17
E very minute that Clarion waited at the border passed at a glacial crawl. She paced restlessly along the riverbank, the hem of her mended coat billowing behind her. As she watched the tree line, all she could envision were Nightmares unspooling from the shadows, a ravening, bilious black. Winter sealed away as if behind a wall of glass. The roots binding them together severed by her own hand. She could not stomach this vision of herself, the cold and remote queen who weighed lives like grain on a scale. A blade of starlight held above her head, smoking with her power. The magic of the Pixie Dust Tree, emptying into the river like blood from a mortal wound.
Monstrous, she’d told Elvina.
The dark churn of her thoughts only served to compound the dread of seeing Milori again. She’d spent so many hours reliving that kiss—and imagining what she might say to him when they met again. Such concerns felt terribly far away now. And yet, her anticipation built with every second that slipped away.
Thankfully, she did not have to suffer long. Milori was never late.
In fact, he was early.
The sun had not yet begun to set when he arrived. Snow swirled around him as he landed on the bridge between their realms with silent grace. Despite it all, her heart fluttered at the sight of him. She’d hardly realized how desperately she’d missed him until he was standing here before her. Clarion found herself torn between the impulse to armor herself with distance and to run headlong into his arms. The guarded look on his face and the rigidity of his shoulders, at least, made her choice easy. It wounded her, to see such plain confirmation of what she’d feared.
Nothing could exist between the two of them.
Clarion drew her coat tighter around herself as she stepped onto the bridge, sighing at the feeling of magic humming beneath her feet. Words evaporated as she stared up at him. As always, his stark beauty was like a blade of ice to the heart. Frost glimmered on his pale eyelashes, which were drawn low over his gray eyes. He was avoiding her gaze.
“Clarion.” He spoke her name with such careful formality, it was as though he’d called her Your Highness. It prickled her all over with its chill.
“Milori.”
The uneasy silence stretched thin between them. When she could bear it no longer, she blurted out, “There’s something you should know,” at the same time he said, “I wanted to—”
Their eyes locked, and heat bloomed across her face. His lips were still softly parted, whatever confession he’d been prepared to make hanging in suspension. A look of singular vulnerability passed over his expression, Clarion could not help wondering if she’d been mistaken. Hope welled up within her—but no, she could not allow herself to read anything into it. It was only that their halting exchange had flustered them both.
After a moment, he shook his head and said, “Please. You first.”
Clarion drew in a breath to compose herself. Now that he’d ceded the initiative to her, she felt more clearheaded. Where to begin? Somehow, the dangers Elvina’s plan posed to the Winter Woods felt like safer skies to navigate than her feelings. “I spoke with Elvina earlier.”
Clearly, that was not what he had expected her to say. Milori blinked, disoriented, as if rousing himself from a troubling dream. Some of his nervous energy fizzled out, but she could see him wrestling with the desire to ask for more details. Ever patient, he replied, “I see.”
Even in Spring, she felt impossibly cold at the memory of what she and Elvina had discussed. She crossed her arms over her chest to ward off a shiver. “She told me that the first Warden of the Winter Woods attempted to overthrow the Queen of Pixie Hollow. In her mind, that is the reason our two realms have nothing to do with each other anymore. Worse, she believes the Nightmares held some sort of power over him. That it might be possible for it to happen again, and…”
She could not force the words out. She did not want to even say it, nor did she want to ask him the questions fear had sparked within her.
Do you think it’s true?
Do you harbor the same resentment the first warden did?
Clarion watched his expression fill with certainty, slowly, then all at once; he looked as though he’d at last pieced together something that had been puzzling him. “You worry that it might be true,” he said. There was no accusation in his voice, only a resigned sort of understanding.
Guilt pierced through her. How could she believe that, when he and his people had been nothing but kind to her? She clasped her hands together to keep herself from reaching for him. “Only to the extent that I worry for you. You’ve never given me a reason to doubt you.”
He frowned as confusion overtook him once more. “I have never seen a Nightmare hold any power over someone who was still awake. I don’t think it’s possible.”
“That’s a relief,” she murmured. “Surely, there would be some sort of sign. You haven’t noticed anything…?”
Milori shifted on his feet, his gaze skirting away from hers again. “I haven’t slept well in days. Other than that, no.”
Dread pooled within her. “You don’t think—”
“It isn’t Nightmares that keep me awake, Clarion.”
His voice was impossibly gentle—and so soft, for a moment, she thought she had misheard him. When he turned his eyes back to her, the intensity and earnestness she found there made her ears warm. The sense memory of their kiss awakened, skipping across her skin in heated trails and stoking her glow to a rose-colored blaze. There had been something like devotion in the way he’d cradled her face, an oath sworn in every brush of his lips against hers. Oh, she had been such a fool to believe a sparrow man like Milori would do a single thing without the intention of committing himself fully.
“Oh.” It was a bare exhalation of sound.
“You didn’t come back.” Equal parts pain and relief suffused his every word. “At first, I worried that something had happened. Then, I convinced myself that you regretted it.”
“No,” Clarion said, through a humorless laugh. “I didn’t regret it at all. I only regret that I panicked—and that my fear has given you cause to worry.”
That was what frightened her the most: the feeling that her heart now beat outside her chest. He stood before her, close enough to touch. And yet, it wasn’t close enough. Clarion feared she might never be satisfied until they could truly share in one another’s worlds. And now that she knew Elvina’s plan…It terrified her, to think that the two of them could be separated forever.
She could not avoid telling him what she’d learned any longer.
“There is much more to say, I know.” She took a step closer to him, until she could feel Winter’s cool caress her face. She closed her fingers around his forearm and squeezed gently. “But that isn’t everything Elvina told me.”
As he drank her in, the hope faded from his eyes. “What is it?”
“Elvina is close to putting her plan into motion. We have until the summer solstice before the bridges between Winter and the warm seasons are destroyed.”
All the color drained from his face. When he recovered enough to speak, he said, “I didn’t think it was possible.”
The despair in his voice chilled her. “I didn’t, either. But we still have daylight left. I’m ready to try again.”
If she failed…
No, it hardly bore thinking about. She would not fail a second time.
Gathering her nerve, she said, “I think you and I were meant to do this together—to solve the problem of the Nightmares for good.”
“You and I,” he echoed, as solemn as a vow.
Perhaps it was a bold declaration. But what they’d found felt a little like destiny—especially when the space between them crackled with possibility.
“If we seal the prison before the sun fully sets, none of them will have a chance to leave for the night.” She canted her chin, hoping to project more confidence than she felt. Milori watched her through hooded eyes, some of his initial resistance giving way to something like…admiration? Clarion continued before she could lose her nerve. “After that, everyone under the Nightmares’ spell should awaken, just like when the dream-talents first sealed the Nightmares away.”
“Very well,” he said, with only a touch of reluctance. “But if we’re going to make it to the prison before sundown, we’ll need to fly.”
At that, Clarion’s facade faltered. “You mean with Noctua.”
“Of course, we don’t have to,” Milori said, with the tiniest of smirks playing on the corner of his mouth. “However, we would need to reconvene tomorrow and begin hiking much earlier in the day.”
She bit down on a groan. “Fine. Call her.”
Milori looked far too pleased. He brought two fingers to his lips and whistled. The sound cut through the serene stillness of the woods. Somehow, the silence deepened, as though the entire forest were holding its breath. Only a few seconds passed before Noctua appeared, bursting from the cover of pines and carving a dark shape against the reddening sky.
With a defeated sigh, Clarion did up the buttons on her coat and stepped into Winter. Noctua ruffled her feathers and let out a soft hoot as Clarion approached. This time, at least, she did not shrink back.
“I think she likes you,” Milori said. “If you want, you could ride alone this time.”
The suggestion filled her with unwelcome visions of plummeting to her untimely end. She reached up to take hold of the reins. “No, I very much do not.”
Milori rested a hand on her waist, prepared to lift her. The cold of his touch seeped into her coat, and Clarion had to battle the urge to lean into him. His tone all fond amusement, he said, “The Queen of Pixie Hollow has truly met her match.”
Two could play at that game. Clarion flashed him a coy smile. “Or maybe I want to be close to you.”
That, apparently, silenced any smart reply. Feeling a flush of triumph, Clarion began to climb onto Noctua’s back. With a boost, she found her seat easily—and did not flinch when Noctua swiveled her head to appraise her from the corner of her golden eyes. Perhaps she imagined it, but Clarion could have sworn she saw a glimmer of approval there. Milori settled behind her. He locked one arm around her and gathered the reins in his free hand.
“Ready?” His breath ghosted against her ear. A pleasant shiver worked its way down her spine.
“Ready,” she replied.
With that, they took flight. They dodged through snow-laden pine boughs and around the icicles refracting the shell-pink sunlight. When they broke through the canopy, the view stole Clarion’s breath away. Endless expanses of snow and cold waters glittered, illuminated in the golden hour. Everything was so small from this height—and with her wings bound beneath her coat, exhilaration prickled at the edges of her wonder. Cold wind sent her hair snapping behind her and nipped at the tip of her nose. Flurries danced wildly before her, each snowflake stained in warm shades of pink and gold as the sun settled like a lit ember in the crook of the mountains.
Then, they dove toward the shadow of the woods. Below them, the round eye of the frozen lake locked on to her, as though every Nightmare seething beneath it sensed her presence and loathed her. Instinctual terror quickened her pulse, and the wound on her arm throbbed with the memory of what had happened last time they had come here. But she could not afford to lose her nerve now.
The pines enfolded them, and Noctua landed on a low-lying branch. Even from here, the miasma that settled like dense fog over the ice crawled over them. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Even Noctua fluffed out her plumage with unease. Without thinking, Clarion scratched the top of her head to soothe her, then slid off the owl’s back. Her boots crunched in the deep snowfall.
Milori landed beside her, his gray eyes fixed on the prison lurking just beyond the row of gnarled birches. Another wind gusted through the trees and shredded into her coat with icy claws. A veil of snow lifted off the ground, blotting out the fading sun. All of it felt like a warning: Leave this place.
“Shall we?” she asked Milori.
“One moment.” He threaded his fingers in hers, and Clarion did her best not to melt. His touch grounded and thrilled her more than she cared to admit.
Hand in hand, they trudged through the snowbanks until at last they emerged onto the edge of the frozen lake. As long as she lived, she would never grow accustomed to the sheer presence of it. The silence here was unnatural, as though the lake swallowed all the sound. Dread settled over her shoulders like a mantle of steel. Clarion did her best to breathe through the weight of it.
She stepped out onto the ice. Its treacherous surface gleamed, but she could still make out the hazy shapes of Nightmares rippling beneath her boots like dark water. As she and Milori made their way to the center, the Nightmares shrank back and lashed out by turns. She avoided the thin cracks in the surface, which groaned beneath her weight. She shuddered to think of what would happen if she fell into the lake’s depths.
By the time they made it to the center of the lake, the daylight was a bare sliver of red on the horizon. She could practically feel the Nightmares’ hunger and anticipation bubbling up from the cracks. They swirled together, reaching longingly for their freedom.
It was now or never.
Reluctantly, Clarion let her hand drop from Milori’s. She crouched beside the new fissures in the ice, letting her awareness drift to the dream-magic barrier just underneath—to its thinning strands and loosening weaves, just barely holding back the beasts it contained. It had grown even more threadbare since they were here last. Her magic itched to mend it.
Her first instinct was to reach for what felt familiar and comfortable: to master herself, to focus, to strain. Instead, she closed her eyes and felt her feet planted on the ice, the way her chest rose and fell as she breathed. Perhaps if she tried to see herself the way Milori did…
You were made for this.
Calm certainty filled her up. Energy crackled just beneath her skin, and her glow intensified. Clarion rested her palm flat against the ice and let her magic surge through her. Golden light swirled down her arm and coalesced in the palm of her hand. Milori’s awestruck eyes reflected the glow of her power.
Clarion let it soar.
Starlight flowed into the ice and wove itself around the fraying dream-threads. It fortified them and, stitch by stitch, spanned the tears. Her magic lit the ice from within, bathing her in marbled golden light.
As the Nightmares roiled within their prison, their shrieks rattled her very bones. They lashed out with torrents of negative emotion: the sting of rejection, the stomach-churning sensation of humiliation, the sharp terror of something come back to haunt her. All she could see were gnashing teeth and baleful eyes. All she could think of was that terrible future version of herself, isolating Winter with a single cut. All her worst fears felt too close to the surface, urgent and undeniably real. Pressure built behind her eyes. Her hands began to tremble.
But with one last loop pulled taut, her work was done. The repaired barrier shimmered like a layer of spider-silk gauze. Through the stitches, she could just barely see the Nightmares, snarling and snapping as they shrank back from their new confines.
“Milori,” she called. “Now.”
He extended his hands, and frost bloomed across the shattered ice. The wails of the Nightmares grew more muffled until she could not hear them at all.
The light of the barrier dimmed beneath the frozen surface of the lake, and night settled softly into the space it left behind. As her vision adjusted to the starlit dark, she gazed out at their handiwork. The ice itself seemed to glow. With the prison sealed, the oppressive atmosphere lessened, and Clarion imagined this was what this place had been like centuries ago.
Beautiful.
Milori let out a soft sound of disbelief. When Clarion turned to him, she was struck with another pang of longing. Moonlight gilded the ice and draped itself over him. Like this, he was lustrous—an effect not helped by the way he was beaming at her.
“We did it.”
She couldn’t help grinning back at him. “We did.”
She could hardly believe it. After weeks of fear and uncertainty, they’d freed their subjects from the Nightmares. She barely had time to process it. Because with a flutter of his wings, Milori lifted off the ground. He took both her mittened hands in his own—and then flew backward, until she was gliding along the ice after him.
“Milori!” she protested through a laugh. She had half a mind to dig her heels in, but his joy was infectious. She surrendered and let herself skate across the surface.
He spun her to slow their momentum, one hand coming to rest against her waist to steady her. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
When he was so unguardedly happy, how could she possibly deny him anything? “Of course. Anywhere.”
Milori took her to a vista atop another mountain’s peak. It afforded a view of the Winter Woods—most strikingly, the vast frozen lake. The mirror-smooth ice now sparkled with veins of gold. Soft golden light illuminated the surrounding darkness. Beyond it, she could see the Hall of Winter, gleaming cold in the moonlight, and the enclaves of winter fairies’ homes glowing like fireflies in the dark. And there, luminous and golden, was the Pixie Dust Tree. It seemed impossible that she should be standing here, staring back at the place she’d spent all her life—a place she believed she would never leave.
But it was not the view Milori had brought her to see. On a precipice overlooking the Nightmares’ prison was a massive sculpture carved entirely from ice.
Clarion approached it, tipping her head back so that she could appreciate it fully. The statue was of a sparrow man, with his hand resting on a sword at his hip. A diadem—carved with the snowflake insignia of Winter—sat on his brow. A cloak trimmed in the fur of an animal billowed behind him. His wings, shot through with moonlight, glittered like winter itself. He looked strangely familiar… almost like Milori , with his stoic countenance and weary eyes.
“Here it is,” said Milori. “This is the first Warden of the Winter Woods. It’s said that this statue was commissioned by the Queen of Pixie Hollow herself.”
“The Lord of Winter,” Clarion murmured.
“Yes,” he said, after a pause. “I suppose he was also known by that title.”
This did not look like the memorial of a sparrow man who had risked everything for the sake of his pride. It looked like someone who, even in death, had not forgotten his duty.
As she circled the statue, her gaze snagged on the plinth. It was covered in lichen and densely packed snow, but she could see something written just beneath it. She knelt beside it and scraped off the rime with her mitten. Piece by piece, it fell away. She scrubbed until she could make out the carved inscription.
IN THE ICE AND IN THE HEARTS OF ALL OF PIXIE HOLLOW,
THE MEMORY OF THE LORD OF WINTER,
A TRUE FRIEND AND STEADFAST PROTECTOR,
IS PRESERVED FOREVER.
Just beneath the final line was a faint carving. Clarion recognized it as the royal insignia: the Pixie Dust Tree framed by the wings of a monarch butterfly. Clarion’s heart ached at the sight of it. This was not the sort of statue built for the living—which meant Elvina’s story was completely wrong. There had been no rebellion that had driven their realms apart, no treachery. It comforted her as much as it puzzled her.
“What happened, then?” she asked. “How did we end up this way?”
“I don’t know.” Milori crouched beside her and gazed up at the statue. “In his writings, he emphasized that the Nightmares were not something the queen should worry about. I suppose his successor wasn’t as close with the queen’s—and so, perhaps we just drifted apart over time. I suppose it’s a trait we all share, to want to shoulder this burden alone.”
I understand the necessity of that worldview, Milori had told her when she shared Elvina’s philosophy.
Clarion rested a hand on his arm. “You haven’t.”
“I haven’t.” He smiled ruefully. “You are not the only fairy in Pixie Hollow who believes they can’t do what they were born to do. For generations, every Warden of the Winter Woods has upheld their duty unfailingly, except for me. What happened to both our subjects is entirely my fault, and I asked you to fix my mistake.”
Entirely my fault. Hadn’t she thought the exact same thing, kneeling among the wreckage of the Autumn Forest? But listening to him say it, she realized how terribly unfair it was. No one should take on so much.
“I owe you an enormous debt,” he said. “And as you share the news with your subjects, if you want to blame me—”
“How can I blame you?” she cut in. “What could you have done?”
He fell silent.
“You owe me nothing. If anything, I owe you .” She took his hands in hers. “So forgive yourself. This would have happened one way or another. You and I were just the unlucky ones who had to fix what our predecessors couldn’t. For so long, you and I have wasted our energy trying to live up to them. But you are good enough on your own merits.”
Milori lifted his gaze to hers once more, and all the world grew as still as deepest winter. The snowfall seemed to slow to a halt; the wind ebbed to a bare whisper. The emotion glittering in his eyes knocked her breathless, and it occurred to her then just how close they were. Her breath misted in the narrow space between them.
“I hope you know the same is true for you.” Milori carefully tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His knuckles lightly traced her cheekbone as his hand fell away. “You will be an excellent queen.”
And although her heart soared to hear him say it, the reminder of her coronation made reality crash over her like a wave. It felt cruel, to meet him just before she would have to let him go. Gone would be her days of sneaking into Winter. Gone would be whatever this was between them. Because the moment that crown was placed upon her head, she would spend the rest of her life in the palace, her days taken up by meetings and hearings and ceremonies. She would become the cold star, high in her tower, looking down on all that she’d sworn to oversee from a distance.
As Clarion, she could care for him. But the Queen of Pixie Hollow could never truly be with him—or anyone else.
Milori clearly sensed the turn of her mood. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes.” She forced a smile. “I’m only cold.”
He did not look convinced, but he said, “Then let me get you back to Spring.”
Clarion kept her silence on the journey back to the border. He did not push her, even though she could feel his concern washing over her. It was only when she stood on the edge of the bridge that she whirled around to face him. She could not force both of them to languish without closure—not again. Besides, she had promised him that they would finish the conversation they’d begun.
“I have to confess,” she said, “that I lied. Everything is not all right.”
“Oh,” he said, in a tone that suggested he did not know whether he ought to feign surprise. “Can I ask what troubles you?”
She couldn’t decide if she should laugh or weep. How could she possibly answer that question? Now that they’d done what they set out to do, they had no reason to see each other anymore. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Is that all?” he asked. “You can come back tomorrow.”
“I can’t.” Frustration and longing both bubbled up within her. If only it were that simple. “My coronation is in just over a week, Milori. Our duties as rulers will keep us apart from one another.”
Her words landed like a sucker punch, sending him reeling. Milori shook his head, just barely. She could see he wanted to argue, but he only said, “I see.”
“I like you,” she continued breathlessly. “Far, far too much.”
“Then I don’t understand why—”
“It scares me.” How much I want you. How painful it would be to lose you . “I meant what I said. I don’t regret a thing. I am glad it happened, but it cannot happen again. Going forward, we should maintain a formal distance between us. Before it becomes too painful.”
As the seconds ticked by, the stricken look on his face softened gradually. He took a wary step closer to her, as if he were afraid of chasing her away. With his voice pitched low, he said, “I do not think I’ve been subtle about it, but I feel I should tell you that I like you, too.”
Clarion couldn’t help laughing, even through the threat of tears constricting her throat. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder, if only to hide how much his words had affected her. She supposed she had known for quite some time how he felt, but to hear him admit it aloud…It made this —whatever it was—real: something she could lose. “Is that all you’ve taken away from what I’ve said?”
“I don’t believe our duties require that we stay away from one another. But I shall argue my point another time.” When she dared to glance up at him again, he averted his gaze. If she did not know better, she’d say he looked nervous. “I wanted to invite you to Winter’s coronation ball. It is to be held in your honor.”
The quiet vulnerability in his voice, hidden behind that veneer of courtly grace, took a hammer to her defenses. Must he always make things so difficult ? “Milori…”
“You can attend in an official capacity, of course, as our guest of honor,” he hastened to add. “Your subjects in Winter are very eager to meet you.”
She considered it. Good sense dictated that she should decline his invitation. It would be far simpler to make this a clean break—to not torture herself any further by being around him. But if she wanted to bridge the distance between Winter and the warm seasons, she would have to learn to endure it. With time, perhaps these feelings would fade to little more than a memory. In the meantime, she would have to practice.
Attending, of course, would pose a logistical challenge. But how difficult could it really be, to sneak away from her own coronation ball? Once she fulfilled her ceremonial duties and exchanged pleasantries with the right fairies, no one would notice if she slipped away for an hour or two. She would be back before anyone knew to miss her.
Clarion plucked at the sleeve of her coat. “I don’t have anything to wear to a Winter ball.”
Clearly, he knew he had already won, because a smile curled on his lips. “You are the queen. You can wear whatever you’d like.”
A terrible fondness bubbled up within her chest. “Then I suppose I’ll have to go.”
“You will?” As soon as his excitement sparked, he smoothed it over. “Everyone will be very happy to see you.”
“Well,” she said, “the feeling is mutual.”
Too late, she registered that she had not withdrawn from him—that she had not wanted to, despite the distance she knew very well she should hold between them. It would be a simple thing, to rise onto her toes and kiss him as she had the other night, to thread her fingers into his snow-white hair.
His gaze trailed down her face and lingered, just for a moment, on her lips. He was right that he had never exactly been subtle; Clarion knew, down to the stardust in her bones, that he would let her. And yet, he stood as still as a sparrow man carved from ice.
“You’re going to get cold if you stay much longer,” he murmured.
Before she could think better of it, she said, “I’ve been told it suits me.”
It took only a moment for him to realize that she had turned his own words back on him. A glimmer of bittersweet yearning lit his eyes, and Clarion knew then and there that she had crossed a line she might never recover from. Perhaps it would have been better not knowing what she was missing.
Perhaps it would have been better to pine than to mourn.