Page 54 of Wings of Starlight

Clarion did not knowhow, exactly, but she supposed she should have expected it all to come crashing down eventually. Milori was not an easy secret to keep, after all—especially not since that night on the border.

Perhaps Elvina had noticed how distracted she’d been and sent someone to follow her. Or perhaps there was something undeniably different about her. On a foolish impulse, Clarion had inspected her face in the vanity mirror, searching for some evidence of what she’d done written in her features. She’d traced the curve of her lower lip, still chapped and aching with the memory of his kiss. She could still recall every detail as though he stood before her now: the cold of his skin, the heat of his gaze, the brightening glow of the stars all around them. Nothing had changed—not truly—and yet, she felt consumed by the immensity of it.

It might drive her mad, just how often she dwelled on it. Her stomach dipped and churned almost constantly, for the very thought of him threw her into sudden free fall. Her heart was sent aflutter at the slightest provocation. She’d scarcely eaten a thing since they parted, too full of nerves or excitement or…whatever feeling this was. She did not wish to examine it too closely, for as much as it thrilled her, it terrified her.

She’d resolved not to see him until her winter gear was repaired; some distance, she reasoned, would restore her to her senses. But Petra had delivered the repaired coat to her just an hour ago, and Clarion’s good sense had not returned—had not so much as glanced back since it left her. Even in his absence, Milori was haunting her, just as he was undoubtedly still haunting the border of Spring.

Unless,she thought,he regrets it.

Because surely, he did. It had been impulsive and ill-advised, considering the dangers that Pixie Hollow faced. They’d both gotten swept away in the moment, and tonight, she would have to confront the bitter reality that anything between them was impossible. Oh, what was she going to—

“Your Highness?” Artemis asked. “Is everything all right?”

Clarion startled, banging her knee on the underside of her desk. Hissing out a pained breath, she swiveled around to face her guard. Artemis stood beside her bedroom door, wearing a rather peculiar expression. It belatedly occurred to Clarion that Artemis had informed her of Elvina’s summons some minutes ago.

“Yes, of course!” Clarion smiled sunnily, if only to hide her embarrassment. “Why do you ask?”

Artemis seemed to be struggling with a polite way to respond. After a moment, she said, “Your glow…”

“My…” Clarion glanced down. Now that Artemis had pointed it out, she supposed it was much brighter than usual and tinged with a rosy flush. And had the sunlight intensified since she last checked? Now, she supposed she understood why Elvina always cautioned against getting carried away by passion.

“Also,” Artemis said, with the air of someone about to deliver grave news, “the Pixie Dust Tree is blooming.”

Clarion stood and approached the glass doors of her balcony. Indeed, the branches just outside frothed with forget-me-nots and delicate white roses. She glared at them. The tree could be so cheeky sometimes.

“It’s nothing to worry about.” Clarion drew the curtains, eager to block out all the reminders of hermooning. “I was lost in thought.”

Artemis nodded, obviously unconvinced. “Shall I escort you to the queen?”

Clarion supposed there was no sense avoiding it, but she was not exactly keen to hear whatever choice words Elvina had in store for her. “What do you think she wants?”

“I imagine she wants to discuss the scouts’ reports,” Artemis replied, with only a touch of confusion. “One of her helper-talents had them delivered earlier. You reviewed them…” She trailed off, as if she were not entirely convinced on that last point.

“Of course I did.”

According to scouts’ reports, the Nightmares had not stopped their onslaught. Just last night, one shaped like a cat had chased away an entire stable of mice on the outskirts of Tinker’s Nook. The stalls and carriages both were now little more than wreckage. And two days before, a fish-shaped Nightmare, enormous enough to swallow the reflection of a full moon, had swept a number of water-talents’ houses from the bank of the river. Everyone mustered as much cheer as they could, but Clarion could sense the unease that had begun to creep into even the daylight hours.

But she did not dare hope that Elvina wanted her opinion.

“Well,” Clarion said with a resigned sigh, “let’s go.”

Clarion found the door to Elvina’s study ajar. Bracing herself, she announced her presence with a soft knock, then stepped inside. Artemis trailed after her as she slipped past the rows of royal portraits and into the flood of afternoon sun.

Elvina was seated on a chaise longue, reading through a document. Today, she’d forgone her crown, and her hair fell around her shoulders in loose, soft waves. Clarion could see the thin strands of silver, seeming to glow like cold starlight. She looked far more relaxed than Clarion had seen her in some time. Some of the tension bled out of Clarion, replaced with a faint twinge of affection. So much—too much, really—weighed on her. Clarion had not fully appreciated just how heavy the crown sat until now.

“You wished to see me?”

Elvina set aside the document she’d been reading, and when she looked up, she smiled. “Clarion.”

When was the last time she’d been greeted so warmly? Clarion tried not to let the surprise show on her face as she took a seat in an armchair. It seemed her secret was still safe—and that Aurelia had not told the queen about their missed appointment.

Thank the stars.

A teapot stood steaming on the table between them, along with a small jar of honey. Elvina leaned forward to pour them each a cup. “I apologize for how busy I’ve been,” she said, passing one to Clarion. “I would have called on you sooner.”

Clarion drizzled honey into her tea from a wooden dipper and inhaled the earthy scent of carrot blossom. “There’s nothing to apologize for. We’ve both been busy.”

She took a hasty sip of tea to conceal her expression—and the flush surely blossoming across her face. It was only partly a lie. She had kept up with preparations for the coronation, of course, and spent a good deal of her time worrying about how little she could do until Petra repaired her coat.