Page 4 of Wings of Starlight

Elvina had discouraged any line of questioning about the Winter Woods, of course. Even so, Winter did not frighten her as much as she knew it should. From the warm, secluded safety of her bedroom, there was something so peaceful about it—and so terribly lonely.

Just like her.

No one from the warm seasons had visited the Winter Woods in hundreds of years—not since before Elvina was born, and who knew exactly how longthatwas? Governing-talent fairies lived long lives. Clarion had never understood Elvina’s lack of curiosity. There was a whole other realm they knew nothing about, filled with fairies no one had ever spoken to. Only the spring and autumn fairies had evenseenwinter fairies—and only at a distance as they crossed the Never Sea each turn of the season.

They’re as cold as their season,their reports had said,and hardly even look our way.

Clarion tried to envision them, bleak and monochrome against a slate-colored sky, but those spare details had never satisfied her. She burned with questions she might never have the answers to. What must it be like to live in such a harsh place? What kinds of problems did they have? And what was the Warden of the Winter Woods like?

Artemis’s voice sounded from the hall: “Out of the way, tinker.”

A strangled noise of protest—then, the doorknob jiggled menacingly against the lock.

“Princess Clarion,” Artemis called, “I’ve come to escort you to Her Majesty’s chambers.”

No avoiding it any longer, then. If she really set her mind to it—or believed Clarion was in genuine danger—Artemis was more than capable of removing her door from its hinges.

Clarion flung open the door, coming face to face with Artemis’s fist raised to knock. Petra, clearly in the middle of a valiant effort to thwart her, was scrabbling for a grip on her forearm. Artemis snapped to attention immediately. Petra smothered a yelp of surprise. A flush dusted the bridge of her pale, freckled nose.

Artemis and Petra never failed to strike her in contrast: Artemis, tall with broad shoulders; Petra, with bones as delicate as a hummingbird’s. Neither, however, had ever bothered to learn what to do with her hair. Artemis had shorn hers to her chin, and it framed her olive-complexioned face in jagged black strands, as though she’d taken a dull knife to it out of boredom or necessity. Petra boasted a shock of brilliant red curls. Most of the time, it was piled atop her head and pinned in place with whatever she had lying around her workshop. Today, she’d chosen a nail; the metal glinted softly in the light. A safety hazard, as far as Clarion was concerned.

“Your Highness,” Artemis said when she had recovered, “are you feeling well?”

Your Highness.As many times as Clarion had asked, Artemis never dropped her formality. The scout-talent had been Clarion’s shadow for as long as she could remember: trailing behind her or standing dutifully at her side on the occasions Clarion made public appearances. But in truth, Clarion knew shockingly little about her, other than her frightening competence and her insistence on punctuality. Neither of them was exactly in the habit of sharing her feelings with the other.

“Much better now, thank you.” Clarion caught a glimpse of Petra’s panicked expression over Artemis’s shoulder. She would almost certainly be late to her lesson now, but she could not just leave Petra to stew in whatever worst-case scenario she’d envisioned. Summoning her most queenly voice, she added, “Will you give me just a moment? I need to speak with Petra. Alone.”

Artemis—obviously thinking of the unspeakable horror of arriving even one minute late to an appointment—looked agonized. Nevertheless, she said, “Of course, Your Highness.”

She retreated down the hallway and folded her arms behind her back in parade rest. No doubt she’d be listening in, despite her studiously indifferent expression. All scout-talents were incorrigibly nosy, but Clarion supposed that was what made them good at their jobs.

Clarion ushered Petra into her bedroom and shut the door behind them. Immediately, Petra latched onto Clarion’s arm. In a shrill whisper, she demanded, “Where have you been? I stopped by to say hello, but you didn’t answer the door. Then, Artemis cornered me out there to ask if I’d seen you, and I had to make something up!”

“I’m sorry. And thank you. I got—”

Before she could get another word out, Petra slumped to the floor. Her gown, stitched together from green maple leaves, puddled around her. She let out a long groan and cradled her head in her hands. Clarion almost reminded her about the sharp object skewering her chignon but thought better of it. Clearly, she had bigger concerns at the moment.

“I don’t know how you can be alone with her every day,” said Petra. “She is sointense. Have you ever tried to get in her way when she’s set her mind on something?”

“As a matter of fact—”

“I covered for you as long as I possibly could,” Petra continued, “but once she reports what I’ve done to Elvina, my days here are numbered.”

“Thank you for covering for me,” Clarion managed to interject. “But I’m sure that’s not—”

“Maybe it’s not too late to escape.” Once Petra got going, there was not much that could stop her. Every word barreled out of her with increasing urgency. “I’ve heard some fairies make their living elsewhere, stowing away on pirate ships or—”

Clarion did not know where to begin disentangling that. Instead, she pretended to consider it. “Now, that’s an idea. I imagine they’d have a lot of work for a tinker on a ship.”

Petra gawped at her. “You’re trying to get rid of me!”

Clarion couldn’t keep herself from smiling. “Mending nets, repairing the hull, fixing the pots and pans…”

“All right,” Petra groused, but there was no venom to it. “I get it.”

Clarion laughed softly—but quickly sobered at the strangely bittersweet look on Petra’s face. Clarion understood perfectly. It had been a few weeks since they’d seen each other, and yet, it felt like no time had passed at all. Although they hadn’t been born of the same laugh, sometimes Clarion felt as though they were sisters. They’d always shared some innate understanding: neither of them was exactly what she seemed at first glance.

Few fairies took Petra seriously when all they bothered to notice were the fretful things she said. But Clarion had always loved to watch her mind whir like a fantastical machine. In fact, she considered catastrophizing one of Petra’s many charms, now that she knew how to snap her out of it. Beneath it all, she was brilliant and funny and loyal—the kind of fairy who never truly let her fears hold her back, no matter how powerful they were.