Chapter 9
Juniper Glade had the sense of a party Periwinkle wasn’t quite ready to leave as they crossed the threshold later that afternoon.
All over the glade, winter fairies bustled around with towering piles of books wrapped in holly and evergreen, decorated with tiny, perfect snowflakes.
There was a festivity to it, a cozy sense of anticipation Periwinkle wanted to pour into a glass of clove-cardamom tea and sip while she watched the sunset.
She and Weaver left the Hall of Winter anyway, splitting up before agreeing to meet again later that night.
But as Periwinkle made her way over the Frost Forest toward home, she was startled to see Lord Milori.
He looked hollow-eyed and windblown, like he’d been on owlback for hours.
Periwinkle sighed as he raised an arm to flag her down.
When his owl fluttered down to land on a large rock, she drew up beside him, trying to casually tuck her bag further under her arm. “Did you just get back from the Mainland?” Periwinkle asked, before he could speak. Maybe she could head off whatever was coming if she distracted him.
No luck. “Yes, I did. I was sorry you weren’t able to join us after yesterday’s accident,” he said, pivoting neatly to what she’d been hoping to avoid.
“Yes. I was…very disappointed.” Periwinkle cleared her throat. “I’ll have to be more careful next time.”
“Indeed,” Lord Milori said. “With your friends gone, this winter promises to be a lonely one for you.”
The Keeper had brought this up, too. But Lord Milori—well.
She wasn’t sure where he was going with this line of thought, or if she liked it.
“Maybe. But I’ve been at the Hall of Winter for most of the day.
I spoke to Dewey. And I’m looking forward to the Frost Festival,” she added. Maybe that would satisfy him.
“Getting books for the Book Flood? Or on some other errand?”
Was Lord Milori’s face unusually frowny, or was she imagining that he was watching her suspiciously? “Just reading,” she said.
Down in the Frost Forest, two fairies laughed as they opened books together. Apparently, they’d each given the other the same novel. Periwinkle and Lord Milori watched each other, both waiting for the other to speak.
“Well, that’s…excellent,” he finally said. “But to break up any boredom you might face, I’ve had an idea.”
Oh no. “Oh?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’d like you to help in one of the workshops this week.”
Oh no. “What?” Periwinkle blinked at him. “Why? Do they need a frost-talent?”
“No, but there are plenty of talents in need of help preparing for the First Frost Ball. And you wouldn’t mind helping, as you’re otherwise unoccupied.” Right? he didn’t add, like he was waiting for her to argue.
At that point, a fairy flying past with her arms full of pine needles skidded to a halt in midair.
“Help? Who’s helping?” It was Floss, a sewing-talent who ran a workshop in Snowlight Square.
She had long, snowy white curls, deep black skin, and roses in her cheeks as sweet as any spring garden fairy’s.
“Periwinkle will be,” Lord Milori said pleasantly, with a polite gesture in her direction.
“Floss, I seem to remember your spinning- and sewing-talents and the like are somewhat overwhelmed with clothing and decoration orders for the First Frost Ball. Could you use someone to help with fetch-and-carry work?”
“Oh, we could definitely use the help,” Floss said quickly, lighting on the rock beside them. Floss did most things quickly. “We’re nearly snowed under.” She and Lord Milori turned expectantly to Periwinkle.
Periwinkle fought the urge to stomp her foot and shriek. But there was only one answer she could give.
She forced a smile and forced down her irritation, wondering if after the day she’d had with Weaver it was possible to explode from annoyance.
“That sounds great. I’d love to help,” Periwinkle said, sounding as Periwinkle as possible. “I’ll start tomorrow?”
“Perfect!” Floss trilled, giving a radiant smile.
“We’re on the second-star side of Snowlight Square, between the cobbler and the art studio.
See you bright and early!” Then she flittered off with her armful of pine needles as quickly as she’d appeared.
But Lord Milori stayed beside Periwinkle, once again frowning slightly, his owl pattering around on the rock face like it wasn’t sure why they hadn’t moved on.
He had expected Periwinkle to complain or push back, she could tell. Now, he just looked more suspicious than ever.
“Excellent, Periwinkle. This should be helpful to the craft-talents,” said Lord Milori, looking bemused. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you,” Periwinkle answered, maybe a little too enthusiastically. Her smile felt frozen in place. How was she going to have time to search for the dream-magic workshops when she’d be spending every day at Floss’s?
This would be fine, she told herself as she told him goodbye and flew toward home. Just as soon as Lord Milori stopped treating her like she was some kind of puzzle.
Everything would be just fine.
Periwinkle sat on her porch above the Frost Forest and watched the lights shining far away in Snowlight Square. The Book Flood celebrations had officially begun.
She’d stopped back by Lattice’s Bakery on her way home from the hall earlier.
By the time she’d reached the square, tables were already set up for a party, laid with tea, pomegranate juice, cinnamon cakes, and honey cakes.
A pine needle carpet had been settled over the square’s ice flagstone ground, scattered with piles of feather blankets and soft eucalyptus-leaf couches.
The pavilion canopies went up just before nightfall; the fairies started appearing just after.
To her surprise, Periwinkle had found gifts for the Book Flood piled by her front door when she got home, and they’d kept showing up on her porch all afternoon. She’d been too preoccupied to move them.
As she sat on the porch in her hanging chair, Periwinkle could imagine the fairies reading silently or to one another over in Snowlight Square, drifting through adventure stories or recipes or mysteries as they lay on their feather blankets, one or two falling asleep face-first in their books as she’d done before, herself.
Frosty stars twinkled brightly overhead, like the sky was telling them all their work was done, and now it was time to celebrate.
Periwinkle was just thinking of opening one of her Book Flood gifts to pass the time when Weaver landed on her porch.
Sitting in the shadows in her hanging chair, she watched him for a minute, waiting for him to do something. Knock, or notice her. But Weaver did neither right away.
He stared for a long moment at the piles of wrapped books on Periwinkle’s porch. Then he tugged at his waistcoat, smoothed out a raven’s feather that had gone wonky, combed his fingers through his mop of hair. Flexed his hands and then shook them out.
When he set his knuckles against her door, then pulled them back, then lifted his hand again, Periwinkle finally decided to give him a break.
“Hi,” she said, shifting forward a little. “Were you planning to go inside before dawn?”
Weaver turned, startled. “Oh. Hey. I didn’t see you there.”
“I mean, I assumed. Here, come sit.” Periwinkle waved him over.
He blinked. “Up there? With you?”
“Sure. We can share a seat without one of us punting the other off of it; we proved that earlier.” She hopped down. “Be right back.” As Weaver perched uncertainly on the seat, Periwinkle ducked inside.
“Where are you going?” he called after her.
But she was back as quickly as she’d left. “Nowhere. I got you something.” She flittered into the chair beside him and held out a package decorated with holly and spruce. “Happy Book Flood.”
“What’s this?”
“What do you think it is? I got it while we were in the private section at the hall today.” Periwinkle smiled wryly as he tore off the wrapping.
“Stories of Never Land and the Mainland,” Weaver read from the cover. Then he went quiet.
“You’re frowning.” Periwinkle paused, tilting her head to study him. “Although that might just be your face.”
Weaver scoffed. “No, it’s not.” Her knee bumped his, and he yanked it out of her way.
“I think it is.”
“No, it’s not,” he snapped. And then Weaver did the most shocking thing he could have possibly done.
He smiled at her.
It was a huge, brilliant, charming smile. It shone in his eyes, filled out his cheeks, lit up his entire face. Periwinkle felt a little like she’d had the wind knocked out of her.
Then, like a star had winked out, it was gone, and Weaver was scowling again. “See? My face can do whatever I tell it to,” he said. Periwinkle cleared her throat.
“Fine,” she said. “You win. Your face can do all kinds of things.” She slumped against the chair back, trying not to look as out of breath as she felt.
“Anyway, the book—I didn’t know what you usually liked to read, but it’s full of old stories.
Some for human children, some from Pixie Hollow.
I thought at the very least it would keep you from getting bored while I sleep.
And I’ve never gotten to celebrate the Book Flood before, so I kind of got excited.
” And also, it’s part of my secret mission to un-cynic you, she said silently to herself.
“There’s no rush to return it, if you’ve got tons of other books to read,” she added, when Weaver didn’t answer. “The Keeper told me he just asks everyone to return their Book Flood books by the end of winter.”
Weaver acknowledged this with a bare raise of his eyebrows as he finally began paging through the book. “I didn’t get any other gifts for Book Flood.”
His voice had been completely neutral. But Periwinkle couldn’t help her surprise. “Oh.” For some reason, she couldn’t think to say anything else.
Out over Snowlight Square, an aurora lit up the sky to appreciative whoops and cheers.