Page 58 of Wings of Starlight

She bit down on a groan. “Fine. Call her.”

Milori looked far too pleased. He brought two fingers to his lips and whistled. The sound cut through the serene stillness of the woods. Somehow, the silence deepened, as though the entire forest were holding its breath. Only a few seconds passed before Noctua appeared, bursting from the cover of pines and carving a dark shape against the reddening sky.

With a defeated sigh, Clarion did up the buttons on her coat and stepped into Winter. Noctua ruffled her feathers and let out a soft hoot as Clarion approached. This time, at least, she did not shrink back.

“I think she likes you,” Milori said. “If you want, you could ride alone this time.”

The suggestion filled her with unwelcome visions of plummeting to her untimely end. She reached up to take hold of the reins. “No, I very much do not.”

Milori rested a hand on her waist, prepared to lift her. The cold of his touch seeped into her coat, and Clarion had to battle the urge to lean into him. His tone all fond amusement, he said, “The Queen of Pixie Hollow has truly met her match.”

Two could play at that game. Clarion flashed him a coy smile. “Or maybe I want to be close to you.”

That, apparently, silenced any smart reply. Feeling a flush of triumph, Clarion began to climb onto Noctua’s back. With a boost, she found her seat easily—and did not flinch when Noctua swiveled her head to appraise her from the corner of her golden eyes. Perhaps she imagined it, but Clarion could have sworn she saw a glimmer of approval there. Milori settled behind her. He locked one arm around her and gathered the reins in his free hand.

“Ready?” His breath ghosted against her ear. A pleasant shiver worked its way down her spine.

“Ready,” she replied.

With that, they took flight. They dodged through snow-laden pine boughs and around the icicles refracting the shell-pink sunlight. When they broke through the canopy, the view stole Clarion’s breath away. Endless expanses of snow and cold waters glittered, illuminated in the golden hour. Everything was so small from this height—and with her wings bound beneath her coat, exhilaration prickled at the edges of her wonder. Cold wind sent her hair snapping behind her and nipped at the tip of her nose. Flurries danced wildly before her, each snowflake stained in warm shades of pink and gold as the sun settled like a lit ember in the crook of the mountains.

Then, they dove toward the shadow of the woods. Below them, the round eye of the frozen lake locked on to her, as though every Nightmare seething beneath it sensed her presence and loathed her. Instinctual terror quickened her pulse, and the wound on her arm throbbed with the memory of what had happened last time they had come here. But she could not afford to lose her nerve now.

The pines enfolded them, and Noctua landed on a low-lying branch. Even from here, the miasma that settled like dense fog over the ice crawled over them. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Even Noctua fluffed out her plumage with unease. Without thinking, Clarion scratched the top of her head to soothe her, then slid off the owl’s back. Her boots crunched in the deep snowfall.

Milori landed beside her, his gray eyes fixed on the prison lurking just beyond the row of gnarled birches. Another wind gusted through the trees and shredded into her coat with icy claws. A veil of snow lifted off the ground, blotting out the fading sun. All of it felt like a warning:Leave this place.

“Shall we?” she asked Milori.

“One moment.” He threaded his fingers in hers, and Clarion did her best not to melt. His touch grounded and thrilled her more than she cared to admit.

Hand in hand, they trudged through the snowbanks until at last they emerged onto the edge of the frozen lake. As long as she lived, she would never grow accustomed to the sheerpresenceof it. The silence here was unnatural, as though the lake swallowed all the sound. Dread settled over her shoulders like a mantle of steel. Clarion did her best to breathe through the weight of it.

She stepped out onto the ice. Its treacherous surface gleamed, but she could still make out the hazy shapes of Nightmares rippling beneath her boots like dark water. As she and Milori made their way to the center, the Nightmares shrank back and lashed out by turns. She avoided the thin cracks in the surface, which groaned beneath her weight. She shuddered to think of what would happen if she fell into the lake’s depths.

By the time they made it to the center of the lake, the daylight was a bare sliver of red on the horizon. She could practically feel the Nightmares’ hunger and anticipation bubbling up from the cracks. They swirled together, reaching longingly for their freedom.

It was now or never.

Reluctantly, Clarion let her hand drop from Milori’s. She crouched beside the new fissures in the ice, letting her awareness drift to the dream-magic barrier just underneath—to its thinning strands and loosening weaves, just barely holding back the beasts it contained. It had grown even more threadbare since they were here last. Her magic itched to mend it.

Her first instinct was to reach for what felt familiar and comfortable: to master herself, to focus, to strain. Instead, she closed her eyes and felt her feet planted on the ice, the way her chest rose and fell as she breathed. Perhaps if she tried to see herself the way Milori did…

You were made for this.

Calm certainty filled her up. Energy crackled just beneath her skin, and her glow intensified. Clarion rested her palm flat against the ice and let her magic surge through her. Golden light swirled down her arm and coalesced in the palm of her hand. Milori’s awestruck eyes reflected the glow of her power.

Clarion let it soar.

Starlight flowed into the ice and wove itself around the fraying dream-threads. It fortified them and, stitch by stitch, spanned the tears. Her magic lit the ice from within, bathing her in marbled golden light.

As the Nightmares roiled within their prison, their shrieks rattled her very bones. They lashed out with torrents of negative emotion: the sting of rejection, the stomach-churning sensation of humiliation, the sharp terror of something come back to haunt her. All she could see were gnashing teeth and baleful eyes. All she could think of was that terrible future version of herself, isolating Winter with a single cut. All her worst fears felt too close to the surface, urgent and undeniably real. Pressure built behind her eyes. Her hands began to tremble.

But with one last loop pulled taut, her work was done. The repaired barrier shimmered like a layer of spider-silk gauze. Through the stitches, she could just barely see the Nightmares, snarling and snapping as they shrank back from their new confines.

“Milori,” she called. “Now.”

He extended his hands, and frost bloomed across the shattered ice. The wails of the Nightmares grew more muffled until she could not hear them at all.