Page 33 of Wings of Starlight

“It took days to make a pattern that was even remotely usable,” Petra said, her tone almost trancelike, “and several hours of harvesting spider-silk to convince Patch to teach me basic stitches. But after three prototypes, I’ve done it. Finally.”

Clarion peered over her shoulder and could not help her soft sound of surprise. The coat was far beyondremotely usable. She should have known that Petra was incapable of making anything less than spectacular. It was a spill of thick golden fabric, glittering faintly with pixie dust. A fringe of white fur lined the hood and the cuffs of its sleeves.

“It’s beautiful,” Clarion said.

“It’ll do.” As dismissive as she sounded, Petra looked proud. “Try it on.”

Petra removed the coat from the dress form and held it out. Clarion slipped her arms into the sleeves, drew it around her shoulders, and immediately fought to hold in her laughter. It wasenormous. She was all but drowning in fabric, but at least her wings fit comfortably.

Petra looked at her fretfully and tugged at the lapels. “The fit is dreadful. I realized too late I never took any measurements.”

Clarion snorted. “It’s warm. That’s all I need.”

“Maybe if I—”

“It’s perfect.” Clarion took her hands to still her. “Thank you. Truly.”

“Don’t mention it,” Petra said gruffly.

“I have to take it off immediately, though. It’s always so hot in here.”

“It’s not that hot,” Petra protested. “Oh! I have other things for you.”

As Clarion shrugged out of the coat and folded it over her arm, Petra rummaged around on her worktable. A whittling knife fell off and hit the ground with a metallic ping. After a few moments, Petra foisted a pair of mittens and boots on her, as well as a strange set of what looked to be badminton rackets. Clarion let the latter dangle from her fingertips by the leather straps attached to them. “What are these for? To play games?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They go on your feet.”

Clarion inspected them more closely. Skeptically, she said, “I thinkyou’rethe one being ridiculous.”

“They’re snowshoes,” Petra said wearily. “They harness the properties of flotation by distributing your weight over a greater surface area so that…Actually, it doesn’t matter! The point is that they’ll make it easier for you to walk on the snow.”

“Incredible,” Clarion murmured. “I never would have thought of that.”

“I know.” Petra flashed a smile at her, clearly pleased by her praise. After a moment, it faded. “Just…be careful, will you?”

“Don’t fret,” said Clarion. “When have I not been careful?”

Petra gave her a speaking look. “You know I love you.”

Clarion did not like where this was going. “Of course I do.”

“You’re my oldest friend.” Clarion could hear plainly what Petra left unsaid:my only friend.“For the longest time, you were the only one who would talk to me.”

Clarion grinned at her. “I seem to remember that you were afraid of me.”

“Well, you’re intimidating,” Petra replied. “And you’ve never backed down from what scares you. You used to drag me into so many things I would’ve rather avoided.”

Clarion remembered those days fondly: two inseparable outcasts, running wild through Pixie Hollow. Yes, she supposed she had dragged Petra into quite a bit of trouble over the years. There was the time they took the two fastest, most willful mice from the tinkers’ stable and rode them through the fields at a gallop. Or the time they’d gotten lost in a rabbit warren after Clarion suggested they go spelunking. Or the time she’d convinced Petra to fashion a hummingbird-drawn carriage, which was—unsurprisingly, in retrospect—a disaster.

But Petra didn’t seem to be in the mood for reminiscing. In fact, she seemed to be working herself up to something. “Where are you going with this?” Clarion asked.

“Now that I’ve done this for you, I need you to leave me out of it. Don’t tell me what you’re doing. Every time I think about it, I…” Petra paused for a moment to collect herself. “It’s better for both of us if I pretend that you’re not going anywhere near Winter.”

“Right.” It made sense. And yet, it stung. It felt…isolating, to know that she could not talk to her about something so important. “I can do that.”

“Good.” Petra frowned. “You do know what you’re doing, don’t you?”

When Clarion closed her eyes, she saw the ruined fields of Spring burned on the backs of her eyes. Her subjects falling out of the sky, struck unconscious by a single drop of the Nightmare’s venom. Clarion had only a vague and terrible sense of what she was up against, and an even vaguer idea of Milori’s plan. But if it meant protecting Winter—if it meant proving herself capable—then she had to keep moving forward.