Chapter 5
The First Day of Winter on the Mainland
Dawn was pink over the river when Periwinkle reached the bridge connecting Winter and Spring. It was the closest she’d ever been to the warm seasons—closer, even, than she’d been when she first found the dream.
Standing at the border, facing Spring, Periwinkle could hear birds singing. Their cornflower-blue and sunshine-yellow feathers looked soft against the fluffy pink blossoms on the trees and the fresh green of the grass. The far half of the river was melted ice, flowing freely beneath the bridge.
Periwinkle’s half of the river, the Winter half, was frozen and still. And behind her, beyond the cedar woods at her back, Periwinkle’s friends would be gathering soon in Snowlight Square to leave for the Mainland.
Periwinkle knew she had to make it impossible for her to go with them.
She’d woken that morning clinging to a threadbare hope that she’d somehow dreamed everything that had happened the night before.
But when she’d gone to the Pixie Dust Well that morning for her daily supply of pixie dust, Periwinkle could still see clearly where the nightmare rot had been the night before, despite the snow Weaver had brushed over it before they’d left.
It hadn’t been a dream. The Pixie Dust Root really was in danger. And she’d known what she had to do.
Hesitating there at the border, Periwinkle knew she was about to make a terrible decision. Obviously, it was a terrible idea. The thing was, she couldn’t think of a better one.
Periwinkle took a deep breath as she coated her wings with a thin layer of frost—she didn’t actually want to damage them—and made her way out onto the bridge.
“What,” a voice behind her suddenly asked, “in the name of the second star do you think you’re doing?
” The words cut sharply through the morning air.
When Periwinkle turned, she found Weaver, his dark eyes horrified, his shoulders tense and hands flung wide in exasperated confusion.
In the same black trousers and waistcoat he’d worn the night before, he looked like an agitated crow hovering near the end of the bridge.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
“I told you, you aren’t hard to find,” he called. “When you weren’t at home, I figured I’d find you where you said you found the dream. If perfect Periwinkle is anything, she’s predictable.”
Periwinkle’s jaw dropped open.
She wasn’t sure if the word predictable made her do it, or if it was the dismissive tone of his voice. But she didn’t wait to explain her plan.
She just jumped into the river between Winter and Spring and tried not to gloat at Weaver’s shock when she hit the surface.
At that point, though, she had to focus. The melted ice flowing beneath the bridge felt…heavy. It was the only way she could’ve described it. Not a strong enough current to be unsafe, but nothing like the wind currents that cut through the cold, crisp air of the Winter Woods.
“Sparkles!” Weaver was still shouting as her head cleared the surface. “Are you insane?”
“Probably!” she spluttered. Periwinkle slipped beneath the melted ice, then bobbed up again, forcing herself to think of the Pixie Dust Root as she battled her way toward the frozen side of the river.
“You are out of your mind,” Weaver ground out. To Periwinkle’s surprise, though, he flew hurriedly down to the ice and stretched out a hand toward her, then hauled her up and onto solid ground.
“Yeah, well, everyone’s in Snowlight Square getting ready to go,” she said.
“Wet wings were the only thing I could think of that would definitely keep me from flying.” As Weaver wiped his palm dry, looking irritated, she clambered up the snow-covered riverbank and shook drops of melted ice off her skin.
She wasn’t in pain, just stiff, and her wings hung limp.
It was strange, not being able to use them. It was an uncomfortably vulnerable feeling.
Weaver spoke up again. “Speaking of Snowlight Square, Sparkles, did it occur to you it would take you hours to walk all the way there?”
It had not. “Oh,” Periwinkle said.
“Yeah. Oh,” Weaver echoed. “How are you going to go tell everyone you can’t travel to the Mainland if you can’t fly to where they are?”
Periwinkle thought for a minute, frowning, then brightened. “You could carry me.”
“Oh, I could?” Weaver’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “What a privilege! You’re soaking wet, Sparkles.”
Periwinkle scowled. “You’ll dry off eventually,” she said, just as snide. “Also, why do you keep calling me Sparkles?”
“Because you’re”—Weaver fluttered his fingers—“sparkly.”
“Sparkles, because I’m ‘sparkly.’ Legs, because your dream spider has a lot of legs.” Periwinkle tapped her chin and made her eyes go wide. “Wow, Weaver, you’ve really got a way with creative nicknames.”
“Oh, I have plenty of alternatives,” Weaver said, all innocence. “You want to hear them?”
Scowling again, Periwinkle crossed her arms. Weaver stared sullenly back at her.
Finally, he gave a long, beleaguered sigh, and held out his arms dramatically. When Periwinkle just stood there, he gave her an exasperated look. “Are we doing this or not?” he demanded.
“Fine. Yes.” Periwinkle moved closer to him. “Do you want me to face you, or…?”
“No. Turn around.” Weaver looked pained. “I’ll hold you around your waist.”
Periwinkle turned her back on him, waiting. And waiting. She glanced over her shoulder. “Sometime before spring, please?”
Weaver’s sigh gusted over her shoulders. “Ugh, your wings are all soggy,” he mumbled. His hands were clumsy as he wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted them off the ground.
“Whoa!” Periwinkle felt a flash of nerves, wobbling in his grip before pulling free and dropping onto the snow again. “This won’t work. I can’t hold on to you facing this direction, and you’re going to have to hold me closer than that if you don’t want me to fall.”
“That’s a big if.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind. Right.” Weaver landed again with a sigh, rubbing his forehead.
“You’re right. Uh, come here, I guess. Remember, Legs is in my waistcoat pocket,” he added.
Hearing his name, Legs popped his fuzzy little head out of his hiding spot, as if to ask her to kindly not crush him.
She nodded at the spider reassuringly, then bit her lip.
Periwinkle and her friends were touchy people.
She, Spike, and Gliss were constantly fixing one another’s hair or outfit; Sled’s favorite pastime was wrestling the winter animals he cared for; and Slush would share a sleigh with anyone who asked.
She’d thought she’d be filled with a sort of evil delight at Weaver’s discomfort with their closeness.
But Periwinkle felt a strange twinge of nerves as she stepped into Weaver’s arms, reaching uncertainly around his neck.
He was as unfamiliar to her as she was to him, and she could feel his hesitation as he wrapped his arms around her waist again, more tightly than before, arms stronger than she’d expected.
Her heart seemed to beat noisily as Weaver lifted them off the ground.
“Your eucalyptus dress is so slippery,” he suddenly complained, and she felt a strange relief that he’d broken the silence. “It’s impossible to get a good grip.”
“Yeah, well, the feathers in your vest are tickling me, and it’s annoying,” Periwinkle said into his clavicle; her head was tucked into the crook of his neck.
Honestly, he was unbearable. His outfit was gorgeous, he smelled like pine resin, he’d pointed out the weak spot in her plan to stay behind, and—well. It would be pointless to say his looks wouldn’t make him stand out in a crowd. But it was all wasted on such an absolutely unbearable sparrow man.
They flew back to Snowlight Square in silence after that. But though neither of them spoke, Periwinkle had the feeling they were both gritting their teeth the whole way there.
Snowlight Square was crowded when Periwinkle and Weaver finally flew in sight of it.
Weaver flew lower the nearer they got, finally landing behind a cluster of snow-covered oaks.
“Try not to screw up the plan,” he said, working hard to avoid Periwinkle’s eye as he released her. “I doubt I can fix all your mistakes.”
Periwinkle shook her head and started trudging toward the square. “Try not to hurt yourself,” she called back over her shoulder. “You know, waving that giant ego around.”
Weaver muttered something under his breath at that. It was probably best she was too far away to hear it, because she needed to concentrate.
Their plan was rolling.
With the winter fairies’ departure came a flurry of activity, so Snowlight Square was crowded as Periwinkle stepped onto its ice flagstones.
Nature fairies—icicle-talents and snowflake-talents and frost-talents who would set the human world to sparkling, fast-flying fairies who would bring the chilly winter winds—hurried in every direction, scrambling through their goodbyes and last-minute packing.
Winter animal-talents, who would help the Mainland animals into hibernation, spoke quiet words to the snowy owls who would carry the snowflakes in their baskets across the Never Sea.
The owls were nervous in all the hustle and bustle, occasionally letting out a shriek that had the fairies covering their ears.
Other fairies lingered in the square, too.
Art-talent fairies, cooking- and baking-talents, crafting-talents, helping-talents, healing-talents, dust-talents, scouts—though they wouldn’t be traveling to the Mainland, plenty had shown up to help those who were, or just to stand around and watch and wait and chatter.
There was a fair bit of watching and waiting and chattering, that morning. But even among the fairies who were busy getting ready to leave, Periwinkle noticed an unsettled, distracted energy that had many of them glancing again and again to the sky and the edge of the square.