Page 6 of Wings of Reverie

“Your priorities are misplaced,” Dougal said too loudly, jutting a finger. “The winter fairies are clamoring for the start of the Frost Festival and the First Frost Ball, but the threat of illness—”

“I amnotdistracted with the Frost Festival or the ball,” Lord Milori said sternly.

“But I mean, even if he were, who could blame him?” Gliss whispered, making a face. “Everyone says the Frost Festival’s really exciting, and we’ve all worked so hard. Fairies who aren’t going to the Mainland should get a break and a chance to celebrate. Even if, like, we can’t go.” The Frost Festival would begin after the fairies bound for the Mainland left. It would be six days of feasts andgames and celebrations, with the First Frost Ball—a masquerade, at the Hall of Winter—marking its end. Periwinkle and her friends always missed it while they were away, but the Frost Festival was supposed to be one of the most fabulous events held in the Winter Woods.

“True,” Fletcher said. “But healing supplies feel kind of important.”

Spike just frowned. “Poor Dougal.”

“As I said, our supplies will arrive in a timely fashion,” Lord Milori said. “We will not have to go to extraordinary lengths to retrieve them.”

“Forgive me if I struggle to trust your assessment of the situation,” Dougal said, lips pursed tightly. “Last time, we were the ones to pay the price for your mistakes.”

Periwinkle drew in a sharp breath, glancing wordlessly—instinctively—to Spike and Gliss.

The music fairies had stopped playing and singing by now, and snowflakes had stopped tumbling down from the trees. Periwinkle and her friends exchanged knowing looks.

They knew what Dougal meant. The whole Winter Woods knew.

Dougal’s wife, Selene, had gotten lost retrieving flu supplies last year—near Snow Globe Mountain, everyone thought.

Nobody could be positive, though. Because Selene had never come back.

“I have much on my mind,” Lord Milori said. His voice was as even as ever, like somehow Dougal’s accusation hadn’t ruffledhim at all. “The Winter Woods are mine to lead and protect. The festival and the ball are, indeed, priorities. But if you’re truly insinuating that merrymaking has distracted me, you’ve become more contrary than I believed, Dougal.”

“And you remain blind to your own limitations,” Dougal snapped. “Do let me know when you’ve remembered them again.”

He flew away from Juniper Glade then. And though Lord Milori gently gestured to the music-talents and snowflake-talents that they ought to continue, the whole party felt like a snowflake knocked off course on its way to the ground.

Gliss was always the best at smoothing over a situation, so she was the first to go back to dancing, dragging Slush back along with her as the musicians struck up again. When Flare went back to fussing over pastries and Spike asked Sled something about winter animal movements, Periwinkle was left more or less alone with Fletcher, watching snowflakes fall sporadically from the juniper trees overhead.

“Do you want to dance?” Fletcher asked. Periwinkle hesitated.

“It’s not that I don’t,” she said. “But…”

Her voice trailed off. Fletcher waited patiently for her to finish whatever she’d meant to say.

Periwinkle prodded her feelings experimentally, just once more. Her feelings rolled over like a possum playing dead.

“But it’s not that youdo, either,” Fletcher finally supplied, when she’d been quiet for too long.

Fletcher had heard a lot ofbutfrom her over the last few months.

Staring up at him, searching his face for something even Periwinkle herself couldn’t name, she wondered desperately if maybe Spike was right, and they were inevitable, and she was just being too picky.

Periwinkle didn’t dislike spending time with Fletcher; that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that being with Fletcher felt likewaiting—and not like she was holding her breath, anticipating something. It felt like hanging around, passing the time.

But Periwinkle knew the anticipation of searching for magic, of waiting on dreams. And she wanted that feeling. She wanted to feel like she was waiting for something, not waiting for something to pass.

“I’m going to call it an early night,” she said to him quietly. She nodded toward Lord Milori, who was making his way toward his snowy owl. “Apart from anything else, all of that was kind of upsetting.”

Fletcher nodded, ever gracious. “I understand,” he said. “Do you want me to fly home with you?”

Spike and Sled looked over, surprised. “You’re leaving?” Spike asked. Periwinkle avoided her eyes.

“Thanks, Fletcher. But I’m good,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” she added, feeling a pang of guilt at Spike’s curious expression as she flew away.

It seemed like Periwinkle felt guilty more and more often, these days. Over Fletcher’s feelings, over her own secrets.