18
S ince they had sealed the prison, no Nightmares had descended on Pixie Hollow as they slept. No one had awoken to find their work destroyed. No one else had fallen prey to their terrible spell.
No one had stirred from their Nightmarish slumber, either.
When Clarion had visited the clinic, the eerie silence of the room settled over her. Staring out at the sleeping fairies, she’d gone numb with uncomprehending shock. But the devastation that followed was like an icy wind, slicing through her and hollowing her out. She did not understand. They’d sealed the prison, so why hadn’t it worked as it had in the past?
Perhaps she should have known better than to put so much faith in stories. She and Milori might have prevented any more monsters from escaping, but until they found a cure for their spell, this nightmare was far from over. And now they had only one week to end it.
At the very least, Pixie Hollow had finally, tentatively, let down its guard. Although the new development clearly confounded Elvina, she had announced the curfew would be lifted for tonight’s Coronation Ball.
Clarion, however, did not feel much like celebrating. She could not content herself with what she’d achieved until she made sure that this was well and truly over—until she saw Rowan and the others awaken and autumn arrive on the Mainland with no delay. There had to be some way to free them.
But how?
Clarion turned over the question as she dressed for the ball, alone and melancholy in her quarters. It still did not feel entirely real that in one week’s time, the crown would be hers. Perhaps it never would until she’d proven herself worthy of the title.
Her balcony doors were ajar, letting in a cool wash of evening air. The delicate, grassy scents of lady’s mantle and freesia reached her faintly. Purple and yellow flowers waved on the branches, as if trying to catch her eye. The Pixie Dust Tree had put out new growth over the last few days; in the language of flowers, it said, I am here for you . Clarion marveled at how attentive it was being lately. She could not help wondering if it knew she was trying to protect it.
She stood in front of her mirror, feeling utterly ridiculous—and decidedly unqueenly. She had stepped into her gown after severely overestimating her ability to do up all the tiny buttons that ran along her spine. The fabric gaped open on the back and threatened to slide off her shoulders.
As if on cue, two sharp knocks sounded on the door. Relief flooded through her. Someone had come to rescue her at last. “Who is it?”
“Artemis, Your Highness.”
“Oh, good,” she replied. “Come in.”
The door swung open. Artemis stood on the threshold, dressed in her full scout’s regalia. Clarion admired her jacket, all tailored lines and black fabric and gleaming golden buttons—and noted that her sword was not purely ceremonial. She wore the same blade she always carried at her hip, but she’d tucked it into a more ornate scabbard. It was filigreed in intricate whorls of gold in the shape of flowers. To Clarion’s great shock, she’d even done something about her hair. It shone like the polished shell of an acorn, slicked back and tucked neatly behind her ears.
Despite her immaculate uniform, she looked weary—and a little sad. Clarion supposed she understood. Tonight, there would be a knighting ceremony for scouts who had risked their lives on patrol over the past few weeks. It was the highest honor they could achieve, bestowed by the queen herself. Clarion did not need to ask to know it was something Artemis wanted—and something she deserved, after she had saved Clarion’s life.
Artemis took in the scene before her. Evidently moved by Clarion’s plight, she asked, “Do you need help?”
Clarion shot her a grateful look in the mirror. “Please.”
Artemis flitted over, then immediately set to work fastening the buttons with practiced, efficient ease. When she finished, she adjusted the train, letting it fan out like a spill of water. Now, Clarion could appreciate the full effect of the gown. The fabric glittered as bright as starlight, its brilliance casting a twinkling, ever-changing glow on the walls. Just minutes before, she’d plaited her hair. One of the garden-talents had left a garland of forsythia and daisy petals for her to weave into her braid. All that remained now was to apply her maquillage.
“You look lovely,” said Artemis.
“So do you.” Clarion warmed at the compliment, but she could not shake just how bittersweetly pensive her guard looked. “How are you?”
Artemis seemed somewhat surprised but replied, “Fine.”
Clarion raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
There was a moment of silence as Artemis registered the question behind her question. Her mouth twisted into a moue of discomfort. “Ah.”
Honestly, Clarion thought. Scouts and their determined stoicism. Perhaps it was unprofessional to push the matter, but her well-being mattered to Clarion. “You deserve recognition, too, you know.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Artemis said hastily. “I have done my best to help in the small ways I can. All I want is the good of Pixie Hollow.”
Clarion turned away from her own reflection and fixed Artemis with a meaningful look. No one could truly be so selfless. “But you want more than that.”
Artemis hesitated. “I suppose I do.”
For the second time in all the years they’d known each other, Clarion had dragged Artemis to the very edge of her vulnerability. She did not know if she could convince her to take the leap. She perched on the edge of her bed and placed her chin in her hands. “Once, you told me that you’d led with your heart over your head. That’s why you were assigned to be my guard. What happened, exactly?”
For a moment, Clarion thought she might change the subject entirely. But Artemis heaved a long sigh and settled on the bed beside her. The mattress dipped beneath her weight. Artemis sat with her spine rigidly straight and her hands clasped over her knees.
“Back when I first arrived in Pixie Hollow,” she said, “there was something of an ongoing situation. A hawk had happened upon us and tried to establish its territory in the Autumn Forest. None of the animal-talents could manage it or convince it to go elsewhere, so it was up to the scouts to handle the danger it posed.
“I was something of a firebrand back then.” At this, Clarion suppressed a snort of laughter. Artemis gave her a wry smile, but it faded quickly. “I’d gotten into a skirmish with it—and I was poised to drive it off. I had it in my sights, after me and a friend in my unit cornered it. But she’d underestimated her pixie dust ration. She fell.”
Fairies’ wings could not support their weight without pixie dust. And if they were battling a hawk, no doubt they’d found themselves high above the forest floor.
“Oh,” Clarion murmured.
Artemis bowed her head, and her black hair curtained her face. “I saved her—but I let our target go. Others were lost as a result of my mistake. My superiors determined that I was not levelheaded enough to make the right decisions in battle. My instincts meant that I was better suited for guard duty.”
A good queen must focus on the task at hand, Elvina had said once, and help at scale.
Her heart lurched at the pain in Artemis’s voice, a pain Clarion knew intimately. She could not have turned her back on someone she could have saved, either. Was that really what it meant to be responsible and levelheaded? To protect the hypothetical many over the one in front of you?
“I’m not sure I would call that a mistake ,” Clarion said softly.
Artemis looked up at her, a startled hope shining in her eyes. Had no one ever absolved her of this? Soon enough, Clarion would be able to officially reinstate her. She’d been punished—and she’d punished herself—for long enough.
“I don’t know that I would have done any differently. It was brave, what you did.” Clarion knocked her shoulder against Artemis’s. “You have a good heart, Artemis. We need more fairies like you in the scouts.”
A faint smile curled on Artemis’s lips. Haltingly, as though she did not trust herself to speak, she said, “That’s kind of you to say.”
Clarion returned the smile. “It’s true.”
Before Artemis could reply, another knock sounded on the door.
“It’s me.”
Clarion brightened at the sound of Petra’s voice. It was something of a tradition for them to get ready for balls together, but between their schedules and the tension over Winter, she hadn’t known whether to expect her.
“The door’s open,” Clarion called.
Petra entered the room, and Clarion felt as much as she heard Artemis’s sharp intake of breath. She could not blame her. Petra was always beautiful—but tonight, she was utterly resplendent. The bodice of her gown was fitted, but the skirt flared into graceful tiers of ivy. Her red curls had been tamed and gathered into an elegant knot at the nape of her neck, with a few ringlets artfully framing her face.
When Petra’s gaze landed on Artemis, she let out a strangled sound of surprise. Artemis rose to her feet automatically, and the two of them stared across the room at each other in silent awe. It took all of Clarion’s strength to refrain from commenting. Instead, she moved from her bed to her vanity.
Artemis broke the silence first. “You look…nice.”
A flush crawled up Petra’s neck, and self-conscious panic overtook her. She nearly stumbled into the wall behind her. “What? Why do you say that? Is there something on my face?”
“No, I…” Artemis blinked, clearly unsure how to handle the situation. “I said it because I meant it.”
“Right.” Petra still looked deeply skeptical—but almost pleased.
“So,” Clarion interjected.
Both of them startled, as though they’d forgotten she was there entirely.
“Petra and I need to finish getting ready.” Clarion picked up a cosmetic brush, then a shallow pot of eye paint. Inside was a gold pigment made from a mixture of clay and pixie dust. “Do you want any, Artemis?”
Artemis examined her as though assessing a threat. “No, thank you. I’ll leave you to it.”
Clarion lifted one shoulder. “Suit yourself.”
Petra shrank back against the wall as Artemis brushed past her. When the door clicked shut behind her, Petra crossed the room in a flutter of ivy skirts and fire-bright curls. “You didn’t tell me she was going to be here.”
“She’s always here.” Clarion twisted the lid off her eye paint. Unable to resist, she added, “She’s off duty tonight, you know.”
Petra’s face lit up. “Really?”
Clarion gasped. She had not intended to catch Petra out, but now she’d all but confirmed what she’d suspected for years. She jabbed the brush at Petra. “I knew it!”
“There’s nothing to know!”
Petra looked ready to snatch the brush away from her, or else flee out of the nearest window. It did nothing to tamp down the spark of mischief. “Oh, I think there is.”
“It doesn’t matter, anyway.” Petra buried her face in her hands. “She’s terrifying.”
Clarion resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Just ask her to dance. She’s not going to bite you.”
“She might stab me, though,” Petra said darkly.
Clarion grinned. How easy it was to fall into this pattern with her. It felt so normal that she’d nearly forgotten about their last fraught conversation. She’d nearly forgotten that tonight, she would have to slip past her.
Both you and Elvina are depending on me for your schemes to work. Being in this position isn’t easy for me.
The memory—the reminder of the distance wedged between them—twinged painfully. If Petra knew she planned to sneak out to Winter tonight, she would try to stop her. And now that it was clear their plan hadn’t fully succeeded, she needed to speak with Milori more than ever. There had to be something they could do—anything to prevent Elvina from using what Petra had armed her with.
Petra’s expression softened with concern. “What is it?”
“There’s just a lot on my mind lately. Coronation things.” Clarion forced a smile. In an effort to busy herself, she shuffled a few glass bottles of fragrances around. They clacked together, too loud in the fragile silence. “Come here. Sit.”
Petra perched gingerly on the edge of her bed.
Clarion swiveled to face her, nearly knocking their knees together. She dabbed her brush in the eye paint, then took Petra’s chin in her fingers. “The usual?”
“Yes.” After a moment, she added, “But it has to look especially good. For no particular reason.”
“Of course not,” said Clarion, with only a touch of impishness.
Bracing her wrist against Petra’s cheekbone, Clarion daubed gold onto Petra’s eyelids. Her bracelets clinked together softly, and Petra’s steady breath fanned out against her skin as she worked. Clarion fell into a practiced rhythm, feathering and layering the pigment across her brow bone. When she finished with Petra’s eyes, Clarion switched to her fluffiest brush and dusted pixie dust across Petra’s cheekbones. It was all she needed. Anything else would conceal her freckles.
“Open your eyes,” Clarion said.
She did—and Clarion’s heart skipped a beat. The gold of the paint and the fierce red of her hair drew out every shade of green in her eyes. They were the color of a sunlit summer forest.
“Perfect.” Clarion set down her brush emphatically. “She’s going to fall in love with you.”
Petra wailed inarticulately in protest, and despite the fear and the stress, Clarion laughed. For a few more hours, maybe she could pretend everything was as it always had been.
By the time they arrived at the ball deep in the heart of Summer, the festivities were already in full swing. Clarion, Petra, and Artemis passed beneath the Fairy Circle—a ring of red-capped mushrooms—and into the ballroom, announced by the bright, resonant tone of a herald-talent’s voice.
The sight of it stole her breath away.
Glowworms, suspended from low-hanging branches, cast a soft blue aura over the grass. Every so often, fireflies pierced the darkness with pinpricks of light as they drifted through the air. Even without their aid, the entire clearing was impossibly bright, bathed as it was in moonlight. At its center, a spring burbled, made into a spectacle by the water-talents gathered around it. With a wave of their hands, droplets rose from the surface and refracted the light of the moon. Delicate strands of water wove through the air and dissipated into a shimmering curtain of mist.
In the very back of the ballroom, Clarion spotted her destination: a makeshift dais on the moss-covered stump of a sapling. From here, Clarion could make out the hooked points of Elvina’s crown and the radiance of her wings. When she craned her neck to get a better look, she glimpsed Commander Nightshade hovering just beside her. Soon, she would stand beside them as Elvina presided over the knighting ceremony.
They passed by banquet tables, each of them piled high with the cooking-talents’ hard work. Every dish was as good as a love letter to summer and its bounty: honey cake topped with honeycomb, blackberries, and slivers of fig; delicate blueberry tarts sprinkled with coarse sugar; peach jam and golden bread; tomatoes sliced thick and served with a dusting of salt and basil; glasses of redcurrant wine; pickled radishes and rainbow chard; sweating jars of water flavored with orange blossom and mint; rhubarb and strawberry streusel. Clarion’s mouth watered as she looked at it all.
But most striking were her subjects, all of them dressed in their finery. Fairies lounged on the petals of night-blooming flowers, preening beneath the light of the full moon. Others sprawled atop the mushrooms or fluttered aimlessly through the air, speaking in low tones with their friends. Normally, their excited chatter would all but drown out the sound of the orchestra’s music. But tonight, the atmosphere was tinged with melancholy.
The slumbering fairies, clearly, were on everyone’s mind.
As they navigated their way through the clearing, the crowds parted for her and conversations fell to a hush. All around her, Clarion could hear deferential murmurs of “Your Highness.” Many curtsied or bowed to her as she drifted by. Artemis was a comforting presence beside her, guiding her toward the dais like a pirate ship’s prow cutting through the waves of the Never Sea. Clarion gave her a quick nod of acknowledgment before floating up to join the queen and the commander of the scouts. Elvina raked her gaze over her, with her ceremonial scepter clutched loosely in her hands.
Whatever she saw there satisfied her, for she said, “You look like a queen tonight.”
The pride glimmering in her eyes made Clarion feel off-kilter. How long she’d yearned to be told as much—and how strangely hollow it felt to hear it now, when Elvina did not know what she had done. “Thank you.”
Elvina turned toward the gathered fairies. The orchestra played one last, shivering note that dissipated into the humid summer air, and with that, the silence was complete.
“Welcome, all. Thank you for coming to the Coronation Ball held in honor of Princess Clarion, who will be crowned your queen one week from today.” Elvina paused when her voice faltered. Clarion frowned. She’d never seen Elvina waver, especially in front of her subjects. But now that Clarion was studying her closely, she could see that Elvina’s face was quite wan. “It has felt like a long time since we could all gather like this. While those injured in the attack are at the forefront of our thoughts, the dark shadow that has fallen over Pixie Hollow is finally lifting.”
A smattering of tentative applause broke out across the clearing. When it died down, Elvina continued. “And so, I would like to begin the evening by honoring some of our brave scout-talents. They have worked tirelessly to ensure our safety. Each night, they risked their lives by patrolling the skies. They evacuated areas as needed, provided thorough reports, and helped with the repair of any damages the Nightmares caused. Tonight, they will be recognized with the highest honor a scout can achieve: knighthood.”
Clarion glanced at the scouts, standing in neat, orderly rows just in front of the dais. Although most of them were beaming, she could focus only on Artemis. She stood in the back of the group, with such open longing on her face that Clarion had to look away.
“All Knights of Pixie Hollow, please join me.”
A small collection of scouts rose into the air and came to hover behind Elvina in a semicircle. Each of them wore a pin on the lapel of their coat: an iridescent shard of abalone in the shape of a star, glistering against black fabric.
“Please step forward when you’re called,” Elvina intoned.
Clarion watched as one by one, the chosen scouts stepped forward and knelt before Elvina. Even with their heads bowed, she could practically feel the happiness emanating from them. They deserved it—truly. But Clarion could not help the bittersweet feeling curdling within her, knowing Artemis had missed out on what she so desperately wanted.
“I hereby induct you into the honorable order of the Knights of Pixie Hollow.” Elvina tapped both of their shoulders with her scepter. “Rise, knight, and be recognized.”
When the last of them had been knighted, the crowds broke into whoops and cheers. In the chaos, a serving-talent flitted up to the dais and handed Clarion a delicate flute. It chilled her skin, and when she glanced down, she saw that it was a glass of lemonade garnished with a sprig of rosemary.
“Now,” Elvina called out over the noise, “your future queen will speak a few words.”
Clarion’s throat went dry as all the attention in the clearing focused on her. She floated forward and swept her gaze out over her subjects. This was the very first time she would address them on her own, and she found the reality of it far more intimidating than the idea of it. The languid heat of summer settled over her—or perhaps it was her own nerves making her feel so hot .
“Good evening,” she said, her voice uncertain. “I want to echo what Her Majesty said in thanking you for coming tonight. I will save my speeches for Coronation Day, but in the meantime, I will say that I appreciate your coming to celebrate this occasion more than I can say. Enjoy yourselves tonight, and dance in my honor. So…” She lifted her glass. “To all of you—and to brighter days ahead.”
The glittering sound of glasses clinking together traveled through the clearing. Clarion swallowed a sip of her lemonade, if only to dispel the bitter taste in her mouth. She did not deserve to be celebrated when she still had not roused the slumbering from their spell.
As the orchestra struck up another tune, Elvina rested a hand on Clarion’s shoulder. Although she did not speak, Clarion understood her meaning: You did well.
“Go on,” said Elvina. “Enjoy the rest of your night.”
“I will.” A bolt of anticipation shot through her. Now, with her obligations fulfilled, she could pay a visit to her subjects in Winter. All that remained was slipping away undetected.
As she flitted through the ballroom, she watched fairies pirouette through the air to the soaring tune of the music-talents. The dance would wear on late into the night, until all the world was alight with showers of pixie dust and starlight. All her life, she’d known very well what it felt like to be lonely in a crowd. But she had never felt it more acutely than she did tonight. Seeing the others holding hands, twirling and laughing as they switched partners, reminded her of all the things she would never— could never—have.
A hand locked around her arm, yanking her from her thoughts. When she whirled to face whoever had accosted her, she found herself staring down at Petra. Clarion’s stomach twisted into a knot.
Just my luck, she thought. How was she going to escape now?
“I saw a pretty isolated corner over that way,” Petra said, sounding as though she had been talking for a few seconds already. “What do you think?”
“Actually,” Clarion said, extricating herself from Petra’s grip as gently as she could, “I’m not feeling well.”
“Oh, no. You can’t use that excuse if I’m not allowed to. You’re not allowed to abandon me here, where people could talk to me ”—Petra shuddered—“or worse .”
“What could possibly be worse than that?”
“A lot of things! For example—” Petra cut herself off. “No, don’t distract me. If you’re leaving, I’m going with you.”
“No,” Clarion said hastily. “I mean…no, you don’t have to do that.”
Petra regarded her suspiciously. “Why?”
“Because…” She groped for an excuse. “I just want to get some air for a few minutes. You should stay and enjoy the party.”
“Enjoy the— Enjoy? ” Petra spluttered. “You know I don’t enjoy parties. What is really going on here?”
Clarion laughed, a brittle sound even to her own ears. “Nothing is going on.”
“Oh, really?” Petra planted a hand on her hip. “Then why are you trying to run away from me?”
She could be so stubborn sometimes. “I’m not,” Clarion said, trying to keep her mounting frustration out of her voice.
Evidently, she failed, because Petra regarded her with a somewhat stung expression. “Have I done something?”
“No, of course not.” Clarion glanced over her shoulder fretfully. She really needed to go. “I just want to be alone.”
Color rose in Petra’s cheeks. “I can’t apologize to you if I don’t know what you’re upset about.”
A few nearby fairies cast curious looks their way. Clarion grabbed Petra’s wrist and steered her toward the very edge of the Fairy Circle, where the shadow of the woods reached between the archway of the mushroom caps. The light from the party glittered on the pixie dust on the bridge of Petra’s nose and set her red hair ablaze. Yet here in the near darkness, Clarion felt oddly chilled. She wrapped her arms around herself and fixed her gaze on the ground. Clearly, she was not going to escape without being honest.
“I’m not upset with you. It’s only that you didn’t want me to talk to you about Winter.”
Petra took a reflexive step backward. “This is about Winter? What business do you have there? The attacks have stopped.”
“But no one has woken up,” Clarion countered. “And Elvina showed me what you made for her.”
“Oh.”
Oh. Was that really all she had to say? When Clarion looked up, Petra was staring back at her, her face as pale as Winter.
“I told you how I felt about her plan, and I thought you agreed with me.” Clarion’s voice wavered with an emotion she hadn’t realized was so close to spilling forth. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she did not want to lash out when she was hurting. It was not Petra’s fault. Her obligation was to the Crown, not to Clarion. Even so, Petra’s involvement had made things quite difficult for her. “It doesn’t matter. I’m doing the best I can to solve the problem my own way.”
Slowly, Petra’s wounded expression morphed into one of determination, but the flush did not fade. High emotion always stained her face bright red. “And that’s really what you’re planning to do now ?”
Clarion did not appreciate the judgment in her voice. Guardedly, she said, “I’ve done everything expected of me tonight. I’m trying to keep Pixie Hollow safe.”
Petra let out a soft, frustrated sound. “In a ball gown, Clarion? I’m not naive. You’re not going to investigate a cure. You’re going to see the warden.”
Clarion reeled back. Did Petra resent Milori for taking up Clarion’s time, or did she truly think Clarion lovesick enough to put a boy over her duties? Either way, she bristled all over with indignation. “And what does it matter if I am?”
Petra stared at her disbelievingly. “Your coronation is in a week.”
“Which means I must stay inside until then,” she replied bitterly, “and speak to no one you disapprove of.”
“No. It means you need to be more responsible. It’s too dangerous to play these games!” Petra’s glow intensified, burning orange at the edges. “You’ve already gotten hurt because of him. You’ve become distant, and you’re exhausted all the time. And sneaking off tonight, when everyone is looking to you to reassure them that things will be all right? It’s a bad idea. But you have never listened to me. Then again, who does? No one takes me seriously, because I’m just the one who’s afraid of everything.”
The pain in her voice doused the hottest flames of Clarion’s anger. But Petra’s words had cut deep.
You think I’m being selfish. You think I’m not taking my role seriously.
Clarion held those words behind her teeth. She could not remember the last time they’d fought like this. As much as she was burning to defend herself—as much as she wanted to fix whatever had broken between them—she did not have time for this. No matter what Petra wanted to accuse her of, this was about Pixie Hollow as much as it was about her feelings. She did not owe her an explanation.
Clarion squeezed her eyes shut, as if that could prevent her tears from falling. Furiously—and as carefully as she could—she swiped them away. She could not reapply the gold to her eyes, and she could not meet the winter fairies looking as though she’d just been crying. “I have to go.”
“Clarion, please —”
Swallowing down her hurt, Clarion slipped into darkness and headed toward Winter.