
When no one else chimed in, she clasped her hands and resumed. “Eleven of your fellows are currently under our healers’ care. One of them, as many of you know by now, is the Minister of Autumn.”
Another fairy—a dyeing-talent spattered with pigments—spoke from the back of the crowd. “How will the preparations for autumn be handled?”
Murmurs erupted from the crowd again, their voices low with fear. Clarion hadn’t truly considered the impact of it until now. If a season did not arrive on the Mainland in time, the effects could be disastrous. A long summer meant drought. It meant deadly heat waves and wildfires. Crops withering in the soil and waters choked with algal blooms. Nature was a vast network, like a spider’s delicate web. If one thread was touched, it reverberated through the whole. There were things not even pixie dust and the work ethic of fairies could help.
That vicious voice in her head whispered, And it would be all your fault.
If she were a more competent governing-talent, then…
“There are still several months before autumn is due to arrive on the Mainland,” Elvina replied, with far more confidence than Clarion could muster. “We will do everything in our power to ensure preparations continue without a hitch. The autumn fairies are knowledgeable, and Princess Clarion and I will manage in the minister’s stead. However, I anticipate he will be back on his feet well before we feel his absence.”
Some of the crowd’s restlessness seemed to dissipate. Clarion thought she saw some of the tension bleed from Elvina’s shoulders when their subjects once again fell quiet. The idea that she had been rattled, even for a second, seemed preposterous to Clarion. Elvina had never once shown anything but unflagging conviction in her own plans. She had refused to hear anything different last night.
“Before I dismiss you,” Elvina said, “I would like to share the names of those who are recovering from the attack.”
Her cupped hands filled with the light of her magic. With each name she recited, she let an orb of light rise to the ceiling. Pixie dust rained softly down on them. From here, Clarion could see fairies holding each other close or joining hands to comfort one another.
“We will deal with the creatures that did this,” said Elvina, when all eleven lights burned brightly above them. “But we must not be reckless. Beginning today, I am instituting a curfew again. Now that we have learned these creatures are active in the darkness, no one will go out after the sun has set. There will be no exceptions. Anyone who breaks this rule will answer to me. Are we understood?”
The silence was complete.
Then, a weather-talent, his hair wild from tracking the wind patterns, asked, “And what of Winter?”
There was the faintest note of accusation in it. All at once, Clarion became acutely aware of the mountain looming to the north—all the windswept, glaring white of it.
Several fairies spoke at once, clamoring to be heard:
“You said those beasts came from Winter.”
“Have they set them loose?”
“Have they lost control of them?”
“Have they fallen victim to them as well?”
Elvina held up her hand, demanding silence once more. When the commotion died down, she replied, “The Warden of the Winter Woods has not made contact with the warm seasons in quite some time. However, I do not believe this is their doing. I can only imagine that they must be suffering, too. My thoughts are with them.”
Did Elvina believe that, or did she know ? Clarion flinched at the turn of her own thoughts. She hated this newfound paranoia—this mistrust of the woman who had all but raised her.
“That said, I share your trepidation. We must take measures to protect ourselves in the long term.” Elvina canted her chin, and the hooked shadow of her crown stretched across the floor. “I intend to tear down the bridges between Winter and the warm seasons.”
If the crowd reacted, Clarion could not hear it over the ringing in her own ears. Horror felt like claws raking down her back.
“It will take time,” Elvina continued. “The magic flowing within them is powerful and cannot be destroyed by ordinary means. But rest assured, the plan is already in motion.”
This was Elvina’s plan? To abandon Winter to the Nightmares—worse, to set them adrift from the rest of Pixie Hollow entirely? Perhaps Clarion had little experience ruling. Perhaps she did not understand exactly what they were dealing with. But she knew, down to the very heart of her, that this was wrong.
When Elvina dismissed the assembly, fairies began filtering out. A familiar voice cut through the gloom of her thoughts.
“Clarion!”
She looked up to see Petra fighting her way to the foot of the dais, her red hair blazing bright beneath the sunlight. The sight of her comforted Clarion more than she expected. Before she could open her mouth to greet her, Petra launched herself forward and seized Clarion’s forearm. Something as familiar as embracing her in public would raise eyebrows, but she felt all the warmth and relief Petra intended in the steady pressure of her grip.
“You’re all right,” Petra breathed. “When I heard what happened, I…”
“It’s all right. I’m all right.” Clarion offered her an uncertain smile. “Mostly.”
Petra withdrew her hand, instead letting it curl protectively in front of her chest. “What’s wrong?”
Clarion’s gaze darted to Elvina, who had begun speaking with Aurelia and Iris in hushed tones. Artemis, standing dutifully at the foot of the dais, of course noticed her feeble attempt to be sneaky. She narrowed her eyes at Clarion, as if to say, I know you’re up to something . After her disappearance two nights ago—and the attack in Autumn—she supposed she’d never slip away from her guard so easily again.
“Not here,” Clarion said. “Follow me.”
Petra groaned.
Clarion led her toward the door of the throne room. Artemis immediately began to follow them, close enough to keep an eye on them, far enough to stay mostly out of earshot. As inconvenient as it was at times, Clarion couldn’t deny how safe she felt with her shadow falling over them. Petra cast surreptitious glances her way every now and again, the color on her cheeks deepening with every passing moment. Sometimes, it was impossible to tell if she wanted to run from Artemis or toward her.
When they made it to the lawn of the palace grounds, a sprawling stretch of green spangled with buttercups and wood sorrel, Clarion settled onto the grass. This early in the morning, it was still cool and damp with dew. The entire field sparkled beneath the sunlight. Clarion couldn’t help thinking it looked like frost.
“What is it you’ve brought me out here for?” Petra asked.
“What do you make of Elvina’s plan?”
Some of the concern faded from Petra’s face. Comfortable in the realm of logistics and her own expertise, she said, “She’s spoken to some of the tinkers about it already. The roots of the Pixie Dust Tree can’t be destroyed easily, so it won’t be as simple as setting the woodcutting-talents on it. But if there’s some way to imbue an axe with magic, then theoretically…”
Petra began sketching out the theory for her, but Clarion processed little of it. She could not stand the thought of governing-talent magic and tinker ingenuity being used in such a way. Of Milori, who’d sought out her help, being so summarily shut out. More than anything, Clarion could not bear the idea of wasting this opportunity. If she had even a small chance to mend the rift between their worlds, how could she turn away from it?
“I have to stop her,” Clarion said.
Petra’s face went deathly pale, and her voice came out as little more than a squeak. “Stop her? Why?”
Clarion sat up straighter. “Because it isn’t right to abandon the winter fairies to the Nightmares! Do you even know what will happen if the bridges are destroyed?”
“No one will be able to cross into Winter again,” Petra replied. Judging by her frown—and her hesitant tone—Clarion’s protests did compel her. “But the dustologists confirmed that there are other root systems connecting Winter to the Pixie Dust Tree. They’ll be fine. Just alone.”
Is alone truly fine ? Clarion wondered. She shook her head. “There has to be some other way.”
After how dismissive Elvina had been of her ideas, Clarion harbored no delusions of being able to dissuade her. Which meant she had to talk to Milori.
“I haven’t seen that look in a while,” Petra said, with equal parts fond admiration and wariness.
Clarion blinked, startled out of her own thoughts. “What look?”
Petra put on something like a scowl and gestured to her own face. “This look. It means you’re going to do something reckless.”
Clarion smiled innocently, if only to hide that she did indeed plan to do something reckless. “I would never! I’ve outgrown such things.”
Petra buried her face in her hands. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“I’m just going to talk to Elvina,” she lied. “Don’t worry.”
“Why would you say that? That’s going to make me worry more!”
But Clarion had already turned her mind to plotting. Elvina’s new decree had given her the perfect opportunity to sneak out. Until further notice, no one would be out and about at night. No one would know to miss her. No one except Elvina.
And Artemis.
Clarion dared to look over at her, half-hidden with her earth-colored tunic against the trunk of the Pixie Dust Tree. As if called—as if she could sense the ill-advised scheme brewing in her mind—Artemis met her eyes with a wary frown.
For the good of Pixie Hollow, Clarion would have to find a way around her.