25
W hen the starlight winked out, Milori pulled her from the depths of the lake. As soon as he guided her onto solid ground, the ice knit itself shut behind her, like a wound finally healing—and underneath, Clarion could see dark waters churning. Just like that, it was as though the prison had never existed at all.
She had done it.
Slowly, she eased herself back onto the smooth mirror of the lake’s surface and stared up at the sky. Cold seeped in through her coat, but she found she didn’t mind. Time had slipped away from her beneath the ice. Night had fallen like a curtain over Winter, but it was positively luminous with celestial light. An aurora borealis unfurled through the sky in broad, billowing ribbons. Once upon a time, perhaps, dream fairies would have soared beneath them, gathering them into their baskets. But now, they shimmered tantalizingly out of reach, their magic as wondrous and mysterious as the night itself. They haloed Milori, painting him in soft greens and blues.
“How did you know to come here?” she asked, unable to keep the wonder out of her voice.
“You stole my owl,” he said, with a touch of amusement. “Who else but the queen would dare do such a thing? It wasn’t particularly difficult to figure out where you might have taken her.”
Clarion flushed. “To be clear, she let me steal her.”
Milori laughed. He looked so boyishly, uncomplicatedly happy, she couldn’t help laughing, too. She took hold of his arm and pulled him down on the ice beside her. He came willingly. For a moment, the two of them lay side by side like a couple of stargazers. Slowly, Clarion splayed her fingers out across his chest and propped herself up to peer down at him. His hair pooled around him, a spill of white against the muted blue of the ice.
For just a little longer, she wanted to stay here, where nothing existed but the two of them. Clarion traced his jawline with the tips of her fingers. She leaned over him, her hair spilling over her shoulders to curtain them.
“You have your wish,” she murmured. “What will you do now?”
Milori gathered up the weight of her hair in one hand, brushing it back from her face and draping it over her shoulder. Despite the chill of his skin, her entire body warmed at his touch. “Truthfully, I don’t know. It’s felt like such an impossible dream for so long. I’ve never let myself consider what would happen if it came true.”
Fortunately, she had given this some thought in the hours she’d spent trapped in bed. “Well, if I’m going to grant your second wish…I want you on my court. Not as the Warden of the Winter Woods—but as the Lord of Winter.”
Milori blinked in surprise. His voice was wary, but his expression was full of tentative hope. “We have not had a Lord of Winter in a long time.”
“And that is a shame.” She would hear no argument. Clarion sat up and offered her hands to him. When he accepted them, she tightened her grip on him, as though she could press her confidence into him. “You deserve your ancestral title returned to you. We have three Seasonal Ministers and no involvement in Winter. It makes no sense to exclude you.”
“Your other ministers may not feel the same,” he said, but she could tell she’d won.
“They will see reason.” Clarion canted her chin, earning herself a smile from Milori. On aching limbs, she stood and helped him to his feet. “Or I will make them see reason as soon as I am queen. Each of us has resources and expertise to share.”
“Very well. I will accept your offer.” He put on a good show of sounding deferential, but the smallest of smiles curled on the corners of his mouth.
“It will be my first decree,” she said. “Never again will our two worlds be at odds with one another.”
“Never again,” he agreed softly.
In the ensuing silence, reality pierced through the dreamy bubble of their victory. There was still much to do to make this vision a reality. And now that they were safe, now that he was standing here in front of her, she had to address what had happened. Reluctantly, she let his hands go.
“How is…?”
Her words failed her, but she did not need to finish her question. His eyes filled with terrible, somber comprehension.
“It’s broken,” he said.
He turned around, and the quiet joy of this stolen moment evaporated. Her gaze followed the delicate, whorled patterns on his right wing down to its end. For a moment, the horror of it was something her mind refused to process. The bottom half of it looked as though it had melted completely, then frozen again into jagged edges.
The force of her emotion knocked the breath from her. Guilt and shame were shackles around her wrists, dragging her down toward despair once more. “Milori…I’m so sorry.”
“Clarion,” he said, with some iron in his voice. “I don’t regret what I’ve done, nor do I blame you for what happened. I’d do it again if given the opportunity.”
Her vision blurred with unshed tears, but she blinked them back fiercely. “You should have left me on the border.”
“No.” Milori turned to face her, resting his hands firmly on her shoulders. The flash of vulnerability in his eyes devastated her. Beneath his gaze, she could almost believe she was something precious and irreplaceable. “I couldn’t have done that. This will be an adjustment, yes. But in Winter, scars like this are a sign of honor, and it isn’t as though I’ll never fly again. I have Noctua.”
She knew, of course, that it was all true. For what he’d done, he’d be recognized as a hero. And yet, this should have been so avoidable . “You didn’t even hesitate. Why?”
“I think you know why, Clarion.”
His voice was low and gentle—and so achingly bittersweet, she could hardly stand it. Of course she knew why. It was the same reason her heart was shattering now.
As she stared up at him, into his earnest gray eyes, the immensity of the feeling that overcame her seemed like both a revelation and an inevitability.
She loved him.
Perhaps she was always bound to, from the very moment she saw him standing on the border. How could she not? She loved his steadfastness, his kindness, even his reckless, selfless bravery. She loved his wry humor and his unshakable devotion to his people. She loved him because he had set her free, too.
And yet, he had broken her heart.
If anything happened to him, she would not survive it. And Milori, loyal to his very core, would throw himself in danger for her time and time again. Now, she saw the full truth of Elvina’s wisdom. Love opened you up to too much pain. Love divided your allegiances, your priorities. For most anyone in Pixie Hollow, it would be acceptable, but for the Lord of Winter…
It was too dangerous to love her.
“I do,” Clarion whispered.
The warmth shining in Milori’s eyes faded as he drank in her expression. “I understand if you don’t feel the same, but I—”
“It isn’t that.” Her voice trembled. No, she could not cry now. She could not bear for him to doubt her conviction. But it felt too difficult to breathe through the pain in her chest. She hadn’t known it would feel like this —as though her heart were truly crumbling. “You can’t. It will impede your ability to lead.”
“No.” Milori looked like a man in free fall, as though he could find nothing solid to hold on to—like everything he believed he had was rapidly slipping through his fingers. “You don’t know that—not for certain.”
“It will impede my ability to lead.” It already had. She would sooner see Pixie Hollow rot, her worst nightmare brought to horrible reality, than see any harm befall him ever again. “I would make every decision thinking of you. I would risk anything, everything , to protect you. Do you understand? I love you, Milori. It scares me too much.”
“I love you, too,” he said miserably.
Hearing those words nearly undid her. Good, she thought. Let this pain serve as a reminder of how desperately needed our separation is.
A love like theirs was ruinous. A broken wing was nothing compared to a broken heart. She could only hope that the pain of both would fade with time.
She armored herself with resolve—with resignation. When she spoke again, her voice was even. “I will ensure the world we both dreamed of exists. But no one else should have to endure what we have. Crossing the border is too dangerous. It should be forbidden. Effective immediately.”
There was no blame in his expression, but what she found there—something between a plea and a challenge—hurt to look at. His eyes, usually the placid silver of moonlit water, now seemed to her the slate gray of the Never Sea, deep and wild. They would pull her under.
“If that is truly what you want,” he said, with more composure than she expected, “I will uphold your rule.”
“It is.” Her very soul cried out in protest as she spoke those words. “It is what I want.”
But as soon as the last word fell like a stone between them, she realized what a fool she’d been to believe he would make this easy for her. She did not know which of them moved first.
They crashed together, and his mouth was on hers with a desperation that left her breathless. She met him with equal fervor. Her world narrowed to this: His hair, slipping through her fingers like water. His hands, skimming down the ridge of her spine and spanning the curve of her waist. He drew her closer, as if he wanted to erase all the space between them. As if they could ever be close enough. As if she could express the depths of her longing for the time they’d never have.
They broke apart, their breaths ragged. He leaned his forehead against hers and cradled her face in his hands. He traced her cheekbones, the line of her jaw, the bow of her lips, with such reverence, it was as though he was committing every detail to memory. Dimly, Clarion registered the dampness of tears on her face. Whose they were, she did not know. With the pad of his thumb, he swiped them away.
“All right,” he said quietly, once he’d set her to rights. His touch fell away, leaving her bereft. “Let’s get you back across the border.”
Please, she wanted to say. Just a little longer. Instead, her voice little more than a whisper, she replied, “All right.”
He whistled for Noctua. Within moments, the span of her wings blotted out the moonlight. As Clarion climbed onto her back, she refused to think about how this might be the very last time she ever rode on owlback. She could not dwell on all the winter fairies she would never get to meet and all the wondrous places she would never venture. Never again would she hear the crunch of her footsteps in the fresh-fallen snow. Never again would she feel the dance of the cold northern wind in her hair. Never again would she walk alongside the sparrow man she’d once thought so stoic. He’d never taught her to skate.
Stars, she was not strong enough to do this.
“Will I see you again?” he asked, so softly she almost did not hear him.
“I’ve decided I want my coronation to take place where all my subjects can be in attendance, on the border. So if you’ll come…”
“Of course,” he replied. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
For a moment, they held each other’s gaze. Clarion tore hers away first, if only to keep herself from weeping anew.
When they arrived on the border, a group of fairies was waiting for her on the Spring side. Scouts flitted up and down the riverbank, and there, a bright beacon of gold in the darkness, was Elvina. Even from this height, Clarion could make out shouts of surprise and alarm. It almost made her smile. How sad that none of them would ever know the friendship of an owl.
Noctua landed silently. When Clarion slid off her back, a quiet awe fell over the warm fairies. Clarion wanted to sink to her knees in the snow. She wanted to be alone, if only to allow herself to feel the full weight of what she had done.
But her subjects needed her.
With her shoulders drawn back, she stepped onto the bridge. And when she crossed into Spring, she did not turn around. If she did—if she felt that invisible tether between them snap taut, calling her back to his side—she might just change her mind. But this, she knew, was for the best.
One day, she hoped she truly believed that.
All the way back to the palace, fairies fixed her with curious looks—and, perhaps for the first time in her life, spoke to her unprompted. The scouts escorting her and Elvina back to the Pixie Dust Tree began peppering her with questions she did not—or could not—answer.
“What is the Warden of the Winter Woods like?”
“How did you manage to defeat them?”
“Will the spell be broken?”
The barrage lasted until they arrived at the palace—until they crowded around the door to Clarion’s quarters with their bright, eager eyes.
“Let your queen rest,” Elvina said, with a glower that could curdle cream. “You will have quite enough time to interview her later.”
With a hurried chorus of “Yes, Your Majesty,” they scattered.
Clarion shot her a look of gratitude. With a knowing smile, Elvina ushered her inside. The door fell shut, and Clarion wasted no time in dragging herself to bed. She shucked off her winter coat, letting it pool on the floor at her feet, then flopped face down onto the mattress. It dipped beneath Elvina’s weight as she sat beside her.
Even without looking at her, Clarion knew she was waiting…for whatever would come out, she supposed. In truth, she herself did not know what she would say until she spoke: “It’s finished.”
And it was: both the Nightmares and whatever she’d had with Milori. Right now, she felt mercifully numb.
When Elvina did not reply, Clarion turned her head enough to look up at her. It was not pity in Elvina’s eyes but an ancient, terrible understanding. It was strangely comforting—and strangely beautiful, to be known without having to speak a word.
There was so much Elvina had not told Clarion about the workings of their world. There was so much more she had not told Clarion about herself . Had she been hurt like this, too? It seemed impossible to imagine that Elvina had fallen in love—even more so that she had ever made any sort of fatal mistake or miscalculation. But she’d admitted her wisdom had not come easily.
The gulf between them had felt nigh impossible to bridge for weeks, but now, this shared pain bound them together. Perhaps, with whatever life Elvina had left, she would guide her forward.
Of all things, that was what finally broke the floodgates.
Her tears flowed down her face, hot and relentless. Her sobs racked her body. To her utter shock, Elvina enfolded Clarion in her arms and let her weep in her lap like a child.
“I made many mistakes with you,” Elvina said quietly. “Perhaps even with myself. How terribly sad that I can see it only at the end of my life. You were here for only a blink, and yet, you have taught me so much.”
“Don’t go,” Clarion whispered. “Please, please, don’t go.”
She heard Elvina’s soft intake of breath. “Even I cannot defy the stars. But you will be fine without me, Clarion. I feel very confident leaving Pixie Hollow in your capable hands.”
Clarion’s chest constricted painfully. All her life, she had longed to hear those words. How sweet, to finally have the assurance she’d craved. Only, she was not so certain she deserved it. She had saved Pixie Hollow. She’d mastered her own magic. But she would live the rest of her life with the stain of her mistakes. How could she ever teach new arrivals to fly? How could she dare to unfurl their wings with the tenderness they deserved when she would always remember the ones she had broken?
Elvina’s voice cut through the fog of her despair. “It’s good to have a connection with Winter. Unifying the seasons is a very strong way to begin your reign. You will have to apologize to your Warden of the Winter Woods on my behalf.”
Hers. No, she did not have the right to claim him any longer. “I don’t know if I can see him again.”
Elvina frowned. Whatever she saw in Clarion’s eyes, she seemed to understand. “Just rest—and I do mean it this time. There is still much to do before your coronation.”
In this state, rest would not come easy. But Elvina gently stroked her hair and did not protest when Clarion wound her arms around her waist. Despite how broken and how wretched she felt, it was such a comfort to be held.
“Once upon a time,” Elvina began—and whispered to her all the pretty stories she once had back when Clarion first arrived, of valor and love and queens long gone.
Clarion drifted off to the soothing rhythm of Elvina’s voice. She dreamed of snow and starlight. Of clear gray eyes, full of forgiveness she would never truly earn.