Page 38 of Wings of Reverie

“Can I do anything to help you? When Spangle lets me stop pretending to be inanimate, I mean,” she added, gesturing at the fountain of red feathers around her middle.

Weaver blinked at her. “Oh. No, that’s all right,” he said. “I mostly work alone. I take orders, I weave thread into material, the sewing-talents turn it into whatever it’s going to be. Occasionally I spin or piece things together myself.”

“Do you like it?”

Weaver shrugged. “It’s mostly just made me picky about what I wear.”

Periwinkle laughed, and he smiled at the sound. The smile quickly became a scowl when some of the other fairies looked around to stare.

“I bet you actually like it more than you think you do,” Periwinkle said.

Weaver glanced at her curiously. After a moment, though, he nodded. “I do like it. You’re right. I like the work. It’s just…”

He didn’t finish his thought. But Periwinkle thought she could guess what he would’ve said.

The work was good, and he was good at it. But it was missing something.

Periwinkle thought about this as she rolled one of Weaver’s pencils back and forth in her hands, opened and shut a pair of scissors,popped a few little cuplike things onto four of her fingers. Then she noticed tiny holes in his black spider-silk gloves. “What about these?” she asked, popping the little cups off her fingertips. “I can mend them, if you teach me.”

“Absolutely not.” Weaver plucked them out of her hand. “Stop touching things; you’re like a squirrel getting ready for winter. In a minute, I’m going to look over and see you’ve got bobbins of thread stuffed in your cheeks. Pick up that thimble,” he added, pointing to one of the cuppy things as it threatened to roll away.

Periwinkle winced. “Sorry.”

“Let’s hope you’re this helpful looking for the workshop tomorrow. We’ll be done in no time.” Weaver smirked at her, teasing.

Suddenly, it was Periwinkle’s turn to blush.

“Whew!” Spangle reappeared then, two gigantic bundles of feathers under her arms. She looked first at Periwinkle, then at Weaver, who’d already turned back to his loom. “Where’s Alder?”

“She’s a little taller than Anise,” Weaver said over his shoulder, instead of answering. “Since the gown’s already too long to be knee-length on Anise, I’d add another tier of feathers and let the skirt skim the tops of her shoes.”

Spangle drew up short, frowning. “That’s, like…a really good idea,” she said slowly. “Thank you.”

Weaver did barely more than hum in reply. But when Spangle turned to Periwinkle, Periwinkle thought she mouthed something likemore thanhe’s ever spoken to me before?

“Um. Anyway, Periwinkle, come back when you’re ready.”Spangle nodded at her piles of cardinal feathers. “Hopefully this is enough.”

“I sure hope so.” Periwinkle looked at Weaver, wide-eyed, as Spangle flew back toward her station. “Is she sewing a dress or planning to smother me?”

“Depends on if she forgives you for not being shorter. You’ll find out, I guess,” Weaver said, not looking up as he wove another pine needle shred into the fabric. “See if you can be still for Spangle. Mannequins work best if they’re not trying to lose all your sewing notions.”

“Stop it,” she said wearily. “Fly home with me? Also, we need to talk about our plan when you come over tonight.”

“Whatever you say, Sparkles.”

“I do say.” Periwinkle leaned closer, wondering if she was imagining the hitch in Weaver’s breath. “And you can call me Sparkles, or whatever silly nickname you want. But you and I both know I’m relentless.”

“I do know that,” Weaver agreed, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “What I don’t know is why you won’t leave me alone to work.”

Periwinkle headed back toward Spangle’s station. “Oh, I’ll let you work,” she said over her shoulder. “But if you wanted to be left alone, Weaver, you should’ve thought of that days ago.”

11

The lampposts were lit in Snowlight Square, and Weaver was still working. Periwinkle glanced over at him past Spangle, who was nearly done stitching the last ivy vine over the bodice of Anise’s red-feathered gown. Spangle and her friend Trim, another sewing fairy, had been peppering Periwinkle with questions for the last hour.

“I still can’t believe you’re here instead of on the Mainland,” Spangle said, twisting a curl back into one of her hair buns. “Are you loving the Frost Festival? Are you coming to the snowball fight tonight?”

“It’s not for the faint of heart,” said Trim, lowering her gingery eyebrows in mock seriousness. Trim was a tiny, pale redhead with a passion for jewel-toned clothes and gossip. “The snowball fight’s a matter of honor. We start working on technique as soon as the others leave for the Mainland and build forts in strategic locations. There are long-standing rivalries. Betrayals cut deep.” She made a face at Periwinkle and they both giggled.