23
W hen Clarion awoke, the soft glow of lanterns filled the private recovery room with warm light, shining on the vials and jars lining the shelves. The skies outside her window were striated with bands of deep blue and orange as the sun peered out from the horizon line.
I’m alive, she thought hazily.
She’d lived to see daybreak after all.
Even beneath the covers, the cold lingered below her skin and coiled around her heart. Experimentally, she curled her fingers. Still attached, mercifully. Nothing had been lost to frostbite. She peeled back the blanket and breathed a sigh of relief to see her wings twinkling faintly in the predawn dark. The whorls of gold threaded through them had returned, even though the radiance they emitted had dimmed.
When she rolled onto her side, her gaze snagged on the cloak draped over the bedside chair.
Milori.
The very thought of him was an icicle lanced through her heart. When she closed her eyes, burned there was the memory of his wings wilting as they dripped onto the floorboards of the clinic. The devotion and agony knotted together in his voice when he told her, I can’t lose you.
Maybe Elvina was right.
If she cared for no one, if she’d kept herself removed as she ought, none of this would have happened. If Milori had left her on the border, the stars would have righted their mistake. Perhaps another star would have fallen that very night to replace her. Another fairy with golden wings, with a heart that matched her talent: one poised and practical, one who did not yearn for things she couldn’t have.
Instead, he’d ensured Pixie Hollow would have her, in all her imperfections, for the entirety of her long life. She wanted to scream. She wanted to swipe the vials from the shelves and listen to them shatter. She wanted to turn back time—to do everything in her power to save him from his own selflessness.
How could he have done this?
No, how could she have done this? If anyone was to blame for this, it was her alone. She’d been selfish enough to pull him into her orbit. A queen was not meant to live among her subjects. She could not mingle and embroil them in things beyond the scope of their talents. She had always been destined to be alone.
It was time she stopped fighting it.
“Clarion.”
She startled, blinking hard at the sound of her name. In her disorientation, it took her a moment to process that the room had brightened. Late-morning sunlight poured through the window, softened as it filtered through the leaves, and bathed her face gently in its warmth.
She must have fallen asleep again.
Blearily, she touched her cheek. Tears had dried on her skin, stinging her face with salt. She swiped at them with the back of her wrist. As her vision adjusted to the daylight, Elvina came into focus. She sat in the bedside chair with a deep exhaustion written into every line of her face. A pang of guilt dropped into Clarion’s stomach. Had she kept vigil over her all night?
“You’re awake,” Elvina said, her voice thick with relief. “Thank the stars.”
Clarion propped herself up on her pillows. “Where are Petra and Artemis?”
A small smile tugged at the corner of Elvina’s lips, as though she had expected such a question. It faded just as quickly as it arose, replaced with a queenly mask—the one she reserved for relaying bad news with calm detachment. “They’re both here. I saw the warden briefly before he left for Winter. He asked us to send healers to the border to collect them.”
Of course, she thought. Even when he was suffering, he’d thought to coordinate with Elvina on how to get them home. “How are they?”
“Artemis will have a long road to recovery, but she’s in stable condition. Petra is asleep, like the others.”
Clarion’s throat constricted. “And Milori?”
Elvina hesitated. “He did not look well.”
“I see.”
Clarion squeezed her eyes shut. As much as she wanted to believe he had returned unharmed, she could not be so naively optimistic. No winter fairy could remain in the warm seasons without consequence. If she thought about it any longer, she did not know that she could hold it together.
Elvina watched her rein in her emotions. When she had composed herself, Elvina said, “You were right, Clarion.”
Clarion gathered up the corner of her blanket and dabbed at her eyes. A humorless laugh escaped her. “About what?”
“About the warden.” Her mouth twisted into a little moue of displeasure, as though it wounded her to admit that she was wrong. After a moment, she sighed. “About everything. My plan was shortsighted at best—and incredibly dangerous at worst. Our realms should be working together.”
Clarion had wanted to hear those words for so long. And yet, she could hardly believe them. “Where is this coming from?”
“He saved your life,” Elvina replied matter-of-factly. She folded her hands in her lap. “For that, I owe him a debt.”
Then there was still a chance to make this right.
Perhaps her magic had not been powerful enough to bind the Nightmares as the dream-talents’ once had. But the Keeper’s book had also spoken of a Nightmare dwelling in the depths of its prison like a queen bee in her hive. One powerful enough to command its drones—to hold all of their power.
Clarion’s starlight had obliterated every Nightmare outside the Hall of Winter. If she defeated the Queen Nightmare, surely its slumbering spell would break. But she was still recovering. And besides, every attempt she had made to help had only worsened things in the end.
“You can help me. Together, with our governing magic, we can destroy the Nightmares,” Clarion said.
“I can’t.” Elvina smiled ruefully. “My power is waning.”
“Waning?” Her voice sounded terribly small to her own ears, almost childlike.
Elvina opened her hand. Starlight bloomed like a rose in her palm, unfurling slowly. It burned steadily—but certainly not as bright as Clarion was accustomed to. Elvina closed her fingers, extinguishing it. “I can’t manage much more than this anymore.”
She had never heard of a fairy’s talent lessening over time. “Why?”
“It is the way of things,” said Elvina. “Soon after your coronation, I will return to the stars, just as all the queens before us have.”
“I don’t…” Clarion shook her head. She could not process it; she refused to. Elvina’s words blurred into meaninglessness.
If that were true, then surely she would have seen the signs.
Elvina looked no different, did she? But then, Clarion could hardly remember what she’d looked like when she first arrived in Pixie Hollow. Was there new gray in her hair? Had she always looked frail, her bones birdlike and delicate beneath her pale skin? Fairies lived long lives, queens even more so than most. But they were not supposed to simply die of something as mundane as age .
“I don’t understand,” Clarion said at last.
“I’m sorry, Clarion.” Elvina’s voice wavered, just barely. Her brow furrowed with the pain she tried and failed to master. “There are so many things I should have told you. I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t know how.”
Clarion did not want to hear this. For so long, she had wanted Elvina to trust her with the truth. Now, it felt like too much to bear. Tears burned in Clarion’s throat as Elvina reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind Clarion’s ear.
“I have never been to the Mainland myself, but I have heard extensive reports about it. Humans love their children from the moment they are born. They raise them in the hopes that they will be better than their parents ever were.” Elvina’s fingers lingered on Clarion’s chin. “When I saw you rise from that star, I think I understood something of what mothers must feel. I know how difficult and confusing it is to be told from the moment you draw your first breath that the world depends on you. And how you know it in your heart to be true.
“I saw so many ways that you were like me, but I saw many more ways that you were not. Experience had taught me many lessons, most of them hard-won and painful. I wanted to protect you from it. I did not want you to get hurt. You are precious to me.” Elvina let her hand fall away. “The weight of a queendom is heavy, and our lives are long. And all the fairies you love will eventually fade away while you remain unchanged. I kept myself apart so that I might not grieve more than I could bear. I encouraged you to do the same, although I could see how much it pained you. And you tried so hard for me.”
Clarion’s heart ached for her, more than she ever thought possible. She saw Elvina as the girl she’d been and the woman she was now—one with an existence long and lonely and shaped by loss. Elvina had tried to shield her from harm. In the end, her best efforts had only left a new kind of scar—a distorted mirror of Elvina’s own wounds. But at last, Elvina had set them both free. Clarion could choose for herself what kind of queen she wanted to become.
I wished that there could be a different future for me in Pixie Hollow, Milori had told her.
The thought of him—of a wish she carried safe within her—stirred something in her. Starlight kindled in the cold hollow of her chest, swirling through her like the comforting warmth of a fire in Autumn. Perhaps she could make that dream a reality for them both. Perhaps a good queen was like the star from which she was born. Not one cold and distant—but one that carried her subjects’ hopes forward.
If it was the very last thing she did, she had to make his sacrifices matter. She had to protect Pixie Hollow—and everyone she cared for—with all she had. That, she decided, was the kind of queen she was.
“I think I understand now,” Clarion murmured. “Thank you, Elvina. For everything.”
“Of course.” She looked somewhat surprised. “Now rest and recover your strength. We will find a way forward together.”
Together. It sounded like such a sweet concept. But this, she had to do alone. No one else would be hurt because of her failures.
When the door fell shut behind her, Clarion held to that determined spark of hope within her. It glowed, warm as an ember, then fanned itself brighter. To end this, she would have to face the Queen Nightmare alone—before it broke free.
She would have to go beneath the ice.
On the third day of her convalescence, Clarion plotted her escape.
She did not know if she would ever truly be ready to face the Nightmares again, but if her impending coronation had taught her anything, it was that one would never feel entirely ready for difficult things.
She waited until sunrise stained the horizon line bloodred and the morning sounds of Summer filtered through the cracked-open windows of the clinic. By now, Clarion had become attuned to the rhythms of life here. In these twilit hours, the healers kept up a steady stream of chatter in the next room over, gossiping about some workplace drama or another. Nothing terribly interesting, from what Clarion could gather. The cheerful cry of finches and soft calls of mourning doves filled the lulls in their conversation.
It was now or never.
Her winter coat lay folded at her bedside, and when she shook it loose, it was intact, notwithstanding a few bloodstains. It would survive at least one more trip into Winter. All that remained was leaving the clinic without being spotted. Which meant she would have to clear the last hurdle of governing-talent magic: teleportation.
She had never managed it before. But right now, with starlight burning steadily within her, she felt nothing but calm certainty. Clarion shrugged on her coat and jiggled the window the rest of the way open. Best if her first real attempt was not through a solid object, she decided. She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes.
Now, if she just imagined herself growing lighter and lighter…
A radiance emanated from within her. When she lifted her hands to eye level, she could see her edges growing fainter and feathering out into golden sparks. The knee-jerk bolt of panic was quickly replaced with delight. Bit by bit, she dissolved into a shimmering cloud of pixie dust. As if summoned by her whims, the breeze kicked up. It danced through the leaves and carried her on its gentle current. She drifted through the open window, as soundless and shapeless as mist creeping down the mountainside. She drifted over the feverfews and made her way to the tree line. As soon as she was safely ensconced in the shadow of the woods, she allowed herself to take shape again.
She had done it.
Clarion laughed, a disbelieving sound. She felt disoriented and unsteady on her feet, but a quick glance down confirmed that all of her had indeed made it through. No limbs left behind—a success in her book. But she had no time to marvel at what she’d done.
Clarion took to the skies and set off for the border. Now that the spark of starlight within her had rekindled, the cold that had burrowed into her bones had begun to lift. Her glow was nowhere near its usual radiance, but the sunlight soaking into her wings felt almost healing. With every wingbeat, golden sparks danced through the air around her.
Below her, Needlepoint Meadow was a vast sea of green. Sprinting Thistles winnowed through the tall grass, occasionally knocking into one another in their haste. It was unusual to see so many of them crowded together, but Clarion soon saw the reason: a long, blackened strip of field, like a scar carved into the earth. The thistles must have been flushed out of their homes by the Nightmares. Determination flared within her, fanned by her anger.
Once and for all, she would end this.
When she arrived at the border, she felt a pang of both relief and sadness that the bridge stood empty. Good, she thought. It would make her task easier if she did not have to convince Milori to stay behind.
Clarion fastened the buttons of her coat and crossed into Winter. She stepped off the bridge and tipped her head toward the sky. For a few moments, she lingered here: breathing in the crisp air and the scent of the evergreens, savoring the nip of cold at her cheeks, watching the snowflakes tumble wildly down. She’d never seen the Winter Woods in the daylight. The snow glittered as though it were inlaid with diamond, and the ice scattered golden light across the ground.
Beautiful, she thought.
It amazed her how a place could carry both such joyful and painful memories. But she wanted to remember Winter like this: a friend, holding its companionate silence with her. The wind wove through her hair, tugging almost playfully at the ends.
“It’s time to set you free,” she murmured.
From here, it was a long journey to the Nightmares’ prison. If only she could summon Noctua…Clarion frowned as the idea came to her. It certainly couldn’t hurt to try. She brought her fingers to her lips and whistled.
Nothing happened.
Slowly, she dropped her hand to her side, feeling quite foolish for having attempted it. But then, an inquisitive hoot sounded just above her.
Clarion gasped. “Noctua!”
The owl swiveled her head to inspect Clarion. Somehow, she managed to look quite incredulous. Clearly, she had not expected Clarion to call her. Nevertheless, she hopped down from her perch and ruffled her feathers in greeting.
Too giddy to remember her fear, Clarion all but skipped forward and trailed her fingers against Noctua’s beak. Her hand looked so fragile against the deadly point of it. How quickly, she thought wryly, she had lost her every instinct of self-preservation. Perhaps Milori had been a bad influence after all. Hopefully he would not mind terribly if she borrowed his pet.
“Sorry,” she said softly. “It’s just you and me today.”
Noctua blinked slowly. Clarion could not be certain, but it seemed like acceptance.
Clarion stared up at her as a terrible realization sank in: she would be riding alone. But she’d practiced enough, surely. And the risk of falling was far outweighed by that of hiking. She did have to make it there before nightfall, after all.
“All right,” she reassured herself, “you can do this.”
Taking hold of the reins, Clarion climbed onto Noctua’s back. Once she’d found her balance, a grin stole across her face. That wasn’t so difficult. Now, what was it Milori did to make her go? Ah, that was right. Tentatively, she snapped the reins.
Noctua took off like an arrow. And because she was alone, Clarion did not bother to stifle her scream.
They burst from the canopy in a shower of snow and pine boughs. The sun reflected off Noctua’s wings, painting the edges of her feathers with an iridescent sheen. The owl barreled forward at full speed as the reins slipped uselessly through Clarion’s fingers.
She bent low over Noctua’s neck, her unbound hair whipping wildly behind her. After a frantic moment of scrabbling, she seized hold of the reins and choked up on them. Noctua tossed her head in protest.
“Whoa!” Her voice was thready, half terror and half delight.
With control wrested back, Clarion steadied herself. It took all the strength of her thighs and forearms to keep her seat, but she was doing it. With a flush of triumph, she urged Noctua onward to the Nightmares’ prison.
Now she understood why Milori loved to fly owlback so much.
They soared high over the pines and birches, diving only once Clarion spied the eye of the frozen lake. They landed on the shore, and Clarion dismounted. Her legs wobbled, and she steadied herself against Noctua. She lingered at the owl’s side, staring out over the glittering expanse of the lake. Even in the cold light of morning, that oily feeling of dread bore down on her more relentlessly than it ever had before. She fought to suppress her shudder.
“Wish me luck.”
Noctua pecked at her shoulder, which she decided to interpret as well-wishes.
Clarion walked toward the shore with slow, unsteady steps. The ice seemed thinner than it had the last time she was here; it shifted and popped beneath her weight. But it was only when she reached the center that Clarion saw the wreckage of the barrier she and Milori had created. Shards of ice glittered like a mess of broken glass, and the delicate strands of starlight had been snapped as though they were nothing more than spiderwebs. The prison had cracked open wide enough to release all but the largest Nightmares. Perhaps governing-talent magic truly was incompatible with dream magic, or perhaps the Nightmares had grown too powerful to be contained any longer. Whatever the reason, Clarion would ensure they never harmed another fairy again.
In the daylight, whatever remained beneath the ice was eerily still. But Clarion could feel their eyes boring into her as she stared down into the world beneath the lake. Would it be freezing inside? Would there be water after all, ready to drag her down to its darkest depths? The uncertainty clawed at her. She had made it this far, and there was really only one way to find out.
She jumped in.