Wings of Starlight

19

I f only Petra had just let it lie. If only she had not goaded Clarion into a confrontation she wasn’t prepared for.

If only, if only, if only. Clarion stewed in her thoughts while she fetched her coat from where she’d stashed it in the knothole of a nearby tree. She hugged it to her chest, inhaling the familiar scent of Winter clinging to the fur trim. It brought her no comfort; it only served as a bitter reminder of how much she owed to Petra.

Drawing in a deep breath, she did her best to fold up all her hurt feelings and file them carefully away. She could not afford to become maudlin right now. Tonight’s journey into Winter, after all, was purely to fulfill her royal duty. She could manage her emotions, as any competent queen could. And yet, all she wanted was to retire for the evening—to brood over how she’d officially torn apart her relationship with her best friend.

Although the sun had fully set, Clarion could have found the border of Winter and Spring blindfolded by now. Her wings knew the way: every stone jutting from the earth, every turn of the river, every branch elbowing out into the path, guiding her to the only place that felt like home. Spring seemed to sense her sadness tonight. Willow branches trailed soothingly along her arms, and she could have sworn the cherry blossoms bloomed wilder than they had before. Their petals tangled in her skirts and settled gently on the surface of the moonlit pond she passed.

When she made it to the border, Milori was waiting for her. Slowly, she descended from her flight. The train of her gown pooled around her, and as the hem dissolved into pixie dust and motes of golden light, it stained the water and ice with brilliant gold.

In the full dark, Milori was a sketch in charcoal beneath the glow of a star-flecked sky. She found she couldn’t look away from him. She’d never seen him in the trappings of his rank before. He wore a cloak of spider-silk brocade, dyed a pale blue and embroidered with frost-like patterns in delicate silver thread. It was fastened around his shoulders with a brooch of solid ice, gleaming coldly against the fabric. A circlet of icicles, both fragile and imposing, was nestled in his white hair. He’d left it unbound, so it fell like a spill of moonlit water down his back.

For a moment, they stared at each other, the air thickening with all the things left unsaid between them. How had she ever believed she could keep her feelings out of it when they reunited?

Perhaps Petra hadn’t been entirely wrong.

At last, Milori broke the silence. The fur-lined hem of his cloak shifted as he bowed to her. “We’re here to escort you to the ball.”

“We…?” She trailed off when she spotted Noctua. She was perched in the branch of a spruce a few yards away, watching them with a look that veered too close to exasperation for Clarion’s liking. If even an owl could sense the tension, things were bleak indeed. “Of course.”

He nodded at the coat draped over her arm. “May I help you with your coat?”

She hesitated. She’d wanted—well, wanted was a strong word, but the point stood—to maintain some distance between them, but what harm could there possibly be in so small a gesture? She handed it to him. “I don’t see why not.”

Milori held it out for her so that she could slide her arms into the sleeves. Once she had let it settle over her shoulders, she fastened the buttons. She knew she must have looked rather ridiculous, wearing this patched-together coat over the most elegant ball gown she owned. But when she glanced up at Milori again, he was watching her as if the entire ensemble were the most striking thing he’d ever seen.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing at all.” He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

She tucked her hand into his elbow. “How proper.”

“It is the first time Pixie Hollow’s royalty has graced this realm in an official capacity,” he said, only a little winkingly. “I intend to make a good first impression.”

He turned, and as she moved to follow him, she slipped into Winter. The cold that washed over her felt cleansing. Summer and her coronation ball seemed terribly far away now.

As he led her toward Noctua, Milori let his shoulder knock gently into hers. “Is there something on your mind?”

For a moment, she considered lying. “Is it so obvious?”

Milori’s response was a half shrug that said, Painfully so. After a moment, he asked, “Is it the Nightmares?”

“In part.” She worried the inside of her lip. “I’m sorry. I’d meant to check in with you sooner. The attacks have stopped, but…”

“…no one has woken up.”

Clarion ached at the somberness of his voice—at the weary shadows still carved beneath his pale eyes. How she yearned to take away some of that burden. “I don’t understand what we did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Milori kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, seemingly lost in thought. “The instructions weren’t exactly clear. Besides, there was always a risk that the legend would lead to a dead end, but it wasn’t for nothing. Sealing the prison has given your subjects peace of mind for the first time in weeks. Tonight is evidence of that.”

“I suppose so,” she murmured. “Still, I can’t help feeling guilty—like we’ve forgotten the slumbering. It feels wrong to celebrate without them.”

“I’m not sure it’s wrong to hold what moments of joy we can find.”

Her heart gave an answering flutter. That low, gentle tone of his felt almost…pointed. It was a lovely sentiment, one she wished she could believe applied to her—to them . Clarion held her silence, lest something regrettably whimsical or melancholy slip out. With her current mood, she couldn’t be sure which it would be.

“At any rate…” He barreled onward. The tips of his ears burned red. “The Keeper and I have begun searching for other texts that might provide some answers. It could take some time, however. The Hall of Winter is vast…and admittedly rather disorganized. Each Keeper has had their own system of classification, and none of them has managed to make it consistent across the entire collection during their tenure. There is still an entire section with shelves arranged by color.”

Clarion almost smiled at the thought. How magical, that an entire library could be transformed into a rainbow. “I wish I could help.”

“Me, too.” He hesitated. “If you’d like, I can write to you with our findings.”

After her coronation, she supposed there would be no one monitoring her correspondence. “All right.”

He nodded. “There’s something else troubling you?”

Clarion let out a heavy sigh. Her breath unfurled in a white cloud. “I’m afraid it will sound ridiculous in comparison. Petra and I got into an argument at the ball, and it’s weighing on me.”

When they reached Noctua, he took her reins—these ones, she noted, were made of a much finer material; apparently, even birds had finery—and hesitated. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Did she? Some part of her did, of course. But she feared that once she picked open the wound, there would be no stemming the tide. She would have to think about how Petra had almost enabled the worst possible outcome for Winter. But worse still, she would have to consider the role she herself had played in driving a wedge between them. It wasn’t as though Petra’s concerns were unreasonable. Venturing into the Winter Woods as a warm fairy was objectively dangerous. Perhaps she should have spoken to her instead of throwing up walls.

Perhaps she had not listened to her properly for a long time.

Grimacing, Clarion shook her head. “It will pass soon enough.”

He did not look terribly convinced, but he did not press the matter. “As you wish.”

She and Milori climbed onto Noctua’s back—something that was becoming almost second nature to her now, she realized. She no longer had to hold on for dear life when the owl beat her wings, carrying them into the skies. Here, nestled safely in Milori’s arms, Clarion felt something like peace. She dared to look down. Beneath the veil of night, all the snow was stained a muted blue.

It took her only a few minutes to realize that Milori was steering them to an area she had never seen before. Below them was a river, frozen solid and gleaming like a vein of glass. From this height, she could make out the milling crowds atop the ice—and scattered here and there along the riverbanks, a few booths, lit from within with a cheerful orange light.

Milori slowed Noctua; she beat her wings to hover nearly in place. When he spoke, Clarion could feel his voice, rumbling in his chest and curling softly over the shell of her ear. “I should warn you that this might be somewhat overwhelming.”

She shot him a wry look. “You doubt me?”

“Never,” he said softly. “It’s only that they know what you’ve done for them.”

“Oh.” She supposed that would make things different. In the warm seasons, no one knew that she and Milori had sealed away the Nightmares. “Thank you for the warning. But I think I’m ready.”

A spark of mischief glittered in his eyes. “Then prepare to make quite an entrance.”

They made quite an entrance, indeed.

Noctua dove, descending on the Winter ball in a swirl of white feathers and pixie dust. The owl slowed their fall with a few flaps of her wings, kicking up the topmost layer of snow; it eddied wildly around them as they landed just outside the festival grounds.

Even over the rush of the wind, Clarion heard the winter fairies’ cheers. In an instant, the crowds pressed in around them, and she caught snatches of her name, spoken not in a reverential hush but with…excitement? It was such a foreign concept, she could hardly make sense of it.

“Our guest of honor has arrived,” Milori called out over the commotion.

Somehow, the noise intensified. Clarion could only laugh breathlessly as she stared out over their faces. She did not think anyone had ever been so happy to see her. She could only hope she did not disappoint them.

Milori leaned close enough to murmur in her ear, “I did warn you.”

“You certainly did.”

As Clarion dismounted, the wind tugged loose glittering trails from the hem of her gown. Together, she and Milori waded into the veritable sea of fairies. They could make little progress toward the river, however, when she was stopped every few paces.

“Welcome to the Winter Woods, Your Highness.” A fairy with an elegant white braid draped over her shoulder beamed at her. “I wanted to give you this, if you’ll accept it.”

She held out a jasmine blossom encased in frost, glittering and perfectly preserved. It was beautiful—and an incredibly kind gesture. It must have been difficult to fetch it; jasmine grew only on the very edge of Winter and Spring.

Clarion took it gently, afraid to snap the delicate petals off. “Of course I will. Thank you so much.”

The words had no sooner passed her lips than a sparrow man took the fairy’s place. He offered her a figurine carved from ice. “A small token of our gratitude, Your Highness, that you risked your life to protect ours.”

“Oh,” she said, a little overcome. She accepted the figurine gingerly, cradling it in the palm of her mittened hand. It would melt if she held on to it—if not now, then when she returned to the warm seasons. She marveled at the fragile beauty of these ephemeral things. “It’s my pleasure.”

By the third fairy who approached her, Clarion realized that something of a line had formed. It astonished her to see so many fairies waiting to speak to her . Her interactions blurred together eventually, a whirlwind of clasped hands, exchanged names, and gifts—so many, she did not know how she would get them home, or where to put them even if she could. Winter fairies, so long separated from the warm seasons, were apparently keen to share what they had to offer. Their generosity and warmth astounded her. Between this reception and her fight with Petra, the world felt far too raw, all her emotions just a pinprick from spilling forth.

This had been overwhelming, indeed.

When the initial excitement died down and the crowds thinned, a kind fairy loaded her things onto a sleigh and offered to take it to the border after the festivities. The very last of her subjects waiting to see her was Milori. Clarion felt no small measure of relief to see him.

“How are you holding up?”

“Perfectly,” she said—and she meant it. “A little tired, though.”

He looked a little apologetic. “Shall I take you home?”

“No,” she said, perhaps too hastily. In truth, she never wanted to leave. “Not yet. I haven’t visited any of the booths.”

“That is a must before you go.” Milori offered her his hand. Giddiness, irrepressible and bright, unfurled through her at the sight. “Come with me, then.”

She took his hand. “All right.”

He led her toward the frozen river. As they approached the festival, the night brightened. Candles burned on every available surface—stones, tables of ice, logs—and cast everything in rosy hues. The river absorbed all the candlelight and seemed to glow in the darkness. All along its embankment, the winter fairies had set up painted wooden booths, their roofs iced like cakes with a thick layer of snow and dripping with icicles. Each one offered something different: spiced cider, butternut squash soup garnished with fragments of pomegranate seeds, salads of dark greens and delicate slivers of beets, candied nuts chopped into fine pieces, pastries glazed with citrus, toffee puddings in caramel sauce. Clarion insisted on trying some of everything.

All around them, fairies skated across the ice and drifted through the air as they danced. They wore clothes of pure white and deepest red. Clarion paused to admire the frost lacework and ice gems glittering at their ears and wrists. How different even their fashion was here!

“Would you like to join them?” Milori asked.

Clarion whirled to face him, flustered to have been caught staring with such…yearning. It took her a moment to process that his question sounded suspiciously like an invitation. “Do you dance?”

“I can ,” he said, “theoretically. But I find I rarely have reason to.”

“I’m shocked,” she replied with a grin. She could hardly imagine him dancing. “Me neither. Well, I suppose that isn’t entirely true. I’ve always wanted to dance.”

He made a pensive sound. “Why haven’t you?”

“Queens don’t dance.”

“In Winter, they might.” He met her eyes meaningfully, and her throat went dry. “Besides, you aren’t queen yet.”

Clarion flushed to have her words turned back on her. She shook her head at him in fond exasperation. With every moment that passed, it became more and more difficult to remember why exactly she’d insisted on maintaining some semblance of distance between them. What he said was true: she wasn’t queen yet. And he was looking at her with such hope, it seemed almost cruel to deny him.

Why not allow herself one last night of freedom?

Putting on airs of defeat, she sighed. She drew a step closer and tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. “I suppose I can’t argue against that.”

Milori’s lips parted mutely. Clarion felt a small thrill that she seemed to have rendered him speechless. Clearly, he hadn’t expected her to acquiesce so easily. But after a moment, he recovered enough to ask, “Then may I be so bold as to ask for your first dance?”

It took all her strength to maintain her teasingly aloof tone. “You may.”

Distantly, she registered that the music-talents had struck up another song. Slowly, she rested one hand on his shoulder; the other slid into his. He settled into the frame of the dance, drawing her closer with a hand on the curve of her waist. The familiar, comforting chill of his skin enveloped her, along with the scent of evergreen and fresh-fallen snow. And although he claimed he rarely danced, he guided her through the steps with practiced ease. They were among the only couples on the ground; it was freeing, to take up so much space, to never fear colliding with someone else. The fabric of her gown billowed around them as they twirled, gathering up snow and starlight.

“How have you enjoyed your first Winter ball?” he asked.

“It’s incredible. It’s so…” She struggled to find the exact word, but the most paradoxical one fit best. “Warm.”

Milori seemed pleased, but his expression soon grew thoughtful. “This is what it could be like, if you wanted it to be.”

For the first time, Clarion allowed herself to envision it. When she was queen, it would be within her power to change things in the warm seasons. Although Elvina had imparted her wisdom to Clarion, her time in Winter had shown her it was not the only way forward. How sweet it would be to rule not from an impartial distance but with warmth . Perhaps, then, she would not have to be alone. The very thought filled her up with a yearning greater than any she’d ever known.

When the song ended, Milori did not let her go immediately. Clarion resisted the urge to lean her head against his shoulder. But while her heart longed to stay, the cold had made itself known. Her fingers were going numb, and the tips of her ears stung. “I should get back to Summer before they notice I’m gone.”

If he was disappointed, it did not show on his face. But she could read his reluctance to let her go, broken only by the shiver that gripped her. Even after he dropped her hand, his palm still rested steadily on the small of her back. “Of course. Let’s get you out of the cold.”

A solemn mood had come over them both; the flight back to the border passed in silence. Clarion could focus on little but the feeling of finality. Milori clearly felt it, too. He held on to the reins with a white-knuckled pressure, as though he could cling to these last few moments. She leaned her head back against his shoulder, letting her eyes fall half-lidded. From this vantage point, she caught glimpses of his loose white hair, unspooling like ribbons into the dark.

Noctua alighted, then immediately fluffed out her feathers. Her head seemed to recede into them. With the sun long since sunk below the horizon, the temperature had plummeted. Ice floes drifted on the river’s current, as glossy as sheets of black glass in the moonlight.

When Clarion dismounted, her boots sank deep into the snowdrifts. She hesitated, tipping her head back to peer up at Milori where he remained perched on Noctua’s back. In his diadem, frozen into jagged points, he looked so much like the statue of the Lord of Winter: as forlorn as he was formidable. Wind swept through Winter like a mournful sigh. It set his cloak billowing, and the thickening flurries drifted between them like a curtain.

She could not bring herself to say her goodbyes.

This is what it could be like, he’d said, if you wanted it to be.

After everything, did they not deserve happiness?

“Milori,” she began, at the same time he said, “I…”

He cleared his throat. “Go on.”

Clarion let out a shaky breath. “Will you come down first?”

Without hesitation, he dropped into the snow beside her. She still had to look up at him, but here on level ground, it felt less like he would slip away from her. She tugged her mittens off, one after the other. Gathering her nerve, she said, “I’ve been thinking.”

Milori’s voice was barely audible. “About what?”

“About what you said. I…” Her words left her in a rush. Any hope of being articulate had fled her entirely. Her mittens fell to the ground. She twined her fingers in the fabric of his cloak where it met at the dip of his collarbone. Holding his gaze, she said, “I don’t want to leave.”

Milori looked as though he had been waiting his entire life for those words. A dam had given way within him, and the emotion burning in his eyes broke over her like a wave. His hands came to rest over hers, his fingers encircling her wrists. She could feel the wild thrum of his heart beneath her touch, the chill of his skin seeping into hers.

“Then don’t,” he murmured into the bare space between them.

Don’t. As though it were the simplest thing in the world.

What else was there to do? She stood on her toes and kissed him.

For a moment, they remained suspended in a sort of tender disbelief. Then, his lips parted beneath hers, and Clarion felt herself catch flame. She tasted cocoa and cinnamon on her tongue, swallowed the hitch of his breath as she melted into him. His fingers threaded into the hair at the nape of her neck, angling her chin up toward him as he deepened the kiss. The pins holding her flower crown in place came loose, showering the earth at her feet with white petals and sweet pollen. His every touch set her nerves alight with both languid heat and searing cold.

Breathless, she pulled back. But even that small distance pained her. How she resented her own limitations right now—her body’s inability to tolerate his realm for long. “I’m freezing.”

“We can’t have that.” His lips brushed against hers with every syllable.

Neither of them seemed willing to part.

He gathered her into his arms and slowly walked her backward. Clarion laughed unsteadily, winding her arms around his neck for balance. He stopped only when they were bridged between worlds: her feet planted on the frost-laced moss, his in the shallow dusting of snow. But even here in Spring, the cold clung to her. Snow sparkled against her eyelashes, and the breath she shared with him plumed softly in the air.

This, she thought, was enough. They could make this work.

In that moment, there was nothing and no one but the two of them.

And then, a familiar voice cut through her joy: “Clarion!”

Elvina.