Page 2 of Wings of Starlight

It occurred to her that she had never interacted with a bee before. Many fairies kept them as pets—as much as onecouldkeep them, considering they came and went as they pleased. The fairies befriended them with dishes of nectar left on windowsills and home gardens full of their favorite flowers: catmint and lavender and black-eyed Susans. Elvina had neverforbiddensuch things, of course, but she had not encouraged them, either. The ease others had with the animals of Pixie Hollow was yet another thing Clarion had never learned.

“Let’s get you back in the air,” she said. She felt only a little foolish, speaking to a bee as if she could understand. Only animal-talents could truly communicate with their charges. Still, for good measure, she added: “Please don’t sting me.”

Carefully, she scooped the creature into her arms. The bee offered no resistance, and Clarion would have sworn she saw gratitude in her weary eyes. Her fur was surprisingly soft—and gave off the faintest scent: the brightness of lemon and the earthiness of pollen. This close, it struck Clarion for the first time just how similar a bee’s wings were to the rest of her subjects’. They were as fragile and precious as glass and marked with an intricate pattern of veins. It made that protective instinct kindle brighter within her.

Cradling the bee to her chest, she made her way through the field of sunflowers. Through the canopy overhead, she caught glimpses of fairies flitting by. Motes of pixie dust drifted lazily through the air, along with the sparkling sound of their laughter. It filled her with happiness and longing—and also a terrible loneliness. All fairies who shared a talent lived together, worked together, played together. They mingled with others, of course, but there was an innate understanding among those who were made for the same purpose. Sometimes, Clarion wondered what it must be like to feel as though you belonged somewhere—to have so many others to turn to, who all understood you so completely.

They arrived at the edge of the field, where a lofty maple cast its long shadow over them. But it was the hollow in its trunk—a knothole a few feet off the ground, filled with precise rows of golden honeycomb—that caught Clarion’s eye: the hive.

Gently, Clarion set the bee down in the grass. “I’ll be right back.”

She gave an answering flutter of her wings. On some level, perhaps the bee did understand her.

Clarion turned to the tree and drew in a steadying breath. She’d already climbed one tree today. What was another? She hoisted herself up, finding footholds in the grooves of the bark and the caps of honey mushrooms blooming from the trunk. At last, she climbed onto the lip of the knothole. The soothing drone of the bees reverberated within her chest, and the comforting, floral smells of wax and nectar washed over her. Clarion carefully pried loose a cap of wax that sealed the honeycomb. Immediately, honey welled to the surface. In the late-afternoon sunlight, it almost seemed to glow. Clarion plucked a leaf from a branch, then used it to gather honey dripping languidly from the comb.

The journey back down was perilous with one hand, but she managed not to fall. She hurried back to her bee and placed the leaf beside her. “Here you are.”

Clarion watched anxiously as she drank. Slowly, the bee began to stir. First, she stood—cautiously, as though testing whether her delicate legs would hold her. Then, clearly emboldened, she took flight. She pirouetted and capered, twirling in circles around Clarion as if to say,Join me.

“I wish I could.”

Clarion couldn’t help grinning. Even if her talent eluded her, perhaps she could do some good.

“Mel?” someone called, her voice frayed with panic. “Mel?”

The bee perked up at the sound of her name.

Clarion looked up to see an animal-talent frantically combing through the sunflowers. “Looking for this one?”

The fairy’s tawny face appeared between the petals, confusion writ plain on her features. She blinked hard at the empty space in front of her. “Is someone there?”

“Down here.”

She startled, nearly plummeting from her perch. Clarion winced. It was admittedly rare to see a fairy on her feet. Self-consciously, she adjusted the fall of her cloak. Fortunately, the brilliance of the summer sun muted the light her wings shed. What little escaped from the collar only faintly stained her skin, no more obvious than the reflection of a buttercup held beneath her chin. Sweat trickled down her back, sliding between her cramped wings. She really could not wait to be free of this cloak—and the heat, for that matter.

When the animal-talent recovered her senses, her gaze landed on the bee. “Mel!”

Mel careened toward the fairy at full speed, veering away at the very last moment. The animal-talent did not flinch, as though she was accustomed to such displays. She seemed to be fighting back a smile as Mel dove into a sunflower.

“You were supposed to pollinate marigolds today,” the fairy groused, but Clarion could tell from the look on her face that she was relieved to have found her.

Mel resurfaced covered in pollen. She shook off the excess like a wet dog, then flew off to join the rest of her hive. Even Clarion could tell she was preening.

“She seems like a handful,” Clarion observed.

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it.” The animal-talent shook her head with fond exasperation, then turned to Clarion. “That was a kind thing you did.”

Clarion found herself caught off guard—and somewhat flustered by the praise. Few fairies ever spoke to her without being addressed first. Elvina exuded a commanding aura that enshrouded Clarion in its protection. It kept her in, yes—but everyone else out. She was woefully out of practice with any sort of small talk.

Fighting to keep the formality out of her voice, she said, “It was no trouble at all.”

“Even so, thank you.” The animal-talent’s smile was as warm as summer itself. “I’m sure you’re plenty busy without chasing down wayward bees.”

Clarion tentatively smiled back. “You’re welcome.”

“Have I seen you around before?” The fairy frowned, searching her face as if trying to place her features. “You look almost like—”

“Clarion?”