Wings of Starlight

27

C oronation Day arrived, and it was a glorious midsummer afternoon.

Clarion waited in the wings of the ceremony grounds, hidden in a thicket of blueberry bushes. The branches overhead drooped, heavy with berries, flushing as they ripened, and delicate bell-shaped flowers. The crowd’s excited chatter rose above the sound of the river’s burbling—and the sound of her own racing heart. Her anticipation built with every passing moment, especially since she could see nothing through the dense leaves.

“It’s time, Your Highness,” Artemis said. “They’re ready for you.”

Clarion turned toward the sound of her voice. Artemis had appeared beside her, announced only by the soft thunk of her staff against the earth. “That might be the last time I’ll ever hear you call me that. It’s going to be an adjustment.”

“I think it’ll be quite natural on my end.” Artemis offered her a small smile. “Shall we?”

Together, they made their way toward the exit, a scrolled archway cut into the thicket. Beneath it, Elvina and the three Seasonal Ministers waited for her. The queen’s features were composed as ever, but Clarion did not mistake the pride beaming out of her.

Iris gasped. “Your Highness! You’re a vision.”

Clarion beamed at her. “Thank you.”

Her gown was pure, shining gold, with an overlay of translucent spider-silk lace infused with pixie dust. Her hair had been fashioned into the traditional braided coronet and adorned with a crown of snow-in-summer blooms.

No matter how nervous she felt, there really was no denying it: she looked like a queen—and she felt like one, too.

Rowan leaned toward her conspiratorially, the gold stitching in his cloak catching the light as it slid over his shoulder. “Are you ready?”

“We should hope so,” Aurelia said drolly, “or she’ll miss her own ceremony.”

Iris hid a laugh behind her hand.

“I’m very ready,” Clarion said. “Let’s see what miracles you’ve worked.”

“I think you’ll be happy,” Iris said in a singsong.

Clarion had the utmost faith in them, of course…but still, she had no idea what to expect. When she and Elvina broke the news that—with two days’ notice—they would be moving the venue, Aurelia had reacted with a studiously blank stare. If she was disappointed or panicked, Clarion did not know, nor did she have much opportunity to wonder. Iris had twirled into the air, all but cackling in triumph.

Finally, Spring has its moment! she’d cried. You won’t regret this!

Aurelia had glowered at the Minister of Spring, but the two of them resolved to make it happen. Rowan had seemed rather amused about the whole thing, in a way only someone with no real stake in the issue could be.

Perhaps the only benefit of being asleep for so long, he’d said with a wink.

Elvina cleared her throat, adjusting the scroll she carried in her arms. “Let’s not keep them waiting any longer. I imagine they are all eager to see their new queen.”

They emerged from the thicket, onto the edge of Spring. When Clarion laid eyes on the ceremony grounds, her breath caught with wonder. Beside her, Aurelia and Iris exchanged pleased glances.

They had outdone themselves.

Honeyed sunlight filtered in through the branches overhead, patterning the earth in dappled gold. Rainbows, carefully painted by Aurelia’s light-talents, were draped across the clearing, unraveling across the sky like royal banners. Rows of chairs, arranged in a half circle, faced the bridge spanning Winter and Spring—and all the winter fairies on the other side of the border. Frost-talents had carved rows upon rows of benches from ice, all of them garlanded with mistletoe, holly, and delicate blossoms of snow white. It touched her that Aurelia and Iris had thought to coordinate with Milori.

“All rise,” cried a herald-talent, “for Her Royal Highness, Princess Clarion.”

In unison, every fairy in Pixie Hollow stood—and turned to stare at her. Never in her life had so many eyes been on her. Never before had they been so full of adoration.

Clarion couldn’t help the grin that stole across her face. Murmurs and gasps of delight rang out as she and Elvina made their way toward the bridge, soon swallowed by the sound of the music-talents’ instruments as they began to play. The train of her gown hovered just above the ground and billowed behind her as though borne on a river’s invisible current.

She and Elvina passed through the aisles and alighted on the bridge, settling beneath an intricate arch that spanned the gap between the seasons. Of all the details her ministers had organized, this was perhaps her favorite. Winter’s half of the arch was composed of birchwood, crowned with snow and delicate frost. Spring’s half—woven from the moss-covered branches of a sapling—met it in the middle, where their branches twined together like interlocked fingers. Flowers from every season were woven through the structure, bursting with texture and color.

The liminal space of the border comforted her. The chill of Winter brushed against her tenderly, like the touch of an old friend. A few stray snowflakes caught in her hair before melting. There was nowhere else she would rather be crowned: here, where she’d learned to believe in herself. Here, where she’d met the one who had both mended and broken her heart.

Unconsciously, she scanned the crowds for him. But she did not find him before Elvina began to unfurl the scroll she carried. “Princess Clarion,” she said, her voice ringing in the silence, “are you willing to swear your royal oath?”

Her voice did not shake when she said, “I am.”

“Do you promise to protect Pixie Hollow with your life?”

“I do.”

“Will you rule these fairies gathered before you with fairness and mercy?”

“I will.”

“Do you swear to ensure the changing of the seasons faithfully and efficiently?”

“I do.”

Elvina nodded, and two helper-talents materialized. One carried the royal scepter; the other, a crown nestled into a cushion. Elvina took the crown first, an elegant diadem of beaten copper that Clarion immediately recognized as Petra’s handiwork. Somehow, through all of this, she’d found the time to make something beautiful for her.

Carefully, Elvina nestled it into Clarion’s hair. Next, she pressed the scepter into her hands. Elvina adjusted the crown once more, and for one moment, Clarion could have sworn she spotted tears in her eyes—there and gone before she could blink. When Elvina was satisfied, she turned back to the crowd.

“Then all hail the new Queen of Pixie Hollow, Queen Clarion!”

Cheers and whoops echoed through the clearing. Clarion felt her heart lift to meet them. The fairies reached into sachets and tossed pixie dust into the air. A group of fast-flyers swooped from the branches, kicking up a joyful breeze. Gold glittered and swirled through the air. Clarion could only stare out at them with emotion lodged in her throat. She loved them all so fiercely.

That love would be enough to sustain her.

When the commotion died down, she drew in a breath and projected her voice. “If I may, I would like to address you for the first time as your queen.”

Immediately, the crowds fell silent. Would she ever grow used to that effect? Would it ever feel natural, filling the space they yielded to her?

“Many of you may not know me well. I have stayed apart from you since I arrived, something I regret deeply. But I would like to change that, starting today. So…allow me to officially introduce myself. I’m Clarion.

“I hope to get to know each and every one of you over the course of my reign. Your safety and happiness are my top priorities, so I hope to lead with wisdom…and a sense of humor.” She smiled tentatively. “Please feel free to come to me with any issues or ideas you have. And don’t hesitate to say hello. I cherish any opportunity to speak with you.”

She dared to glance over at Elvina, who dipped her chin.

Go on, she seemed to say.

“Over the past month, I have learned a lot about myself and our world. Chief among the things I have learned about are our neighbors, the winter fairies.” Clarion glanced over to them, nodding in acknowledgment. “I understand that for many years, they have been thought…unapproachable, even untrustworthy. But I have had the pleasure of meeting them. They are a vibrant bunch, with a great deal to teach us. They have welcomed me with more generosity and warmth than I could have hoped for. From them, I have learned how to hold steadfastly to hope, even on the darkest and coldest of nights. I look forward to seeing what else we might achieve together.”

Cheers floated up from Winter’s side of the border. She waited for them to fade before she continued.

“Without the Warden of the Winter Woods, we would not be here today.” Clarion swallowed through the knot of emotion in her throat. “I say this with confidence. I would not have been able to defeat the Nightmares. Many more of us would be under the Nightmares’ spell. In time, they might have taken all of us. We owe an enormous debt of gratitude to him.”

At least, she did. She would never be able to repay him for what he’d done for her.

“And so, my first decree is to unite our realms.” Purpose warmed her from within, burning as steadily as a flame. “We will provide them aid, lending them our tinkers to make improvements to their processes. Additionally, the Warden of the Winter Woods will henceforth be known as the Lord of Winter. He has governed over the Winter Woods as my proxy and should be recognized for it. He will formally serve on my council.”

She paused, uncertain how the decree would be received. But slowly, applause filled the silence she had left behind. The joy—and sheer relief—she felt buoyed her. It would carry her through her next announcement.

“However,” she continued, “as all of you know, their world, though beautiful, is not safe for warm-season fairies, just as ours is not safe for them. And so, today, I am officially forbidding any fairy from crossing the border. Even if we must remain physically apart, know that we are united in spirit and purpose.

“With our partnership, I want to welcome in a new era of a unified Pixie Hollow. One of hope. I will do my best. I know I will make mistakes. But I swear I will give everything I have to you.”

The final words of her speech dissipated into the warm spring air. And then, she heard Milori’s voice: “All hail Queen Clarion!”

Something pulled taut within her at the sound of her name. As though there were a tether binding them together, her gaze found his in the crowd. How rare it was to see him in the brilliance of the afternoon light. The sunstruck silver of his eyes transfixed her entirely.

Everyone in the clearing had seconded him, bursting into raucous applause. But they sounded muffled in her ears, and everything but him faded away. It was as though she and Milori alone had been plunged into some private, shared world—one outside of time, shimmering like a dream. She could not take her eyes off him. She could not guard herself against the pride beaming out of him—and all the longing, too.

She forced herself to return to reality, to focus on the happiness of this day. It was an incomplete happiness, when half of her remained where she could never reach. But right now, showered in the acceptance of her subjects, it was enough.

The party raged on for hours, riotous with joy. While the warm and winter fairies initially kept to themselves, eventually, their celebrations spilled across the border. A few braver—or at least friendlier—souls had drifted to the edge of the riverbank to break the proverbial ice. They engaged in shouted conversations and danced through the air, as close as they dared. They left food for one another on the bridge, inviting them to enjoy what each season had to offer. One enterprising frost-talent had even begun a game of catch, which lasted until the snowball tragically melted.

But as the sun dipped lower and fairies began to make their way back home, Clarion found her mood turning pensive—almost melancholy. There was still one last thing she had to do—the thing she dreaded most.

Saying goodbye.

Though their realms would work together closely, she and Milori would never again meet as they once had.

Clarion stood at the edge of the party, shrouded by a curtain of fragrant wisteria. She nursed a glass of punch: something she objectively knew was bright and tart but that she did not taste at all. Her mind was entirely elsewhere. The flowers woven into her hair had already begun to wilt in the heat, and her earlier happiness seemed quite far away now, as she knew what she had to do. But being queen was not about making easy decisions. It was about making the right ones.

Eventually, Petra found her.

She sidled up to Clarion. “What are you doing over here? Brooding?”

Clarion couldn’t help the soft huff of laughter. “I suppose so. Have you come to stop me?”

Petra was dressed in a long-skirted gown of philodendron. Bracelets of polished metal—her own design, of course—clinked on her wrists as she twirled a fluted glass in her hands. With a shrug, she said, “You’re allowed, if you really insist. It is your party.”

“True.” Clarion’s expression softened. “The crown is beautiful, by the way. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Petra fell silent for a few moments, contemplative. When she spoke again, there was no accusation in her voice—only a quiet sympathy. “Are you going to talk to him? He’s been looking moony all night.”

“I should. I want to.” Did she, though? Seeing him again would hurt, and she’d caused herself quite enough pain today because of her own decree. Here, in the comforting dark with her dearest friend, the question she’d been wrestling with seemed far too urgent to leave unspoken. “Petra, have I done the right thing?”

“Of course you have—you’re our queen.” Petra frowned, hesitating, as though she were selecting her next words carefully. She studied Clarion’s face, and whatever she found there seemed to solidify her decision. “But I don’t think you’ll ever know for certain.”

Clarion sighed miserably. She supposed that was true enough.

“All I know is that we have to protect ourselves in the ways we can—and you have the lives of many others to look out for. You’re doing your best.” Petra nudged her shoulder with her own. “Go. I’ll be fine alone.”

“Thank you.” Clarion squeezed her arm. “Really. For everything.”

Petra offered her a gentle smile. “Good luck.”

As she made her way to the border, the sounds of her party—the music, the laughter, the shouts—faded away. Here and there, fireflies shone out of the night. They lit her way, dancing and weaving around her, as if hoping to cheer her. They only parted with her when she stepped onto the bridge. It felt much like the first night she had ventured here: her determination holding back the groundswell of her fear, the cherry blossoms painted with moonlight as they fell.

The moss was cool and damp with dew. The long train of her gown dragged on the earth. A low mist had rolled in off the river, stirred by the gentle breeze. It had shaped up to be a moody evening, with the promise of rain in the swelling gray clouds.

It took no more than a minute for Milori to arrive, as though he had been watching the bridge, waiting for her glow to appear like a beacon. Dependable, as always—and devastating. His eyes were the brightest, clearest things she had ever seen. They pierced straight to the heart of her with his quiet, kind strength. Her heart gave a terrible lurch. She did not know if she would survive losing him. But whether they stayed together or not, she would lose him. One way or another, the stars would keep them apart.

Best, then, to keep him safe from her.

The breath of space between Winter and Spring felt like an invisible barrier between them. It felt, all at once, as thick as a sheet of ice and like nothing at all.

Milori broke the silence first. “Congratulations, Your Majesty.”

The cool formality of his tone knocked her breathless. All their time together, erased: him addressing her with that same impartiality he had on the night they met. It took all her strength to root herself in place, to not close the gap between them or throw her arms around him or beg him to look at her as he had only days before.

Her gaze snagged on the two beads of turquoise pinned to his tunic. They held the quills of two white feathers in place. A new cloak, she realized: one made entirely of Noctua’s feathers. It looked like a new pair of wings folded against his back.

She forced herself to meet his gaze again. “Thank you, Lord Milori.”

The use of his title made the last of his resistance give way.

“What point is there in pretending?” He sounded absolutely wretched. “I have thought of little else but you since we parted.”

This time, she did not bother to deny her worst impulses. She embraced him, and the cold of winter sighed against her bare arms. His heart beat fiercely against her cheek. Her fingers dug into the tops of his shoulders, probably harder than they ought, but she needed something to ground her.

“Me neither,” she said. “You made me believe I deserved this, and yet, you have made me feel like I would give anything to be someone, anyone, else. I would give it all back if I could.”

“Please don’t say that,” Milori murmured. “You do deserve it. You are going to do incredible things, Clarion. You already have.”

“And yet, I will be alone.” It slipped out, too quickly for her to stop herself.

Milori tipped her chin up so that he could meet her gaze. “You will have all your subjects to love you. And even if I am not beside you, you will still have me. There will never be a star brighter. I will always love you.”

Clarion choked on a sob. It was unbecoming of a queen, she thought distantly, but she could not bring herself to care. “As will I.”

She took his face in her hands and kissed him—briefly, selfishly, if only to commit him entirely to memory. The feeling of his lips, soft against her own. The way his breath hitched, no matter how many times they had done this. The pleasant chill of his skin beneath her touch. The scent of evergreen and crisp air. It brought her no relief when it felt so final—and so insufficient.

This was goodbye.

Reluctantly, she drew back just enough to whisper, “Remember to be free, Milori. No more haunting this border like a ghost.”

He gave her the most heartbreaking smile she had ever seen. “You, too.”

Impossible, she thought. As long as she lived, she would never be free of him. There would never be another. No matter. As the Queen of Pixie Hollow, she could shoulder this pain alone. That much was her duty. Slowly, she stepped back from him. She let her hands slide down his arms, then his wrists, until at last her fingers slipped away.

“Take care, Your Majesty,” he said.

She did not trust herself to speak.

When he turned away from her, a soft wind picked up. It danced through his hair and sent his new cloak billowing out behind him. She caught a bare glimpse of his wing. In the moonlight, it shone as bright and clear as a pane of shattered glass.

Clarion stayed on the bridge until he vanished into the tree cover, until the clouds overhead gave way and gentle rain began to fall. She stood alone in Spring as the scent of petrichor rose around her, staring out at the cold emptiness of Winter.

It would call her home for the rest of her long life.