9
C ome morning, Clarion found Artemis settled in the branches just outside her balcony. The Pixie Dust Tree, evidently possessed by some spark of impish whimsy, had grown a veritable orchard in miniature above her. Neverberries in every shade hung enticingly from its boughs, perfuming the air with a subtle sweetness. Artemis, either completely unaware or pretending not to notice, had apparently decided to occupy herself with whittling. Her thin blade winked in the morning sunlight as she worked. Watching her filled Clarion with renewed fondness.
Few were so dependable.
Last night, Clarion had shut her balcony doors behind her just as full darkness settled like heavy snowfall over Pixie Hollow. The moment the lock clicked behind her, she caught the streak of a fairy’s glow in the corner of her eye. Artemis, slipping out of the tree, as if finally able to rest.
“Well?” Artemis asked now without looking up. “Did you find your Warden of the Winter Woods?”
Clarion did not appreciate the way her traitorous stomach flipped at her choice of words. Milori was certainly not hers . It wasn’t as though Clarion had snuck out for some sort of tryst. “I did.”
At last, Artemis glanced up at her. There was an unmistakable glimmer of hope in her eyes. “And did he have the information you wanted?”
“Not exactly. He has an idea of where to find it, though.” Clarion rested her elbows on the banister and frowned as she propped her chin up on her fists. Now, there was just the small matter of breaking the news of what exactly finding it would entail. She’d just barely convinced Artemis to let her visit the border. Conscripting her into a plan to cross it…Well, she would ease into that. “On that note, there is someplace I’d like to go today.”
“Is that so?” Artemis looked so dismayed, Clarion couldn’t help laughing. It was rare to get such an open display of emotion from her.
“Nowhere dangerous, I promise. This time, I would like to go to Tinker’s Nook. I need to ask Petra a favor.”
Artemis perked up at that but quickly arranged her face into neutrality. “A favor?”
Best to get it over with, she supposed. “I’m hoping she can make something that will allow me to cross into Winter.”
Artemis nearly dropped her knife. She fumbled with it for a moment before fixing Clarion with a look of pure and utter disbelief. “What?”
“For a very short time!” Clarion added hastily. “I need to read a book for him.”
“Read a…?” Artemis trailed off and pinched the bridge of her nose. When her arm fell limply back to her side, it revealed an expression that suggested she’d decided it best not to ask too many questions. When she spoke again, she made a noble effort to sound diplomatic. “Your Highness, are you sure that is a good idea? I trust your judgment of character, of course, but that is a very dangerous trip to undertake.”
“I know—and I know I’m asking for a lot. But I don’t see any other way forward.”
With a resigned sigh, Artemis pocketed both her whittling knife and her misshapen little sculpture. “Shall we pay the tinker a visit?”
Clarion, nearly boneless with relief, slumped against the banister. “Yes. Thank you.”
Together, they left for Tinker’s Nook, soaring far above the trees. From this vantage point, Pixie Hollow was a quilted sprawl of verdant green and glittering blue. The air was aglow with ribbons of pixie dust as fairies whizzed by. The distant sounds of their laughter reached her from this height, and her chest constricted with sudden emotion. Something so precious needed to be protected.
Here and there, Clarion caught glimpses of scouts clinging to the tallest boughs of the pines. They nodded in silent acknowledgment as they passed. “Have they found anything yet?”
“No,” Artemis said grimly. “Not that I’ve heard.”
“It seems impossible that something that size could just vanish without a trace.”
“Even if they did find something…” Artemis looked troubled. “That thing didn’t even flinch when it was struck by my arrows. But I saw what your magic did.”
Clarion warmed at the open reverence in her voice. In truth, she hardly knew what she’d done. One moment, she’d felt almost resigned to her fate: that if she were to die, she would go down protecting someone else. The next: golden light, as brilliant as a felled star. She hadn’t known Artemis had even seen that, considering she’d promptly tackled her to the ground. The scrapes on her elbows still stung.
“So you understand,” Clarion said quietly. “Why I’m doing what I’m doing.”
“I don’t think you have any idea what you’re doing, but I have placed my trust in you.” Artemis offered her a faint smile, then seemed to remember that she’d been almost cheeky . In a grave tone, she added, “With all due respect, of course, Your Highness.”
It wasn’t exactly the vote of confidence Clarion had hoped for, but for now, it would have to be enough.
They flew in silence until they reached Petra’s cottage in her lonely corner of Tinker’s Nook. In the morning light, the dew beaded on the moss-thatched roof glittered invitingly. When they landed on her porch, Artemis ran her fingers over the house’s rough stone face. With genuine wonder in her voice, she said, “I didn’t realize the tinker was so enterprising.”
Clarion allowed herself a small, private smile. “Have you never seen her focused on something? It’s actually quite frightening.”
Considering Petra’s pale, freckled face hadn’t appeared in the window yet, she likely was in one of her fugue-like states as they spoke. Indeed, all the blinds were drawn, shutting out the light. Really, she could be so intense . Most of the other tinkers stayed well out of her way when she was engrossed in a project. She became a different fairy entirely.
Clarion knocked. No answer came from within, but she could hear the bright clang and clash of metal on metal. Oh, Petra was almost certainly lost to the world by now.
“Shall we come back another time?” Artemis asked.
“Oh, no need.” Clarion tried the handle and found the door unlocked.
Artemis glared at the ajar door with a look of baffled consternation. Clearly, she had a few choice words about security that she was electing to keep to herself.
Clarion eased the door open and was greeted by a blast of heat and the distinct smell of welding. Sweat immediately began to prickle at the back of Clarion’s neck. Pixie dust twinkled in the stuffy darkness of the room. All sorts of tools Clarion did not have names for floated in the air, as if borne aloft on the current of a river. And there, bent over her worktable and bathed in the warm glow of her forge, was Petra. Her red curls were wild and her freckles were hidden behind streaks of gold and soot. She hammered a fine sheet of molten metal, shaping it with a focus so complete, Clarion thought for a moment that she had not registered their presence at all.
“Clarion.” Petra’s voice was preternaturally calm. She pointed at some contraption hovering just out of her reach. “Hand me that.”
Artemis stationed herself by the door. Clarion smiled at her encouragingly before she complied with Petra’s request. As she handed her the tool, she said, “I need to ask you a favor.”
Petra made an absentminded sound to indicate she was listening but did not look at her. At least, Clarion did not think she did. She was wearing the safety goggles she’d devised with the help of a water-talent last year. They’d affixed dewdrops—dyed black with hawthorn berries and walnut husks—to metal frames. Like this, Clarion couldn’t see her eyes at all.
“I need you to help me cross into the Winter Woods.”
“Gah!” Petra stumbled back from her worktable and nearly crashed into the wall. Her safety goggles fell askance on her face, and the dewdrop lenses burst from their rough treatment. The water dribbled down her cheeks and left blackened stains behind, but so great was her shock, she hardly seemed to notice. “What?!”
“I said—”
“Oh, I heard you,” said Petra darkly. At last, she smeared away the remains of her goggles with the back of her hand. “What I don’t understand is why you’d want to go to Winter.”
“Because it’s for a really, really good reason?” Clarion tried.
“But it’s against the rules!”
“Crossing the border isn’t forbidden.” It wasn’t, technically. It was, however, deadly without proper precautions, which made it something of an unpopular destination.
“Maybe not for me,” said Petra. “But it almost certainly is for you.”
“I’m inclined to agree,” Artemis said dolorously from the back of the room.
Petra shrieked in surprise. Then, when she realized who exactly had spoken, the color drained from, and then rose high, in her cheeks. “You! What are you doing here?”
Artemis glanced over her shoulder, as though there might be someone else who had provoked such a reaction. When she turned back around, she wore a rather flustered expression. She cleared her throat, then said, “Accompanying Her Highness, who was quite insistent on this course of action. Can you help, or can’t you?”
Petra gawped at her. “You’re in on this?”
Artemis sighed. “Unfortunately. And now, so are you.”
“No one will have to know it was you who helped me,” Clarion cut in before she well and truly lost control of the situation.
Petra jabbed her hammer in Clarion’s direction. “I haven’t agreed yet! You always have some harebrained scheme, and this time, I—”
Clarion caught her wrist, lowering it. She’d begun waving the hammer around quite menacingly. “The Nightmares came from Winter. If I can cross the border and investigate, perhaps I can stop anything like what happened from happening again. More importantly, I can convince Elvina that she doesn’t need to go through with her plan.”
“That does not make me feel better.” Petra groaned. “If anything, it makes me feel worse . You could have died the other day, Clarion, and now you want to throw yourself in its path again? I won’t be the one who lets you do it.”
Tenderness and frustration knotted up within Clarion. “And you want to live your whole life like this? Worrying that you might be attacked at any moment? Being escorted around everywhere you go?”
“No,” Petra said quietly.
“I can stop it,” Clarion said, squeezing her forearm. “But I need your help. Please?”
Petra rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. “Why me? I’m not a sewing-talent. If you want to keep your wings insulated, the easiest way is to dress for the cold.” As if she had realized something for the first time, her expression brightened. “Why don’t you ask Patch? Then we can pretend we never had this conversation.”
Patch was a sewing-talent who had made a number of Clarion’s gowns over the years. But a winter coat? Patch would never agree to such a ridiculous request without an explanation—and she would tell Elvina immediately if Clarion provided one. Patch also had a tendency to stare unblinkingly when spoken to; it unsettled Clarion, to feel as though her very soul were being measured with every word.
“I could,” Clarion drawled. “But Patch isn’t the best tinker in Pixie Hollow.”
Petra preened. “Well, I…”
Clarion snatched one of her tools from where it hovered in midair, then twirled it absently between her fingers. “Unless, of course, you don’t think you’re up for the task.”
“Put that down,” Petra groused. “And of course I am. It won’t be a challenge on a practical level. It may not look stylish, but…”
“I don’t care about that,” Clarion said, perhaps too eagerly. “You can do it?”
“I have a lot of other things going on, you know. But I guess I can do it.” Petra paled, then buried her face in her hands. “I cannot believe I’m doing this. Please don’t make me regret it.”
“I won’t.” Clarion leaned her head against her shoulder. “Thank you.”
“You owe me,” Petra muttered. “You owe me so much.”
Clarion smiled despite herself. “I know.”
That evening, Clarion went to the border. She didn’t know what possessed her, exactly. It wasn’t as though she had anything terribly pressing to share with Milori, but she couldn’t deny the giddiness that had welled up within her at today’s small victories. For the first time since the Nightmares emerged, they had a path forward. Besides, there was something about the thought of him, haunting the border in solitude until she returned once more. He’d done it every night for a week, of course, but it seemed so terribly sad .
If she so chose, neither of them had to be alone.
She arrived just as the sky began to flush with muted shades of pink. Across the border, the pines and birches carved jagged silhouettes against the sunset. This time, Milori was already there. He sat on the bridge, with a book propped open in his palm. The waning light veiled him in gold and danced atop the fresh-fallen snow, until all the world seemed to glitter.
Never before had it struck her just how beautiful Winter was.
Milori turned toward her at that exact moment, as though she’d called his name. Clearly, there had been no time to armor himself, because his expression morphed into something she didn’t know how to read. He looked almost dazzled, as though he’d been staring directly into the sun itself. For a moment, she forgot how to draw breath. But when she blinked, his face had settled back into pleasant neutrality. Perhaps she’d imagined that starry-eyed look altogether. Convincing herself of that made it far easier to recover her senses.
Clarion alighted on the bridge. Doing her best to keep her voice even, she said, “Good evening.”
“Good evening.” He closed his book. A quick glance at the cover revealed it to be…something she did not recognize, but the slender, gold-painted spine reminded her of the volumes tucked away in the poetry section of the library. She thought to ask him about it, but he said, “I didn’t expect you again so soon.”
He didn’t sound displeased, but the acknowledgment embarrassed her more than she cared to admit. Perhaps she should have waited a coy night or two before she came rushing back here. But if they were going to work together effectively, expediency was surely nothing to be ashamed of.
She put on a mock-offended tone. “Then you’ve underestimated me.”
“A mistake I won’t make again.” A wry smile played at the corner of his lips—one Clarion tried very hard not to notice. “What have you achieved in a day?”
She smoothed an invisible crease in her skirts. “I’ve found a way to cross, but it may be a few days before I’m able to attempt it.”
“That’s great news.” He frowned pensively. “You haven’t run into any trouble? You mentioned obligations.”
“Right.” She sighed glumly. “Those.”
Silence descended over them as she considered what to tell him. Quiet had never discomfited her, but Clarion found herself yearning to fill it. She and Milori could never be anything resembling friends . But here in the twilight, the space between them as good as a solid wall, nothing felt wholly real. What did it hurt to pretend?
Slowly, Clarion settled on the bridge beside him until they sat almost shoulder to shoulder. The magic flowing through the Pixie Dust Tree’s roots warmed her palms, grounding her. This close, she could see the snowflakes gathering in his white hair and the feathered shadows his eyelashes cast on his cheekbones. That troublesome thought resurfaced, unbidden: Beautiful.
And dangerous, she reminded herself.
“I never appreciated how much went into planning for a coronation.” She rested her chin in her hands, gazing down at her wavering reflection on the surface of the river. “Everyone wants my opinion on every detail, but I can hardly process it’s going to happen at all. The expectations…”
“It sounds like a great deal of pressure.”
Clarion glanced up at him, startled by the genuine understanding in his voice. Self-consciously, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “It is…. But you didn’t come here to listen to my troubles. It isn’t all stress. There’s the Coronation Ball on the night of the next full moon, just a week before my coronation.”
Milori’s lips parted, as though he wanted to say something but stopped himself. In the end, he said, “We’ll hold one the same night.”
Clarion perked up. “Really?”
“Of course.” His eyes glimmered with quiet mirth. “Your impending coronation deserves recognition. We never miss an opportunity to celebrate in Winter.”
She snorted incredulously—and inelegantly. But she couldn’t bring herself to care all that much. She’d learned Milori had a subtle sense of humor, but she could not imagine him at a ball. In the warm seasons, parties raged on for hours, full of spectacle and dancing and noise . Winter and its warden, meanwhile, seemed to her like the still waters of a pond. “Even you?”
“Even me,” he replied, with a somberness that surprised Clarion. She heard clearly what he’d left unspoken: once upon a time.
She found herself missing the warm glimmer of amusement in his eyes—and thinking of what she could do to restore it. She adjusted her skirts so that she could sit cross-legged and angled herself to face him. “And what sorts of things do you do at a Winter ball?”
Milori smiled at her enthusiasm. “I imagine the same sorts of things one does at a warm-season ball.”
“I’m not so sure.” Curiosity bubbled up within her, too urgent to tamp down. “I’ll remind you that I know absolutely nothing about Winter.”
Milori went quiet for a few moments, his gaze searching hers. “What do you want to know?”
Everything. Admitting to him that she’d always felt some pull toward his realm—it made her feel terrifyingly exposed. But now, she could finally have answers to all the questions she’d had since she first arrived. But where to even start? “I don’t know. What kinds of talents do you have?”
“Far too many to list. We have frost-talents, snowflake-talents, glacier-talents, icicle-talents…”
Clarion’s head spun as he continued to rattle them off. How many intricacies could there possibly be in frozen water? “And you?”
Surprise softened his features. “I don’t know if there’s a name for what I am.”
“Surely there is.”
Every talent had a name—and in the rare instance a fairy’s innate talent developed into something more specialized, they almost always intuitively knew what to call it. How strange, then, that it should elude him. Warden-talent seemed to be the simplest name, but it seemed…ill-fitting. Something about it grated against her, like a picture hung crooked on the wall or a sweater that did not fit quite right. Besides, it left too many things unaccounted for.
“Watching over the Nightmares cannot be the extent of what you do,” she pressed. “Who welcomes new arrivals?”
“I do.”
His response electrified her. She sat up taller. “And who coordinates preparations for delivering winter to the Mainland?”
“I suppose I do,” he said warily. “But it’s a very small part of my role. My duties as the guardian of the Winter Woods take precedence over all else.”
“You have similar responsibilities to Elvina.” As the realization struck her, Clarion turned to face him fully. His eyes reflected her glow, burning brighter with her excitement. “Perhaps you’re a governing-talent as well! Were you born from a star?”
Milori hesitated. “I wasn’t, no.”
“I see.” Of all things, disappointment surged up within her. Clarion swallowed it down as best she could. How silly, to hope that there would be someone like her besides Elvina. As the aura around her dimmed, she offered him an uncertain smile. “There goes that theory. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for. Not knowing doesn’t bother me,” he said gently. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Clarion turned her gaze out to the Winter Woods, unable to meet the unbearable earnestness of his stare. Snow pirouetted in the wind, melting the instant it neared the border. “I thought that maybe there would be someone else like me in Winter. It makes sense that there isn’t. To be a good queen is to be as cold and distant as a star.”
From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of his reaction. His entire body shifted backward, as though the words had physically struck him. “Is that what you believe?”
What she believed ? What she personally believed was immaterial.
“That’s what Elvina has always taught me.” She knotted her fingers together in her lap. “But I’ve never been like that. I’ve always wanted things I shouldn’t. It’s my greatest shortcoming.”
“Is it? I understand the necessity of that worldview, but…” When she dared to look up again, the sight of him stole away her breath. The setting sun painted him in stark shadows. “What is the harm in wishing things could be different?”
The necessity of that worldview? Clarion felt the weight of his words like a knife to the heart. Perhaps he was not a governing-talent like her. Perhaps they had not endured exactly the same things. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. The shape of his pain matched her own.
Milori was just as lonely as she was.
She yearned to rest her hand atop his, but she felt anchored in place. For so long, she’d wished for someone to see her— truly see her. Now that someone might, she understood just how terrifying it would feel to allow it—and just how much more complicated that would make this entire mission.
I’ve always wanted things I shouldn’t.
Never had that felt truer.