Page 89 of Wings of Reverie

She was on a sled harnessed to a huge wolf pup, gripping its reins for dear life as her dream-colored dress swayed around her and the sled moved through the wreckage of the ball.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “There was—I could see the nightmare magic moving through the walls. Pulsing, like it was fading and then reappearing.” Then she noticed his hands, red and blistered, the air smoking around them. “What are you doing?”

Weaver swallowed hard and looked away. His pain wasn’t her problem, on top of everything he’d done. “I was trying to destroy the nightmare-thread.”

“Where are your gloves?” she demanded. “Your hands—”

He hid them behind his back. “The gloves were more hole than fabric pretty soon after I started trying. The nightmares are stronger now that they’re spun, and there were so many of them…” Weaver let his voice trail off, shaking his head. Periwinkle fluttered around him, trying to look over his shoulder behind his back, but she drew up short when she came to the end of the pup’s reins. “Let me see your hands,” she insisted. When Weaver finally produced them, she choked on a sob.

“Weaver—” Periwinkle clapped a hand to her mouth. “How will you—your work—?”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, voice breaking. “They’ll heal, and I deserve it. Everyone here in this hall is suffering worse than this, and it’s entirely my fault.”

Her pale blue eyes searched his face a moment. She was beautiful, soft as starlight.

She’d never forgive him. But it quieted him, just for that moment, just having her there.

“I need you to know that I didn’t know,” he said suddenly.

Periwinkle frowned. “What?”

“I didn’t know,” he repeated. “When Dougal and I were figuring out how to make them understand what we were going through, when I was sending you nightmares, I didn’t know how bad it would be inside them. Some of my dreams were sad or lonely, but they were never as terrible as yours, and I…” He hesitated. “It was really me in your nightmare last night, Periwinkle. I went in, and I was shocked. I recognized the dream, because I’d conjured the whole thing up,but I hadn’t understood how awful it would feel to be inside it. Just like I didn’t know Lord Milori and the Keeper felt guilty or regretful about Selene.” He paused, finally meeting her eyes.

“And I didn’t know how wrong I was about you,” he said. “I didn’t know someone could be as kind as you are and still be sharp and bright and capable.Iwas the fool here, never you. And the funny thing was what a failure I was at hating you.” He swallowed. “The second I let you show me who you were, you won me over, like you do everyone else.”

Fear. Embarrassment. Guilt. Relief. Loneliness. Confusion. Longing. A hundred feelings churned inside Weaver as he waited for her to answer, and the longing was the worst of all. “Please say something.”

Periwinkle knelt beside him. In the center of the destroyed party, all the light in the room seemed to gather around her.

“Here,” she said quietly, reaching for his ruined hands. Weaver’s stomach bottomed out at her touch.

She’d reached for him before, of course. He’d kissed her, held her. But Weaver had been lying to her then.

Her gentleness now that the truth had come out was more than he could stand.

Frost, cold and soothing, spread softly across his palms, and his wings trembled at the relief.

“Our frost’s like a little blanket,” she said quietly. Legs, seeming to recognize her presence, peered out the top of Weaver’s pocket, and Periwinkle brushed a soft finger over his head. While a smilecrossed her face, Weaver granted himself one easy breath.

She was perfect. It was just a shame he’d spent so long pretending he despised her for it.

Then he reached for the pile of thread again.

“Stop!” Periwinkle gripped his wrist. “By the second star, what are you doing?”

“What do you think? This can’t go on,” he said, gesturing at the snarl of thread. He ached with regret when she let go of his arm. “None of them deserve this, and I have to stop it.”

Not that he knew how. Weaver had done his job too well.

Periwinkle took a long breath. “I have another plan.”

“Another plan?” He frowned.

Periwinkle explained. “The spindle and the scissors were tools toshapethe dreams, but they couldn’t create or destroy them—which is why the scissors could cut the nightmare-thread, but not break its power.” She paused. “But maybe dreams can.”

Weaver grimaced. “The legend wasn’t much clearer about dreams than it was about the tools.”

“Then why did you make the bracelets?” she challenged him.