Page 40 of Wings of Starlight

Milori’s thoughts, evidently, had followed the same path. He frowned at the Keeper. “Have you ever heard of dream-talent fairies?”

“No!” He was practically vibrating with excitement. At leastsomeonewas heartened by what they’d learned, Clarion thought. “This is an entirely new discovery.”

“It makes sense now.” Gloom settled over Milori. “The barrier they created is deteriorating, and there are none of them left to fix it. There’s nothing we can do.”

Clarion pulled her hand back from the book and worried her lip with her teeth. Perhaps there were no more dream-talents, but if she had learned anything from Petra over the years, it was that there were no unsolvable problems. They just hadn’t landed on the right solution.

“There must besomething,” she said. “When the Nightmare attacked the Autumn Forest, I was able to drive it off. It was almost as if it was repelled by my magic. I’m not entirely sure why, but…”

“Queens of Pixie Hollow are born from stars, aren’t they?” the Keeper asked. When Clarion nodded, he continued. “Sunlight burns them, so it makes sense to me that the Nightmares are repelled by your magic. The sunisa star, after all.”

Hope sparked in Milori’s eyes. “Then you can destroy them.”

Clarion held up her hands. “No. I can’t.”

“But you just said—”

“I can’t control my magic.” The confession slipped out before she could stop it. “All my life, I’ve tried, but I can’t. It has never come easily to me, and I fear it never will. I’m very sorry to disappoint you.”

She blinked hard against the threat of tears. How humiliating, to be so overcome in front of them. Milori looked as though he was about to protest, but the Keeper rested a hand on his shoulder to still him.

“Maybe there’s something else you can do,” the Keeper said. After a brief pause, his glow intensified as another idea struck him. “If memory serves, queens aren’t born from just any star, but a star that a child has wished upon. Maybe dream-talent magic lives on in you—in all governing-talents. It’s possible you could repair the barrier. If there’s one thing stronger than fear, it’s hope.”

“Maybe,” she said quietly. How desperately she wanted to believe that. But now that the magic had bled out of her, she was becoming painfully aware of the chill in the air. Her teeth chattered, and her wings felt stiff beneath her coat. Every breath was a thin wisp of white in the dark.

Milori laid a hand against Clarion’s elbow. His touch was featherlight—almost tender. “You’re shivering.”

Clarion forced herself to smile. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

“It isn’t nothing. We need to get you back to the warm seasons.”

For the first time, with that iron and ice in his voice, she understood why his forebears had once been known as Lords of Winter. Clarion tried to glare at him but found she had little fight left in her.

“Take Fenris,” said the Keeper, his demeanor turning serious. “Go.”

Relief softened Milori’s voice. “Thank you. Come, Fenris. Clarion.”

With that, he flitted toward the exit, and the wolf obeyed. His nails clicked on the ice floor as he trailed after Milori. Clarion passed the gloves the Keeper had given her back to him. Her fingers had gone quite pale, which she did her best not to notice. “Thank you, Keeper.”

He tucked them into his pocket. “Anytime, Your Highness.”

She lingered for only a moment before following Milori, tugging her mittens back on as she walked. As soon as she stepped out into the winter night, a gust of icy wind tore at her. Her entire body ached from how violently she shivered, and the tips of her ears burned with cold. She pulled her hood over her ears and nestled deeper into the fur lining. How sweet it would be to crawl underneath her covers with a cup of tea.

Milori stood a few paces away, illuminated by the spill of moonlight and the glow of the ice. Fenris lay at his side, his yellow eyes narrowed and fixed on Clarion. It froze her where she stood. The sight of Milori—practically luminous, the starlit space between them glittering—made her heart flutter. Her boots crunched in the snow as she approached him. He offered his hand to her. She accepted it, and with her free hand, she took a fistful of Fenris’s fur.

“Up you go.” With that, Milori took flight. He pulled her upward and steadied her as she clambered onto Fenris’s back. The wolf gave a half-hearted growl to show his displeasure.

Clarion patted his shoulder. “Sorry, boy.”

Fenris huffed. As soon as she was settled, he rose to his feet.

The shift of his weight threw her off balance, and she had to cling to his fur to keep herself from falling. “Whoa!”

Milori was beside her in an instant, hovering midair and braced as if to catch her. When it seemed she would not plummet—rather humiliatingly, she thought—into the snow, he relaxed.

“I suppose I should have warned you to hold on,” Milori said, only a little apologetically. “Let’s go.”

He took off, and the wolf chased after him gamely. For the second time that evening, she felt as though she were soaring, even with her wings bound. Out in front of them, Milori was little but a glimmer of light against the darkness of the woods, weaving and dodging through icicles and branches heavy with snow. Clarion nearly laughed as she processed what exactly she was doing. If anyone from the warm seasons saw her like this…Imagining their stunned reactions delighted her far more than it should have. At the very least, it chased away some of her gloom.