Page 59 of Wings of Starlight

The light of the barrier dimmed beneath the frozen surface of the lake, and night settled softly into the space it left behind. As her vision adjusted to the starlit dark, she gazed out at their handiwork. The ice itself seemed to glow. With the prison sealed, the oppressive atmosphere lessened, and Clarion imagined this was what this place had been like centuries ago.

Beautiful.

Milori let out a soft sound of disbelief. When Clarion turned to him, she was struck with another pang of longing. Moonlight gilded the ice and draped itself over him. Like this, he was lustrous—an effect not helped by the way he wasbeamingat her.

“We did it.”

She couldn’t help grinning back at him. “We did.”

She could hardly believe it. After weeks of fear and uncertainty, they’d freed their subjects from the Nightmares. She barely had time to process it. Because with a flutter of his wings, Milori lifted off the ground. He took both her mittened hands in his own—and then flew backward, until she was gliding along the ice after him.

“Milori!” she protested through a laugh. She had half a mind to dig her heels in, but his joy was infectious. She surrendered and let herself skate across the surface.

He spun her to slow their momentum, one hand coming to rest against her waist to steady her. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

When he was so unguardedly happy, how could she possibly deny him anything? “Of course. Anywhere.”

Milori took her to a vista atop another mountain’s peak. It afforded a view of the Winter Woods—most strikingly, the vast frozen lake. The mirror-smooth ice now sparkled with veins of gold. Soft golden light illuminated the surrounding darkness. Beyond it, she could see the Hall of Winter, gleaming cold in the moonlight, and the enclaves of winter fairies’ homes glowing like fireflies in the dark. And there, luminous and golden, was the Pixie Dust Tree. It seemed impossible that she should be standing here, staring back at the place she’d spent all her life—a place she believed she would never leave.

But it was not the view Milori had brought her to see. On a precipice overlooking the Nightmares’ prison was a massive sculpture carved entirely from ice.

Clarion approached it, tipping her head back so that she could appreciate it fully. The statue was of a sparrow man, with his hand resting on a sword at his hip. A diadem—carved with the snowflake insignia of Winter—sat on his brow. A cloak trimmed in the fur of an animal billowed behind him. His wings, shot through with moonlight, glittered like winter itself. He looked strangelyfamiliar…almost likeMilori, with his stoic countenance and weary eyes.

“Here it is,” said Milori. “This is the first Warden of the Winter Woods. It’s said that this statue was commissioned by the Queen of Pixie Hollow herself.”

“The Lord of Winter,” Clarion murmured.

“Yes,” he said, after a pause. “I suppose he was also known by that title.”

This did not look like the memorial of a sparrow man who had risked everything for the sake of his pride. It looked like someone who, even in death, had not forgotten his duty.

As she circled the statue, her gaze snagged on the plinth. It was covered in lichen and densely packed snow, but she could see something written just beneath it. She knelt beside it and scraped off the rime with her mitten. Piece by piece, it fell away. She scrubbed until she could make out the carved inscription.

IN THE ICE AND IN THE HEARTS OF ALL OF PIXIE HOLLOW,

THE MEMORY OF THE LORD OF WINTER,

A TRUE FRIEND AND STEADFAST PROTECTOR,

IS PRESERVED FOREVER.

Just beneath the final line was a faint carving. Clarion recognized it as the royal insignia: the Pixie Dust Tree framed by the wings of a monarch butterfly. Clarion’s heart ached at the sight of it. This was not the sort of statue built for the living—which meant Elvina’s story was completely wrong. There had been no rebellion that had driven their realms apart, no treachery. It comforted her as much as it puzzled her.

“What happened, then?” she asked. “How did we end up this way?”

“I don’t know.” Milori crouched beside her and gazed up at the statue. “In his writings, he emphasized that the Nightmares were not something the queen should worry about. I suppose his successor wasn’t as close with the queen’s—and so, perhaps we just drifted apart over time. I suppose it’s a trait we all share, to want to shoulder this burden alone.”

I understand the necessity of that worldview,Milori had told her when she shared Elvina’s philosophy.

Clarion rested a hand on his arm. “You haven’t.”

“I haven’t.” He smiled ruefully. “You are not the only fairy in Pixie Hollow who believes they can’t do what they were born to do. For generations, every Warden of the Winter Woods has upheld their duty unfailingly, except for me. What happened to both our subjects is entirely my fault, and I asked you to fix my mistake.”

Entirely my fault.Hadn’t she thought the exact same thing, kneeling among the wreckage of the Autumn Forest? But listening to him say it, she realized how terribly unfair it was. No one should take on so much.

“I owe you an enormous debt,” he said. “And as you share the news with your subjects, if you want to blame me—”

“How can I blame you?” she cut in. “What could you have done?”