Page 44 of Wings of Starlight

Fortunately, Milori soon joined her. “Hold on.”

Clarion locked her arms around Milori’s waist. He nudged the owl onward; without hesitation, Noctua took flight. The wind buffeted her face. Her stomach lurched. Clarion held in her scream as they soared toward the darkening sky. She pressed her forehead between his shoulder blades, if only to keep herself from watching how quickly they were leaving solid ground behind.

“I hate this!”

Milori laughed, a warm sound that almost made it all worth it.Almost.

When she finally allowed herself to look, the view was spectacular. They’d flown high enough that Clarion felt as though she could reach out and pluck the pale moon from the sky. Noctua’s wings cut through the low-hanging clouds, dragging trails of white behind them. Then, they dove. Her hair whipped wildly around her, dancing among the thickening flurries.

Milori guided Noctua to a branch and slid off her back. Then, he offered Clarion a hand and helped her down into the snowbanks. Clarion spun in a slow circle, drinking in their surroundings with a mounting dread. In this section of the Winter Woods, the trees grew strange. Their pale trunks rose in straight, stark lines, and their bark was whorled and knotted with dark shapes that looked like eyes. The branches overhead clawed at the sky—and just ahead, she could see a break in the trees.

A shudder worked its way through her, and something deep in the back of her mind said,Run.It was the same voice she’d heard when she’d been confronted with the Nightmare in Autumn, towering over her with its horrible violet eyes.

Something about this place waswrong.

“Where are we?”

“A place few go,” Milori said grimly. “Follow me.”

When they emerged from the shadow of the birches and into a clearing at the foot of the mountains, it took a moment for Clarion to process what exactly she was looking at. A vast lake stretched out before them, frozen solid and glaring up at the moon like a solid black eye. Everything in her balked at it.

Run.

“This,” Milori said, “is the Nightmares’ prison.”

When he stepped onto its surface, Clarion reluctantly followed him. Faint protective magic glimmered and winked within the ice, but she could vaguely make out the churning of dark waters beneath. The empty, void-like depths unsettled her more than she cared to admit. And then, a flash of something—a violet eye, she realized, fixed balefully on her—caught her attention and made her blood run cold. No, that wasn’t water.

Whatever was underneath the ice wasalive.

“The Nightmares are beneath the lake.”

“Yes,” Milori said. “That’s right.”

Clarion’s heart twisted at the bitterness in his voice. She could not imagine the burden he carried. Not only did he need to worry about his subjects—but also these creatures he was utterly powerless against. What would it be like to know you were responsible for them? To spend your days listening, watching, waiting, for something you could not prevent?

“Milori…” She trailed off. What could she truly say to comfort him?

He looked toward her, his lips parting as though he meant to reply.

But just then, it felt as though every Nightmare in the lake turned toward her. The awareness of them prickled along her skin. That instinctual desperation to flee rose up within her again and sent a racking shiver down her spine. She mastered it as best she could and followed Milori toward the center of the lake. With each step, the Nightmares seethed. They seemed to shrink away from her every footfall.

“Here we are.”

Instantly, Clarion saw the problem: the ice was fissured. In the daylight, it would hardly be noticeable. But here in the darkness, it was seamed with a sinister glow, as though whatever was contained beneath was beginning to bubble up. She crouched beside the shattered surface to examine it more closely. She could make out the golden threads of the dream-magic barrier. Here, it had grown as thin and tattered as an old quilt. A few Nightmares had slipped through the magical barrier and pooled just beneath the ice like a spill of ink, hungrily gnashing their teeth.

Terrible understanding unfurled through Clarion. “They’re going to shatter it.”

“Exactly,” he said. “I’ve tried to seal the cracks with ice, but each time I return, it’s as though I did nothing.”

It didn’t surprise her to hear that. Although the larger ones remained trapped beneath the net of dream-thread, these would persevere until they created a gap wide enough to escape through. The others only had to bide their time until the magical barrier deteriorated enough to let them through as well.

Unless, of course, she could fortify it.

Clarion closed her eyes and concentrated on the frayed, ancient fibers of dream-talent magic. She could see them, bright as starlight, shimmering in the darkness behind her eyelids—the same way she’d been able to detect the Nightmare’s power in Rowan’s mind. When she imagined closing her fingers around that golden thread, happiness bloomed within her. She wanted to draw it around herself like a sweater, to nestle into its comforting warmth. It really did not feel so different from her own magic. But she could also sense how faint this dream’s power was now.

If she could weave starlight into the holes time had worn into it…

She called on her magic. As golden light emanated from her skin, a hiss—muffled beneath the thick layer of ice—rose up beneath her. Cold sweat gathered on the back of her neck as she focused her energy into her hands.