Page 28 of Wings of Starlight

Petra gawped at her. “You’re in on this?”

Artemis sighed. “Unfortunately. And now, so are you.”

“No one will have to know it wasyouwho 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 feelworse. 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 notlookstylish, 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 terriblysad.

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?”