Page 95 of Wings of Reverie

“It doesn’t look like much,” she said. Even with the loom working, would they have enough to workwith?

“No, it doesn’t,” he admitted. “But dreams are broader and stronger than nightmares, and the Sapphire Mine journal gives alloy ratios for making dream-thread blends. I’ll check their notes again and take a look around.”

“Okay,” Periwinkle said, trying to ignore the nerves rattling around her stomach.

Weaver would find something. She knew he would.

He had to.

Suddenly, though, she caught sight of the web, still twinkling in the starlight.

As Weaver began rereading the Sapphire Mine journal, Periwinkle walked slowly toward the workshop entrance, an idea taking shape in her mind.

The web was fine but strong. Her dreams had shown it catching her friends, protecting the Pixie Dust Tree. Boldly, though not necessarily feeling bold, Periwinkle laid a hand on its edge.

The dream magic had been true to her. It had found her, shown her what to look for, led her on. It had helped her all this way, without her ever asking.

Maybe, just here, just now, it wanted her to ask.

Because it would take bravery to ask. To trust—just one more time.

Weaver might find something in the workshop. But Periwinkle knew it would take strong magic to destroy the nightmares and wake the winter fairies.

Please, she thought to the dream magic in the web.Please help us.

An answer never came out loud, but the web seemed now to spark a question inside her. Not a question from her, buttoher, from the web itself and the magic within it.

Why?it seemed to ask.

She thought, at first, of Stella and Orion, and how the dream-talent fairies had wanted to protect their friend Morpheus. Then she thought of Dougal, who’d trapped all the winter fairies in the Hall of Winter, who was himself trapped by bitterness.

Periwinkle felt the web cringe away.No, she thought.Not that, I don’t want that.

She didn’t know how to explain. So Periwinkle let her own memories flood through her, everything she’d seen and done and felt.

A story. A tapestry. A truth.

The fear of those trapped inside the Hall of Winter, Dougal’s quest for revenge. Her terror for the Pixie Dust Root, before she’d understood what the nightmares really meant.

Then quieter feelings came. Dougal and Weaver, aching with grief over Selene. Lord Milori, quietly doing his best to help.

The wonder on Weaver’s face as he searched the workshops, studied the journals.

She’d seen his heart. And, without intending to, she’d given him hers. She’d found new magic in the world and built a home for it within herself.

And despite everything, after being hurt, she’d been brave enough to open her heart again.

Please, she asked, just once more.

And the dream magic answered.

As she watched, a new thread stretched, long and elegant, acrossthe web. And then, just as easily as if it were a real spiderweb, the web fell loose from the rock walls and into Periwinkle’s outstretched hands. Staring at it, Periwinkle knew the dream magic had given her a rare and beautiful gift. Rare, beautiful—and powerful enough to save them all.

“Weaver?” she called. He stopped digging through the cabinets and flew to her side, dark eyes even more incredulous than before. “Do you think the alloy rules still apply if we weave the dream-thread into this?”

Weaver drew in a shaky breath. “I’m not sureanyof the rules apply to something like this,” he said. “But you let me worry about that part.”

It occurred to Periwinkle that she could’ve felt something like loss, handing over a treasure like the web to someone else. But as she put the web into Weaver’s hands and he laid it carefully over the loom, the feel of magic in the workshop only seemed to grow stronger.