16
A few days before the Coronation Ball, Elvina summoned Clarion to her study. Clarion’s first thought was She knows .
Clarion did not know how , exactly, but she supposed she should have expected it all to come crashing down eventually. Milori was not an easy secret to keep, after all—especially not since that night on the border.
Perhaps Elvina had noticed how distracted she’d been and sent someone to follow her. Or perhaps there was something undeniably different about her. On a foolish impulse, Clarion had inspected her face in the vanity mirror, searching for some evidence of what she’d done written in her features. She’d traced the curve of her lower lip, still chapped and aching with the memory of his kiss. She could still recall every detail as though he stood before her now: the cold of his skin, the heat of his gaze, the brightening glow of the stars all around them. Nothing had changed—not truly—and yet, she felt consumed by the immensity of it.
It might drive her mad, just how often she dwelled on it. Her stomach dipped and churned almost constantly, for the very thought of him threw her into sudden free fall. Her heart was sent aflutter at the slightest provocation. She’d scarcely eaten a thing since they parted, too full of nerves or excitement or…whatever feeling this was. She did not wish to examine it too closely, for as much as it thrilled her, it terrified her.
She’d resolved not to see him until her winter gear was repaired; some distance, she reasoned, would restore her to her senses. But Petra had delivered the repaired coat to her just an hour ago, and Clarion’s good sense had not returned—had not so much as glanced back since it left her. Even in his absence, Milori was haunting her, just as he was undoubtedly still haunting the border of Spring.
Unless, she thought, he regrets it.
Because surely, he did. It had been impulsive and ill-advised, considering the dangers that Pixie Hollow faced. They’d both gotten swept away in the moment, and tonight, she would have to confront the bitter reality that anything between them was impossible. Oh, what was she going to—
“Your Highness?” Artemis asked. “Is everything all right?”
Clarion startled, banging her knee on the underside of her desk. Hissing out a pained breath, she swiveled around to face her guard. Artemis stood beside her bedroom door, wearing a rather peculiar expression. It belatedly occurred to Clarion that Artemis had informed her of Elvina’s summons some minutes ago.
“Yes, of course!” Clarion smiled sunnily, if only to hide her embarrassment. “Why do you ask?”
Artemis seemed to be struggling with a polite way to respond. After a moment, she said, “Your glow…”
“My…” Clarion glanced down. Now that Artemis had pointed it out, she supposed it was much brighter than usual and tinged with a rosy flush. And had the sunlight intensified since she last checked? Now, she supposed she understood why Elvina always cautioned against getting carried away by passion.
“Also,” Artemis said, with the air of someone about to deliver grave news, “the Pixie Dust Tree is blooming.”
Clarion stood and approached the glass doors of her balcony. Indeed, the branches just outside frothed with forget-me-nots and delicate white roses. She glared at them. The tree could be so cheeky sometimes.
“It’s nothing to worry about.” Clarion drew the curtains, eager to block out all the reminders of her mooning . “I was lost in thought.”
Artemis nodded, obviously unconvinced. “Shall I escort you to the queen?”
Clarion supposed there was no sense avoiding it, but she was not exactly keen to hear whatever choice words Elvina had in store for her. “What do you think she wants?”
“I imagine she wants to discuss the scouts’ reports,” Artemis replied, with only a touch of confusion. “One of her helper-talents had them delivered earlier. You reviewed them…” She trailed off, as if she were not entirely convinced on that last point.
“Of course I did.”
According to scouts’ reports, the Nightmares had not stopped their onslaught. Just last night, one shaped like a cat had chased away an entire stable of mice on the outskirts of Tinker’s Nook. The stalls and carriages both were now little more than wreckage. And two days before, a fish-shaped Nightmare, enormous enough to swallow the reflection of a full moon, had swept a number of water-talents’ houses from the bank of the river. Everyone mustered as much cheer as they could, but Clarion could sense the unease that had begun to creep into even the daylight hours.
But she did not dare hope that Elvina wanted her opinion.
“Well,” Clarion said with a resigned sigh, “let’s go.”
Clarion found the door to Elvina’s study ajar. Bracing herself, she announced her presence with a soft knock, then stepped inside. Artemis trailed after her as she slipped past the rows of royal portraits and into the flood of afternoon sun.
Elvina was seated on a chaise longue, reading through a document. Today, she’d forgone her crown, and her hair fell around her shoulders in loose, soft waves. Clarion could see the thin strands of silver, seeming to glow like cold starlight. She looked far more relaxed than Clarion had seen her in some time. Some of the tension bled out of Clarion, replaced with a faint twinge of affection. So much—too much, really—weighed on her. Clarion had not fully appreciated just how heavy the crown sat until now.
“You wished to see me?”
Elvina set aside the document she’d been reading, and when she looked up, she smiled. “Clarion.”
When was the last time she’d been greeted so warmly? Clarion tried not to let the surprise show on her face as she took a seat in an armchair. It seemed her secret was still safe—and that Aurelia had not told the queen about their missed appointment.
Thank the stars.
A teapot stood steaming on the table between them, along with a small jar of honey. Elvina leaned forward to pour them each a cup. “I apologize for how busy I’ve been,” she said, passing one to Clarion. “I would have called on you sooner.”
Clarion drizzled honey into her tea from a wooden dipper and inhaled the earthy scent of carrot blossom. “There’s nothing to apologize for. We’ve both been busy.”
She took a hasty sip of tea to conceal her expression—and the flush surely blossoming across her face. It was only partly a lie. She had kept up with preparations for the coronation, of course, and spent a good deal of her time worrying about how little she could do until Petra repaired her coat.
Only a beat of silence lingered before Elvina set down her teacup. “I have good news to share.”
Clarion perked up. Now, that was a welcome announcement; good news seemed in short supply these days. “What is it?”
“My plan is nearly ready to put into action.”
Clarion had made the grave error of taking another sip of tea just after speaking. She nearly choked on it now. “It is?”
“It took some trial and error,” Elvina continued. “The magic woven between our realms is strong, of course. But magical bonds can be severed like any other—with the right tool and technique.”
Clarion’s blood ran cold. “And what is that?”
“No simple tool could sever it—and my magic alone is too weak.”
Elvina rose from her seat and drifted to her desk. Clarion had not noticed it before, but an elegant metal object rested on a cushion there. It was only when Elvina picked it up that she realized what it was: the bladeless hilt of a sword. The cross guard was intricately wrought, fashioned into the shape of interwoven branches putting out leaves, because of course Petra would make even a weapon a work of art. Affixed to its heart was a sunstone, its glass-like surface swimming with orange light. If she looked closely, she could see a flame blazing bright within it. Clarion had encountered only one other gem like this: the moonstone used to transmute moonlight into blue pixie dust.
“But on the summer solstice, a day of great significance for governing-talents, our power will be at its height. Petra has built this to channel our magic.” The gem shone with the golden light of Elvina’s magic—and a blade of pure starlight flickered to life. “If you wield this blade on the solstice, you will be powerful enough to cut through the bridges. After that, nothing and no one will be able to cross between Winter and the warm seasons.”
Petra had done it. Of course she had.
Normally, Clarion might have been proud of her friend’s brilliance and her uncanny ability to solve seemingly unsolvable problems. Besides, this was what she had always wanted: for her inventions to be of value. And yet, Clarion could feel only horror at what Petra had wrought.
But then, it struck her what exactly Elvina had said.
“When I wield it?”
Beneath the harsh brilliance of the blade, Elvina’s face was blanched a severe white. “It has to be you. It will be an auspicious start to your reign and instill confidence in your subjects. They will see that you have guaranteed Pixie Hollow’s safety from the Nightmares forever.”
Not all of Pixie Hollow, Clarion thought.
She could not manage a reply. She could hardly fathom such a terrible thing: a blade powerful enough to rend open the very fabric of Pixie Hollow. No matter the dangers the warm seasons faced, this could not be right. Once, she might have yielded. She might have even agreed. But after everything she and Milori had been through—after how close they’d come—she could not hold her tongue in the face of such a misguided plan. “This can’t be the only way.”
The starlight blade faded until Elvina was left holding the empty hilt once more. Without the light glittering in her eyes, Elvina’s expression grew unreadable, almost cold. “You’re displeased.”
Clarion stood up so quickly, her chair scraped against the floorboards. If Elvina was shocked by the sudden outburst, she did not let it show on her face. “Of course I am! I can’t understand how you’re satisfied with this course of action. You have taught me how to rule. You know very well that we work to ensure each season arrives to the Mainland when it should. This goes against the natural order of things.”
If she had learned anything these past few weeks, it was that each season was essential. Milori had not shared with her Winter’s wisdom the way the other ministers had, but he hadn’t needed to. She’d seen it for herself firsthand. Winter taught endurance—how to hold on to hope, even in the longest, darkest nights.
Elvina regarded her impassively. “Perhaps you were right, when you confronted me before. I have not taught you everything you need to know.”
Her unruffled calm made the heat of Clarion’s anger fizzle. Guardedly, she asked, “No?”
“I have told you before that Winter is self-sufficient. It is for the best that they remain that way.” Elvina placed the sword’s hilt on her desk and folded her hands. “There is a story passed down among queens. It is time I shared it with you.”
Slowly, Clarion settled back into her chair. As furious as she was, she could not deny her own curiosity. Elvina’s stiff shoulders relaxed now that she’d wrested back control of the conversation.
“Once, as hard as it may be to believe, the warm seasons and the Winter Woods lived in harmony.” The cadence of Elvina’s voice changed, as it always did when she shared a story of Pixie Hollow’s history. “Of course, it was a very long time ago—a time no one alive remembers. Understanding the danger the Nightmares posed, the first Queen of Pixie Hollow arranged for them to be imprisoned deep within the Winter Woods. She also entrusted the Warden of the Winter Woods with the responsibility of guarding that prison. For a time, everything was peaceful. But eventually, he grew resentful of his duty. He gathered his scouts and organized a rebellion against the queen.”
“What?” Clarion cut in. “But why would he do such a thing?”
Sensing that she now had Clarion’s full attention, Elvina smiled wryly. “The full details of their conflict have been lost to time, unfortunately. Perhaps he grew bored, or perhaps he believed he should rule over all of Pixie Hollow. The Queens of Pixie Hollow have a great many responsibilities and much power. Perhaps he was dissatisfied with his lot, having no jurisdiction over anything but his barren realm.”
None of those explanations satisfied Clarion. Their realms could not have been driven apart over something as petty as ambition or boredom. She couldn’t believe that—not after she had visited Winter herself. Not after she had fallen in love with it. Barren was the very last worst she’d use to describe it. It was beautiful and vibrant—a season that anyone would have been proud to rule.
“However,” Elvina continued, “I have a theory of my own. I believe that Nightmares have an influence over winter fairies.”
She paused, letting that ominous statement hang over them like a blade waiting to fall. It slid beneath Clarion’s skin like winter’s chill, filling her with a terrible, prickling unease. “An influence?”
“You have seen how insidious Nightmares are—how they can sink their claws into a fairy’s mind. Who’s to say they cannot do it while you’re still awake?” Elvina smoothed her hands over her skirts. “Besides, I cannot imagine what effect it must have, living beside so many for so long. If the prison has weakened enough to release them into the world, surely their power has leaked out as well.”
Clarion felt sick at the implication—at the thought of all the fairies she’d met at the mercy of monsters. “You believe the Nightmares caused the warden’s betrayal.”
“It’s possible, yes.” Elvina approached Clarion with slow, measured steps, then perched on the edge of her chaise longue. Now that they were at eye level again, the weight of her words felt suffocating, inescapable. “It is a shame. It means that the Warden of the Winter Woods can never be fully trusted.”
Clarion couldn’t believe it. She refused to believe it. She dug her fingers into her knees, if only to keep herself from fleeing. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I did not want to overwhelm you with too much information at once, especially when you already seemed so concerned about the winter fairies.” Clarion felt those words like a slap. They were all but a confirmation of her worst fears: Elvina did not think her capable of handling the truth or her duty. Elvina leaned over and rested her hand on Clarion’s arm. Elvina’s skin felt feverishly hot, as though each of her fingers were a searing brand. “But now, you know everything that I do. And on the day of your coronation, you will fulfill the very last of our inherited duties: the Queen of Pixie Hollow must guard the warm seasons against the Nightmares’ influence.”
Clarion’s boldness, briefly suppressed beneath the weight of her old insecurities, flared viciously back to life. She could not listen to another word of this. “If that’s true, then we should help the Winter Woods, not cut them off!”
“We are in no position to help them.” Elvina’s tone brooked no argument. “It’s far too dangerous. We do not know how to combat them.”
“And so you’d force me to abandon the winter fairies to their fate?” Clarion’s voice trembled. “Shall I let the Nightmares destroy their homes? Pick them off one by one? This is not pragmatism, Elvina. This is monstrous. I will not do it.”
Elvina stared at her with open shock. When she recovered, Clarion was struck at how quickly she gathered her royal bearing around her like armor—how she could wear a simple robe like her full regalia. Her tone was frosty when she spoke again. “This is for the greater good. I know you have an interest in the fairies of the Winter Woods, but you must put them out of your mind. They have survived this long on their own, in the most brutal of conditions. They will endure this as well.”
But they shouldn’t have to. Clarion bit down on her tongue.
Taking her silence as acquiescence, Elvina sighed, as though trying to collect the fragments of her shattered patience. “You will understand in time, Clarion. Your kindness is an asset, but it is also a heavy burden to carry. You cannot hurt so much for others.”
“I will take that into account,” Clarion replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I feel suddenly ill.”
She did not wait for Elvina’s reply before fleeing her study. Once she made it to her room, she pulled the box Petra had sent her from where she’d hidden it beneath her bed. She untied the fastidiously knotted ribbon, then yanked off the lid. Inside was her coat: pristine and whole. Clarion could not help hugging it against her chest. She did not care how ridiculous she looked, kneeling on the floor with her face buried in the fur-lined hood. It wasn’t as if there were anyone here to witness it.
Once she’d breathed through the worst of her panic, she tried desperately to sort through the jumble of her thoughts. Whether or not what Elvina told her was true didn’t matter. All she knew was that Elvina had handed her a problem almost too overwhelming to shoulder.
She and Milori had only until the summer solstice to seal the Nightmares’ prison—or Elvina would doom the Winter Woods to an eternal isolation.