Page 58 of Wings of Reverie

The First Frost Ball was the next evening. She and Weaver only hadone more nightto find the magic spindle and spin Periwinkle’s dreams to protect the Pixie Dust Root.

Worse than that, Periwinkle still couldn’t help feeling there was a piece missing from the puzzle in front of them. She understood the plan to protect the root with her dreams; the idea was groundedin legend—in Pixie Hollow’s own history. But had the tree ever faced a storm like the one in her nightmares? Had the dreams ever helped it recover, if it had? Much as she wanted the spindle to be the end of their problems, she still felt like there was something they weren’t seeing.

Suddenly, Periwinkle sat upright. She opened the book again, if only to keep her hands from smacking her own forehead.

She’d searched the encyclopedia for a compass.

But she hadn’t bothered justsearching for the spindle.

Holding her breath, Periwinkle began to turn the encyclopedia’s pages. Just one more time.

There weren’t as many spindles as there were compasses; she realized that right away. Still, the list of them was long enough for her heart rate to climb pretty high as she read. There was a cursed spindle that had pricked a princess’s finger and sent her into a deathlike sleep. There was a spindle that could wind and unwind time, and another one that spun fate. There was no mention of a spindle specifically made for dream magic.

But then she found mention of a sapphire spindle, deep in what the encyclopedia called the “s./g. mine,” at the end of the Chilly River.

Periwinkle was trembling all over by the time she finished reading the entry.

This was it. She was positive. The Keeper’s notes had had the mine somewhere in the northeast of the Winter Woods, and the Chilly River lay in the northeast. The spindle in the encyclopedia had to be the one they were looking for.

She stood up and set the book down on the side table, then moved to hover beside the window, shaking out her shaking hands.

They had a long flight ahead of them, and probably a long search once they got to the Chilly River. But she and Weaver could reach the Sapphire Mine before it got dark, if they didn’t leave too late. Periwinkle drew in a long, slow breath, letting the snow and the cool air calm her.

Down below in Juniper Glade, at the foot of the mountains, the sled races had begun. All six of the fox and wolf pups had been hitched up, pulling the bravest fairies as far as they dared to go, which wasn’t far. Lord Milori stood on the sidelines with the other fairies clapping and cheering for the animals and the racers, looking more relaxed than Periwinkle usually saw him. She was laughing at the fox pup trying to flop on its back again when she heard voices behind her.

Periwinkle didn’t expect to get in trouble for being late to Floss’s workshop that morning. But she still wasn’t where she was supposed to be, and questions about why could get inconvenient quickly. Immediately, she dropped out of sight, crouching behind her chair.

“He’s completely forgotten his responsibilities,” someone hissed. Whoever it was seemed to be moving toward the books on healing, near where the book on fairy distemper had blessed her sneeze.

“Well, of course he hasn’t.” That was Dewey. Periwinkle ducked lower behind the chair. “Just because you don’t see everything that’s going on doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.”

“He told me he’d coordinate the retrieval of flu supplies early this season,” said the first voice. Fairy flu—of course. It was Dougal.

“And, well, Queen Clarion said they’d be ready in about a week. She’s usually right about these things, you know.” Dewey’s words and voice were soothing. But Dougal wouldn’t be so easily soothed.

Periwinkle couldn’t help thinking she didn’t blame him.

Lord Milori was hiding the truth about the danger facing Pixie Hollow. Was it possible he was convinced he could control a situation with the fairy flu, as well? Could Lord Milori really believe he knew better about medicine than a healing-talent?

“There’s a storm coming, and it’s going to be a bitter one,” Dougal finally said. Periwinkle felt her stomach drop. “I only hope Lord Milori isn’t left with regrets once it’s come and gone.”

“I understand,” Dewey said.

“No.” Dougal’s voice sounded almost broken. “No, I don’t think you do.”

He didn’t speak again; the only sound in the hall was a flutter of wings. Still hidden behind her chair, Periwinkle kept still and counted to one hundred, listening to the puppy races out in the glade.

When she finally stood, there was Dewey, sitting in her chair like he’d been waiting for her.

“So.” He caught up his cane, one eyebrow quirking. “How much of that did you hear?”

Periwinkle bit her lip. “However much you…wanted me to hear?”

She cast a desperate glance at the encyclopedia of artifacts onthe table beside him, hoping its presence would escape him entirely. Dewey scratched at his head and sighed.

“Well, you don’t need to worry. Lord Milori has things under control,” he said. “This is very personal for Dougal.”

“I know. And I feel terrible for him,” she said. “But why is he so angry at Lord Milori? What happened to Selene was awful, but it was an accident.”