Page 67 of Wings of Starlight

Clarion almost smiled at the thought. How magical, that an entire library could be transformed into a rainbow. “I wish I could help.”

“Me, too.” He hesitated. “If you’d like, I can write to you with our findings.”

After her coronation, she supposed there would be no one monitoring her correspondence. “All right.”

He nodded. “There’s something else troubling you?”

Clarion let out a heavy sigh. Her breath unfurled in a white cloud. “I’m afraid it will sound ridiculous in comparison. Petra and I got into an argument at the ball, and it’s weighing on me.”

When they reached Noctua, he took her reins—these ones, she noted, were made of a much finer material; apparently, even birds had finery—and hesitated. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Didshe? Some part of her did, of course. But she feared that once she picked open the wound, there would be no stemming the tide. She would have to think about how Petra had almost enabled the worst possible outcome for Winter. But worse still, she would have to consider the role she herself had played in driving a wedge between them. It wasn’t as though Petra’s concerns were unreasonable. Venturing into the Winter Woods as a warm fairywasobjectively dangerous. Perhaps she should have spoken to her instead of throwing up walls.

Perhaps she had not listened to her properly for a long time.

Grimacing, Clarion shook her head. “It will pass soon enough.”

He did not look terribly convinced, but he did not press the matter. “As you wish.”

She and Milori climbed onto Noctua’s back—something that was becoming almost second nature to her now, she realized. She no longer had to hold on for dear life when the owl beat her wings, carrying them into the skies. Here, nestled safely in Milori’s arms, Clarion felt something like peace. She dared to look down. Beneath the veil of night, all the snow was stained a muted blue.

It took her only a few minutes to realize that Milori was steering them to an area she had never seen before. Below them was a river, frozen solid and gleaming like a vein of glass. From this height, she could make out the milling crowds atop the ice—and scattered here and there along the riverbanks, a few booths, lit from within with a cheerful orange light.

Milori slowed Noctua; she beat her wings to hover nearly in place. When he spoke, Clarion could feel his voice, rumbling in his chest and curling softly over the shell of her ear. “I should warn you that this might be somewhat overwhelming.”

She shot him a wry look. “You doubt me?”

“Never,” he said softly. “It’s only that they know what you’ve done for them.”

“Oh.” She supposed thatwouldmake things different. In the warm seasons, no one knew that she and Milori had sealed away the Nightmares. “Thank you for the warning. But I think I’m ready.”

A spark of mischief glittered in his eyes. “Then prepare to make quite an entrance.”

They made quite an entrance, indeed.

Noctua dove, descending on the Winter ball in a swirl of white feathers and pixie dust. The owl slowed their fall with a few flaps of her wings, kicking up the topmost layer of snow; it eddied wildly around them as they landed just outside the festival grounds.

Even over the rush of the wind, Clarion heard the winter fairies’ cheers. In an instant, the crowds pressed in around them, and she caught snatches of her name, spoken not in a reverential hush but with…excitement? It was such a foreign concept, she could hardly make sense of it.

“Our guest of honor has arrived,” Milori called out over the commotion.

Somehow, the noise intensified. Clarion could only laugh breathlessly as she stared out over their faces. She did not think anyone had ever been so happy to see her. She could only hope she did not disappoint them.

Milori leaned close enough to murmur in her ear, “Ididwarn you.”

“You certainly did.”

As Clarion dismounted, the wind tugged loose glittering trails from the hem of her gown. Together, she and Milori waded into the veritable sea of fairies. They could make little progress toward the river, however, when she was stopped every few paces.

“Welcome to the Winter Woods, Your Highness.” A fairy with an elegant white braid draped over her shoulder beamed at her. “I wanted to give you this, if you’ll accept it.”

She held out a jasmine blossom encased in frost, glittering and perfectly preserved. It was beautiful—and an incredibly kind gesture. It must have been difficult to fetch it; jasmine grew only on the very edge of Winter and Spring.

Clarion took it gently, afraid to snap the delicate petals off. “Of course I will. Thank you so much.”

The words had no sooner passed her lips than a sparrow man took the fairy’s place. He offered her a figurine carved from ice. “A small token of our gratitude, Your Highness, that you risked your life to protect ours.”

“Oh,” she said, a little overcome. She accepted the figurine gingerly, cradling it in the palm of her mittened hand. It would melt if she held on to it—if not now, then when she returned to the warm seasons. She marveled at the fragile beauty of these ephemeral things. “It’s my pleasure.”