Page 68 of Wings of Starlight

By the third fairy who approached her, Clarion realized that something of a line had formed. It astonished her to see so many fairies waiting to speak toher. Her interactions blurred together eventually, a whirlwind of clasped hands, exchanged names, and gifts—so many, she did not know how she would get them home, or where to put them even if she could. Winter fairies, so long separated from the warm seasons, were apparently keen to share what they had to offer. Their generosity and warmth astounded her. Between this reception and her fight with Petra, the world felt far too raw, all her emotions just a pinprick from spilling forth.

This had been overwhelming, indeed.

When the initial excitement died down and the crowds thinned, a kind fairy loaded her things onto a sleigh and offered to take it to the border after the festivities. The very last of her subjects waiting to see her was Milori. Clarion felt no small measure of relief to see him.

“How are you holding up?”

“Perfectly,” she said—and she meant it. “A little tired, though.”

He looked a little apologetic. “Shall I take you home?”

“No,” she said, perhaps too hastily. In truth, she never wanted to leave. “Not yet. I haven’t visited any of the booths.”

“That is a must before you go.” Milori offered her his hand. Giddiness, irrepressible and bright, unfurled through her at the sight. “Come with me, then.”

She took his hand. “All right.”

He led her toward the frozen river. As they approached the festival, the night brightened. Candles burned on every available surface—stones, tables of ice, logs—and cast everything in rosy hues. The river absorbed all the candlelight and seemed to glow in the darkness. All along its embankment, the winter fairies had set up painted wooden booths, their roofs iced like cakes with a thick layer of snow and dripping with icicles. Each one offered something different: spiced cider, butternut squash soup garnished with fragments of pomegranate seeds, salads of dark greens and delicate slivers of beets, candied nuts chopped into fine pieces, pastries glazed with citrus, toffee puddings in caramel sauce. Clarion insisted on trying some of everything.

All around them, fairies skated across the ice and drifted through the air as they danced. They wore clothes of pure white and deepest red. Clarion paused to admire the frost lacework and ice gems glittering at their ears and wrists. How different even their fashion was here!

“Would you like to join them?” Milori asked.

Clarion whirled to face him, flustered to have been caught staring with such…yearning. It took her a moment to process that his question sounded suspiciously like an invitation. “Do you dance?”

“Ican,” he said, “theoretically. But I find I rarely have reason to.”

“I’m shocked,” she replied with a grin. She could hardly imagine him dancing. “Me neither. Well, I suppose that isn’t entirely true. I’ve alwayswantedto dance.”

He made a pensive sound. “Why haven’t you?”

“Queens don’t dance.”

“In Winter, they might.” He met her eyes meaningfully, and her throat went dry. “Besides, you aren’t queen yet.”

Clarion flushed to have her words turned back on her. She shook her head at him in fond exasperation. With every moment that passed, it became more and more difficult to remember why exactly she’d insisted on maintaining some semblance of distance between them. What he said was true: she wasn’t queen yet. And he was looking at her with such hope, it seemed almost cruel to deny him.

Why not allow herself one last night of freedom?

Putting on airs of defeat, she sighed. She drew a step closer and tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. “I suppose I can’t argue against that.”

Milori’s lips parted mutely. Clarion felt a small thrill that she seemed to have rendered him speechless. Clearly, he hadn’t expected her to acquiesce so easily. But after a moment, he recovered enough to ask, “Then may I be so bold as to ask for your first dance?”

It took all her strength to maintain her teasingly aloof tone. “You may.”

Distantly, she registered that the music-talents had struck up another song. Slowly, she rested one hand on his shoulder; the other slid into his. He settled into the frame of the dance, drawing her closer with a hand on the curve of her waist. The familiar, comforting chill of his skin enveloped her, along with the scent of evergreen and fresh-fallen snow. And although he claimed he rarely danced, he guided her through the steps with practiced ease. They were among the only couples on the ground; it was freeing, to take up so much space, to never fear colliding with someone else. The fabric of her gown billowed around them as they twirled, gathering up snow and starlight.

“How have you enjoyed your first Winter ball?” he asked.

“It’s incredible. It’s so…” She struggled to find the exact word, but the most paradoxical one fit best. “Warm.”

Milori seemed pleased, but his expression soon grew thoughtful. “This is what it could be like, if you wanted it to be.”

For the first time, Clarion allowed herself to envision it. When she was queen, it would be within her power to change things in the warm seasons. Although Elvina had imparted her wisdom to Clarion, her time in Winter had shown her it was not the only way forward. How sweet it would be to rule not from an impartial distance but withwarmth. Perhaps, then, she would not have to be alone. The very thought filled her up with a yearning greater than any she’d ever known.

When the song ended, Milori did not let her go immediately. Clarion resisted the urge to lean her head against his shoulder. But while her heart longed to stay, the cold had made itself known. Her fingers were going numb, and the tips of her ears stung. “I should get back to Summer before they notice I’m gone.”

If he was disappointed, it did not show on his face. But she could read his reluctance to let her go, broken only by the shiver that gripped her. Even after he dropped her hand, his palm still rested steadily on the small of her back. “Of course. Let’s get you out of the cold.”