Chapter 5 #3
And if she was being honest with herself, she was a little—just a little—excited to begin her search with Weaver.
Lord Milori raised one eyebrow. “Of course not,” he said. Periwinkle wondered if he’d intended to echo her own words back to her. If his response covered up a whole head full of thoughts that he—like she—had absolutely no intention of sharing.
He kept his eyes on Periwinkle as he retreated and climbed onto his snowy owl’s back again. “I’ll oversee the nature-talents’ crossing and return before long,” he said, smoothing the owl’s feathers and looking thoughtful. “We’ll speak then.”
Can’t wait, Periwinkle didn’t say.
Then his owl launched herself into the air, wings beating gracefully as she shot toward the horizon. Soon, Lord Milori was out of sight. But he wouldn’t be gone for long.
“Having second thoughts?” came Weaver’s voice in her ear.
Periwinkle jumped. “Is there some reason you prefer to open conversations by startling me?” she asked. “And no, of course not.”
“No reason. You just seem like you could use a little excitement. You look so bored sometimes.” Weaver stood with his hands in his pockets, looking windblown and bright-eyed. Legs was weaving a tiny web on his waistcoat’s shoulder.
Then Weaver smirked. “Speaking of boring, are you sad Fletcher didn’t stay behind to keep you company? You two could’ve had a lot of alone time with all your friends gone. Lots of time to talk.” He paused, pretending to consider. “I wonder if Fletcher knows enough words for all that.”
Periwinkle scowled. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, it’s pretty widely known your boyfriend’s not exactly the Keeper of All Fairy Knowledge.” Weaver tapped his temple. Periwinkle’s jaw dropped. “No accounting for taste, though. Everyone says he’s good-looking, so I guess that’s enough for Pixie Hollow’s most popular frost-talent.”
“What is the matter with you?” she hissed. “Fletcher isn’t even—he’s—”
Weaver crossed his arms, looking almost triumphant. He was so tall, Periwinkle had to crane her neck to meet his eyes. “Fletcher is what?” he asked.
She wasn’t going to explain a thing to him. “He’s none of your business!”
“You’re unexpectedly touchy about him.”
“Yes, well, you’re being unexpectedly obnoxious. I—ugh.” Periwinkle threw up her hands, pacing away from him. What was his problem? Why was he deliberately needling her?
And then, this feeling. Was she…angry?
Joy, wonder, nervousness, curiosity—they were all familiar to Periwinkle. But this frustration that felt like an unpleasant heat underneath her skin? This was new. And it was obviously his fault.
Periwinkle huffed a cranky breath and shut her eyes, collecting herself.
She had to focus. Weaver was breathtakingly annoying and rude, but she had more to do than put him in his place.
“Anyway,” she said, pointedly. “I’m here. I did it. I hope you’re happy.” She groaned. “By the second star. I honestly can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“I kind of can’t either, but you sure did,” Weaver agreed, watching the sky. Then he glanced back to Periwinkle. “You think Lord Milori believed it?”
She shrugged, gesturing to her wings. “I mean, he might wonder if I’m up to something, but I really can’t lift them.”
“Right,” he said, narrowing his eyes sarcastically. “And who would suspect perfect little Periwinkle wasn’t telling the truth?”
After you save the Pixie Dust Root, she swore to herself, you never have to speak to him again. Her jaw felt tight enough to crack a pebble.
“Should we get started?” she asked. “The sooner we get going, the sooner we’ll be done.”
“Agreed.” Weaver nodded. “And I think the best time for us to heal the root without being noticed is during the First Frost Ball, when Lord Milori will be distracted.”
“So we have six days, including today,” Periwinkle replied. “Should we start at the Hall of Winter?”
“Yes. But…” Weaver nodded at her wings. “Might need to wait a while.”
Periwinkle sighed. “Yes. You’re right, of course.” It was a long way to the hall in Juniper Glade, and she was already tired from being awake half the night. She certainly wasn’t going to ask Weaver to carry her again.
“We’ll start looking tomorrow,” Weaver said. “But I’ll come to collect your dreams tonight.”
It was going to be so strange. Just Periwinkle and this stranger, doing their best not to throttle each other while trying to save Pixie Hollow with lost magic. “Fine,” she agreed. “You know where I live. Not hard to find, like you said.”
“Not hard at all.” Weaver gave her a mocking little bow. “I’ll be there just after moonrise. Try not to invite a hundred of your best friends; we should probably keep this quiet and not turn it into the big party that kicks off the Frost Festival.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Weaver,” Periwinkle said. “I have absolutely no intention of inflicting you on anyone I like. I’ll save you for when I really need to get back at someone.” She half smiled as she said it to soften the insult; Weaver was irritating, but she didn’t actually want to be cruel.
So she was surprised by his laugh and the startled amusement in his eyes when the joke landed, like she’d caught him completely off guard.
“What?” she asked.
“Ah—nothing. I’ll see you tonight, Sparkles,” he said, giving her a curious glance over his shoulder as he turned and flittered off.
“Tonight,” she agreed. “After moonrise.”
A tiny thrill, sparkling and unexpected as a falling star, ran down between Periwinkle’s wings as she walked away.