Page 85 of Wings of Starlight

Within her, she carried the dreams of the thousands who had seen her star falling. For one moment, they’d felt hopeful or desperate enough to shed their cynicism and entrust their wishes to her. As long as she had them, she could not succumb to despair.

As the flames rushed up the dragon’s throat, Clarion squared her shoulders. She was the Queen of Pixie Hollow. And this beast? It was a child’s fear, given shape and left to fester for far too long.

In the harsh light of day, it was nothing at all.

Clarion burned like a star: inexhaustible and obliterating. Golden light exploded outward, filling the prison. The dragon bellowed as, strand by strand, the horror and doubt that had made it unraveled. Threads of darkness unspooled, crumbling into ashes as they floated through the air.

In the end, nothing but this remained: twinkling motes of starlight, transforming what had lain empty into the endless brilliance of the night sky.

When the starlight winked out, Milori pulled her from the depths of the lake. As soon as he guided her onto solid ground, the ice knit itself shut behind her, like a wound finally healing—and underneath, Clarion could see dark waters churning. Just like that, it was as though the prison had never existed at all.

She had done it.

Slowly, she eased herself back onto the smooth mirror of the lake’s surface and stared up at the sky. Cold seeped in through her coat, but she found she didn’t mind. Time had slipped away from her beneath the ice. Night had fallen like a curtain over Winter, but it was positively luminous with celestial light. An aurora borealis unfurled through the sky in broad, billowing ribbons. Once upon a time, perhaps, dream fairies would have soared beneath them, gathering them into their baskets. But now, they shimmered tantalizingly out of reach, their magic as wondrous and mysterious as the night itself. They haloed Milori, painting him in soft greens and blues.

“How did you know to come here?” she asked, unable to keep the wonder out of her voice.

“You stole my owl,” he said, with a touch of amusement. “Who else but the queen would dare do such a thing? It wasn’t particularly difficult to figure out where you might have taken her.”

Clarion flushed. “To be clear, she let me steal her.”

Milori laughed. He looked so boyishly, uncomplicatedly happy, she couldn’t help laughing, too. She took hold of his arm and pulled him down on the ice beside her. He came willingly. For a moment, the two of them lay side by side like a couple of stargazers. Slowly, Clarion splayed her fingers out across his chest and propped herself up to peer down at him. His hair pooled around him, a spill of white against the muted blue of the ice.

For just a little longer, she wanted to stay here, where nothing existed but the two of them. Clarion traced his jawline with the tips of her fingers. She leaned over him, her hair spilling over her shoulders to curtain them.

“You have your wish,” she murmured. “What will you do now?”

Milori gathered up the weight of her hair in one hand, brushing it back from her face and draping it over her shoulder. Despite the chill of his skin, her entire body warmed at his touch. “Truthfully, I don’t know. It’s felt like such an impossible dream for so long. I’ve never let myself consider what would happen if it came true.”

Fortunately, she had given this some thought in the hours she’d spent trapped in bed. “Well, if I’m going to grant your second wish…I want you on my court. Not as the Warden of the Winter Woods—but as the Lord of Winter.”

Milori blinked in surprise. His voice was wary, but his expression was full of tentative hope. “We have not had a Lord of Winter in a long time.”

“And that is a shame.” She would hear no argument. Clarion sat up and offered her hands to him. When he accepted them, she tightened her grip on him, as though she could press her confidence into him. “You deserve your ancestral title returned to you. We have three Seasonal Ministers and no involvement in Winter. It makes no sense to exclude you.”

“Your other ministers may not feel the same,” he said, but she could tell she’d won.

“They will see reason.” Clarion canted her chin, earning herself a smile from Milori. On aching limbs, she stood and helped him to his feet. “Or I will make them see reason as soon as I am queen. Each of us has resources and expertise to share.”

“Very well. I will accept your offer.” He put on a good show of sounding deferential, but the smallest of smiles curled on the corners of his mouth.

“It will be my first decree,” she said. “Never again will our two worlds be at odds with one another.”

“Never again,” he agreed softly.

In the ensuing silence, reality pierced through the dreamy bubble of their victory. There was still much to do to make this vision a reality. And now that they were safe, now that he was standing here in front of her, she had to address what had happened. Reluctantly, she let his hands go.

“How is…?”

Her words failed her, but she did not need to finish her question. His eyes filled with terrible, somber comprehension.

“It’s broken,” he said.

He turned around, and the quiet joy of this stolen moment evaporated. Her gaze followed the delicate, whorled patterns on his right wing down to its end. For a moment, the horror of it was something her mind refused to process. The bottom half of it looked as though it had melted completely, then frozen again into jagged edges.

The force of her emotion knocked the breath from her. Guilt and shame were shackles around her wrists, dragging her down toward despair once more. “Milori…I’m so sorry.”

“Clarion,” he said, with some iron in his voice. “I don’t regret what I’ve done, nor do I blame you for what happened. I’d do it again if given the opportunity.”