Page 88 of Wings of Starlight

Elvina frowned. Whatever she saw in Clarion’s eyes, she seemed to understand. “Just rest—and I do mean it this time. There is still much to do before your coronation.”

In this state, rest would not come easy. But Elvina gently stroked her hair and did not protest when Clarion wound her arms around her waist. Despite how broken and how wretched she felt, it was such a comfort to be held.

“Once upon a time,” Elvina began—and whispered to her all the pretty stories she once had back when Clarion first arrived, of valor and love and queens long gone.

Clarion drifted off to the soothing rhythm of Elvina’s voice. She dreamed of snow and starlight. Of clear gray eyes, full of forgiveness she would never truly earn.

Clarion stirred awake to find her room drenched in late-afternoon sunlight. It disoriented her to have slept so long, but her eyelids still felt heavy enough that she would drift off again if she let them fall. This exhaustion was nothing like her burnout, the devouring cold that had spread through the hollow of her chest, but it was still so tempting to curl up again and…

Petra.The thought startled her into full consciousness. She had to check on her and the others.

Clarion threw off the sheets. It had been so sweltering beneath them, even the close air of her room felt cool against her skin. On her nightstand, three things waited for her: a bowl of porridge, gone cold from how long it had been sitting out; her daily ration of pixie dust, bundled neatly in a leaf sachet; and a letter, stamped with the royal seal.

What could Elvina have to tell her?

She retrieved the note and carefully slid her finger beneath the wax seal to open it. Even without the royal insignia, she would have recognized Elvina’s perfect handwriting.

Come to the clinic as soon as you’re able. The spell has broken at last.

Clarion’s breath escaped her in a tremulous rush. Weeks of stress, of worry, lifted from her in an instant. Pixie Hollow was finally free.

And she would get to see her best friend again.

Clarion pulled on the first gown she could find, then poured the pixie dust over her wings. She sighed in contentment as its sweet smell suffused the air. From across the room, she caught a glimpse of her reflection. Flecks of gold clung to her eyelashes and glinted in her loose, sleep-tangled hair. Her eyelids were swollen from crying, and the creases of her bedsheets were pressed into her face in thin red lines. It hardly mattered what she looked like. She could not wait another minute to leave.

She flung open the doors of her balcony. The Pixie Dust Tree greeted her with the soft shift and sway of its foliage, rustled by the breeze. For a moment, Clarion allowed herself to linger. She rested her hands against the railing and leaned out over the edge. Pixie Hollow sprawled before her, vast and beautiful in the golden-hour light.

Soon, all of this would be hers to protect.

And for perhaps the first time, she felt equal to the task.

Feeling lighter than she had in weeks, she took flight. It felt terribly unusual not to be sneaking around for a change. There were no watchful scouts patrolling the skies. No nausea, half from the thrill of it, half from the dread of being caught. No comments from Artemis as she took off toward Winter.

Artemis.

Hopefully she was on the mend as well. Clarion would see her soon enough.

As she soared over the Summer Glade, she grinned to see that Pixie Hollow had returned to normal. The sound of laughter and singing reached her, even from this height. Garden-talents drifted over Feverfew Fields, coaxing new growth to life. As they worked, the scents of rich loam and bitter herbs intensified, carried on the breath of the wind.

Clarion landed in front of the healers’ clinic, where the golden-hearted flowers gave way to lush grass. Toadstools sprung from the earth, their wide caps serving as the clinic’s front porch. She flitted upward to clear the distance, then alighted on the porch. Immediately, her heart leapt with joy.

“Artemis!”

The scout was sitting in a rocking chair, her right leg extended out in front of her. It was set in a brace made of two thin strips of bark bound together by a grass-woven rope. A staff was propped up beside her, nestled in the crook of her neck and shoulder. Her dark hair was shaggier than Clarion had ever seen it, and her eyes were still shadowed with exhaustion. At the sound of Clarion’s voice, her expression softened with relief.

With a flutter of her wings, Artemis rose from her seat, steadying herself with her staff. She did not say a word. She only closed the space between them, the tip of the staff thunking rhythmically against the mushrooms’ caps. Then, she pulled Clarion into a hug with one muscled arm slung around her neck. Her grip was crushing, but Clarion did not dare complain. It was unlikely she would ever extract such open affection from her again.

“You did it,” Artemis said against her hair.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” Clarion drew back and studied her. “How are you feeling?”

“Nearly back to normal, Your Highness.”

Clarion gave her a flat look, one that said,Be honest with me.Artemis was leaning heavily against her staff. Even though fairies rarely walked, small differences in their weight distribution could make it quite difficult to balance mid-flight. She’d need a mobility aid until the splint was removed, at the very least.

“I have been better.” Artemis wilted, clearly displeased at having to admit it. “Do you mind if I sit?”

“Of course not,” Clarion replied. “At ease.”