26
C larion stirred awake to find her room drenched in late-afternoon sunlight. It disoriented her to have slept so long, but her eyelids still felt heavy enough that she would drift off again if she let them fall. This exhaustion was nothing like her burnout, the devouring cold that had spread through the hollow of her chest, but it was still so tempting to curl up again and…
Petra. The thought startled her into full consciousness. She had to check on her and the others.
Clarion threw off the sheets. It had been so sweltering beneath them, even the close air of her room felt cool against her skin. On her nightstand, three things waited for her: a bowl of porridge, gone cold from how long it had been sitting out; her daily ration of pixie dust, bundled neatly in a leaf sachet; and a letter, stamped with the royal seal.
What could Elvina have to tell her?
She retrieved the note and carefully slid her finger beneath the wax seal to open it. Even without the royal insignia, she would have recognized Elvina’s perfect handwriting.
Come to the clinic as soon as you’re able. The spell has broken at last.
Clarion’s breath escaped her in a tremulous rush. Weeks of stress, of worry, lifted from her in an instant. Pixie Hollow was finally free.
And she would get to see her best friend again.
Clarion pulled on the first gown she could find, then poured the pixie dust over her wings. She sighed in contentment as its sweet smell suffused the air. From across the room, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Flecks of gold clung to her eyelashes and glinted in her loose, sleep-tangled hair. Her eyelids were swollen from crying, and the creases of her bedsheets were pressed into her face in thin red lines. It hardly mattered what she looked like. She could not wait another minute to leave.
She flung open the doors of her balcony. The Pixie Dust Tree greeted her with the soft shift and sway of its foliage, rustled by the breeze. For a moment, Clarion allowed herself to linger. She rested her hands against the railing and leaned out over the edge. Pixie Hollow sprawled before her, vast and beautiful in the golden-hour light.
Soon, all of this would be hers to protect.
And for perhaps the first time, she felt equal to the task.
Feeling lighter than she had in weeks, she took flight. It felt terribly unusual not to be sneaking around for a change. There were no watchful scouts patrolling the skies. No nausea, half from the thrill of it, half from the dread of being caught. No comments from Artemis as she took off toward Winter.
Artemis.
Hopefully she was on the mend as well. Clarion would see her soon enough.
As she soared over the Summer Glade, she grinned to see that Pixie Hollow had returned to normal. The sound of laughter and singing reached her, even from this height. Garden-talents drifted over Feverfew Fields, coaxing new growth to life. As they worked, the scents of rich loam and bitter herbs intensified, carried on the breath of the wind.
Clarion landed in front of the healers’ clinic, where the golden-hearted flowers gave way to lush grass. Toadstools sprung from the earth, their wide caps serving as the clinic’s front porch. She flitted upward to clear the distance, then alighted on the porch. Immediately, her heart leapt with joy.
“Artemis!”
The scout was sitting in a rocking chair, her right leg extended out in front of her. It was set in a brace made of two thin strips of bark bound together by a grass-woven rope. A staff was propped up beside her, nestled in the crook of her neck and shoulder. Her dark hair was shaggier than Clarion had ever seen it, and her eyes were still shadowed with exhaustion. At the sound of Clarion’s voice, her expression softened with relief.
With a flutter of her wings, Artemis rose from her seat, steadying herself with her staff. She did not say a word. She only closed the space between them, the tip of the staff thunking rhythmically against the mushrooms’ caps. Then, she pulled Clarion into a hug with one muscled arm slung around her neck. Her grip was crushing, but Clarion did not dare complain. It was unlikely she would ever extract such open affection from her again.
“You did it,” Artemis said against her hair.
“I couldn’t have done it without you.” Clarion drew back and studied her. “How are you feeling?”
“Nearly back to normal, Your Highness.”
Clarion gave her a flat look, one that said, Be honest with me. Artemis was leaning heavily against her staff. Even though fairies rarely walked, small differences in their weight distribution could make it quite difficult to balance mid-flight. She’d need a mobility aid until the splint was removed, at the very least.
“I have been better.” Artemis wilted, clearly displeased at having to admit it. “Do you mind if I sit?”
“Of course not,” Clarion replied. “At ease.”
Shooting her a grateful look, Artemis carefully lowered herself back into the rocking chair. She stretched out her leg, mindful not to jostle it. “The pain is manageable, and soon, they won’t have to stop me from escaping anymore.”
“No escaping,” Clarion chided. “That is an order, by the way. You need to heal.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Artemis smiled faintly. “If you’ll approve an exception, the healers have cleared me to go to your coronation. A queen should not be without her guard.”
“I do approve, of course.” Clarion frowned. “But I think you’ve more than earned a different post. After I’m crowned, I’m happy to reassign you to—”
“With all due respect,” Artemis interjected, “I am happy with my post. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to keep it.”
“You want to stay on my guard?” Clarion asked incredulously. “I thought you wanted to return to patrolling.”
“I did.” Misinterpreting her disbelief as resistance, Artemis hastened to add: “Of course, if you feel I would be better suited elsewhere…”
“It’s not that,” Clarion replied. She had been fully prepared to let Artemis go, but she couldn’t deny that, deep down, she’d hoped for this. After so many years together, she hardly knew what she would do without Artemis. “I’m only curious what brought on this sudden change of heart.”
“I used to believe that serving as your guard was my atonement. Perhaps even a punishment.” Artemis’s mouth twisted into a rueful smile. “That regaining my position was the only way I could make a difference in Pixie Hollow. Over the past few days, I’ve come to doubt that my intentions were so pure. Since my reassignment, I’ve felt there was something I needed to prove.”
“There is nothing you need to prove, Artemis,” Clarion said gently. “I’ve always believed you are among the noblest of fairies in Pixie Hollow.”
“I am glad you think so.” Artemis tapped her staff against the ground pensively. “If I went back, I would have to quash that part of myself you say you admire. For many years, I’ve tried to do so. But seeing what you did…”
She trailed off, clearly searching for the right words. Clarion warmed under the reverent intensity of her gaze.
“I believe in you,” Artemis said. “Your strength. Your kindness. Your vision. Protecting someone like you is a worthy use of my talent.”
Oh, Clarion would get maudlin if she kept this up. Teasingly, she asked, “Are you saying you would miss me?”
“I’m saying I don’t trust anyone else to be your guard,” Artemis countered. Clarion took pleasure in the fact she didn’t deny her accusation. “With your temperament, it’s a more difficult job than one might expect. Even I have not been performing to my own standards recently.”
Artemis eyed her. Although she would never say it aloud, Clarion read her meaning plainly: You look terrible.
Clarion couldn’t help laughing. There was no arguing with that. Both of them were certainly worse for wear after the events of the last few days.
“Well,” she said, “I’d gladly have you. I’d miss you, too, you know.”
“Good,” Artemis said gruffly. “This injury will not keep me from serving you.”
“I have no doubts.” Clarion beamed at her. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check on everyone inside.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” Artemis bowed her head. She hesitated, as though uncertain of her next words. At last, she said, “The last I checked, the tinker hadn’t awakened. When she does…”
Clarion squeezed her shoulder reassuringly as she walked past. “You’ll be the first to know.”
Artemis’s soft “thank you” followed her into the clinic.
The air was redolent with the familiar smell of healing herbs: chamomile, marshmallow root, nettle. As the door clicked shut behind her, it occurred to her that she could hear voices—and laughter—spilling into the atrium. Clarion did not think she had ever heard it so loud in here. For the first time in weeks, the mood was almost…joyful. Buoyed by the energy, she hurried past the curtain of hanging succulents that cordoned off the sickroom.
It was packed .
Clarion could not help her delighted astonishment. Fairies had piled in with flower arrangements and pots of soup and, of course, the latest gossip. The fairies who had awoken had veritable crowds around their beds. Some chattered and laughed, ready to resume their normal lives. Others wept. Others held their friends close as they emerged from their tormented dreams.
All of them were completely surrounded by love.
So absorbed were they in their reunions, no one noticed her in the doorway—no one but Elvina, who hovered at the back of the room alongside a healer. The queen gave her a gentle smile before jerking her chin toward a cot in the corner.
She’s over there, she seemed to say.
Clarion wasted no time in rushing to where Petra lay in her cot. Her red hair was splayed out neatly against the pillow, the curls glossy and perfect as they never were in her day-to-day life. Someone had clearly combed it out and twisted it into ringlets. Tidiness really didn’t suit Petra. Clarion smiled, overcome by the affection that welled up within her.
Very gently, she took one of Petra’s hands in both of hers. “When you wake up,” she whispered, “I have so much to tell you.”
And as if she had heard her, Petra stirred.
“Someone send for Artemis!” Clarion called. She only distantly registered a healing-talent reply, “At once, Your Highness!” Clarion could focus on little else but her own relief, the feeling as sparkling and light as sunshine.
Petra’s eyes blinked open, glassy and unfocused in her disorientation. Then, when she saw Clarion’s face hovering only inches away from her own, they went wide with shock. She let out a shriek and scrambled backward. “Clarion!”
“Petra.” Clarion’s voice wobbled humiliatingly.
“What are you—Oh.”
Clarion threw her arms around Petra and held her close. “You’re back. Thank the stars.”
Petra relaxed against her. “What happened? I feel so rested. And also like I’ve been running for days without stopping. The last thing I remember…”
Clarion drew back when she felt her shudder. Petra’s expression had grown haunted as the memories flooded back in.
“The Nightmares are gone now,” she said. “You’re safe.”
Clarion filled her in on what had happened since she had fallen under the Nightmares’ spell. By the time she finished, Petra was staring at her with infinite sympathy in her eyes. Clarion could hardly stand to look at her.
“I’m so sorry,” they each blurted out at the same time.
A beat of silence—and then both of them burst out laughing.
“ You’re sorry?” Clarion asked disbelievingly. “Why? I’m the one who needs to apologize to you.”
Petra’s brow furrowed. “For the distance between us.”
“Please don’t apologize for that,” Clarion said. “You’ve been nothing but a good friend to me. And I—”
“Hey.” Petra rested a hand on her arm. “You don’t need to beat yourself up, Clarion. I forgive you.”
“You do?”
“Of course I do.” Petra smiled at her. “Both of us were caught up in our own things. I know it’s going to take some time to figure out how to fit into each other’s lives once you’re queen. But I’m not going anywhere.”
“Thank you.”
Before Petra could reply, the curtains over the door of the clinic rustled violently. Both of them turned toward the entrance of the sickroom. Artemis hovered a short distance away, her eyes wild with commingled fear and hope. “Petra.”
Clarion had never heard her voice so fragile.
Artemis approached them, navigating the clutter and the maze of cots as best she could with her staff. Even so, she nearly knocked over everything in her haste. A healer standing at her workstation looked dismayed but said nothing. Instead, she busied herself with her mortar and pestle, grinding berries and herbs into a poultice.
When Artemis arrived at Petra’s bedside, she glared down at her.
“You—” Petra began, but she was silenced when the scout placed a kiss on her forehead, then, more tentatively, to her lips. By the time Artemis pulled back, Petra’s entire face was stained crimson.
“Don’t ever ,” Artemis said, “scare me like that again.”
“Finally,” Clarion muttered to herself. Then, to them, she said, “I’ll give you two a moment.”
But they hardly seemed to hear her.
Her chest ached with a pang of loneliness—and something like joy, too. If she could not have happiness, then at the very least her friends deserved it. She would not resent anyone for having what she had denied herself. Her heart—and all her devotion—belonged to her subjects now. Clarion turned her attention to the rest of the clinic.
There was still one other fairy she needed to visit.
When she reached the Minister of Autumn’s bedside, she sat in the empty chair and studied his face, slack and peaceful in sleep. So, this would end where it had begun.
She did not have to wait long. When he awoke—gently, easily, as though he found he’d drifted off for a nap sorely needed—his eyes found hers immediately, then crinkled into a smile. “Your Majesty?”
“Not yet,” said Clarion softly.
He closed his eyes again, a relieved grin stealing across his features. “I always knew you could do it.”