Page 72 of Wings of Starlight

Clarion’s eyes watered as the bitter claws of the wind and cold tore at her. Milori’s hair streamed behind him, lashing against her face, as they plummeted. In a matter of seconds, Noctua broke through the canopy of the forest, knocking loose snow and knife-sharp icicles as she went. Branches snared Clarion’s coat and hair viciously, but she hardly felt a thing through the sheer rush of adrenaline. Just a few feet from the ground, Noctua beat her wings to slow their fall.

By the time they landed, Clarion’s heart was beating wildly in her throat. None of the Nightmares had followed them this far, but she could sense them, shifting just beyond the latticework of branches overhead. She remained frozen in place until the horrible drone of the insects faded. The slivers of sky she could see were still stained a baleful shade of gray—but nothing glared back at her. Breath by shallow, shaking breath, terror eased its grip on her, and the skin-crawling sensation of the Nightmares’ presence lifted.

For now, they’d escaped.

She and Milori slid off Noctua’s back. When they were safely on solid ground, she turned to face him. He’d lost his diadem at some point during their flight, and chunks of hail and snapped twigs were caught in his hair. But mercifully, he seemed whole and relatively unharmed. A thin scratch had opened on the side of his face.

She cupped his jaw, smearing away the blood that had welled up with her thumb. “Are you all right?”

“I am,” Milori replied. His eyes roved over her, searching her for injuries. He apparently found none, for she saw some of the tension drain from him. “Are you?”

“I think so.” On trembling legs, she spun in a slow circle to get her bearings. Nothing felt familiar to her anymore. “We should keep moving.”

Milori nodded. He led their grim trudge, deeper into the forest, deeper into the storm; his glow, shining faintly silver in the gloom, guided her path. She carefully fit her boots into the shape of the footprints he left behind. Through the darkness and the thickening flurries, she could hardly see her own hand an inch away from her face. Every branch that pierced the curtain of snow reached toward them like claws, and her growing unease made bared, dripping fangs of the icicles hanging from the trees. How she hated to see her beloved Winter Woods transformed into such a haunted place.

It was always quiet here, all the sound muffled by heavy snowfall. But this was an unnatural sort of quiet, as if all the forest were holding its breath, too terrified to move. Their footfalls crunched too loud in the crust of ice that glittered coldly over the snow.

Then, she heard it: screams.

Clarion’s blood turned to ice. Neither of them said a word; they did not have to. Spurred on by that sound of terror, they broke into a run. When they burst through the cover of beeches and firs, Clarion drew up short.

The wreckage of the festival lay before them. The booths they’d wandered among not long before were completely destroyed—nothing but skeletons of splintered wood. Embers smoldered on their remains, having caught fire from candles that had never been extinguished. Jagged shards of ice sculptures were scattered on the river’s surface, glinting among the trampled mess of flower petals and wreaths.

But Clarion could not look away from the dark shapes of slumbering fairies sprawled on the ice. They looked like statues: perfectly still amidst so much destruction. Snowfall had already begun to accumulate over them.

Here was evidence of her failure laid bare.

Nightmares pooled around the fairies like spills of oil, bubbling as they struggled to take shape. They swirled through the air, as dark as smoke. Others prowled in their animal forms, riddled with arrows. Dimly, Clarion watched as another arrow sank into the eye socket of a misshapen bear. It roared in outrage, spittle—no, she realized, venom—flung from the lethal points of its fangs.

That brought Clarion back to herself.

Scouts zipped overhead, their bows drawn and voices raised in battle cries. Although they couldn’t fight the Nightmares off, they were risking their lives to save as many fairies as they could. A few goaded Nightmares into pursuing them, dodging and weaving through streaks of darkness, while their comrades ushered civilians toward the Hall of Winter. Clarion’s heart lurched to see such selfless bravery.

A low growl rumbled behind her.

Clarion gasped, whirling around. She stood face to face with a twisted version of Fenris: a wolf, its mouth bristling with too many teeth and a second set of eyes mounted above the first. Before she could move—before she could even open her mouth to scream—the beast went sprawling across the ground in a spray of snow and writhing shadow. It lay motionless on its side, pierced through with an arrow. Viscous black liquid oozed out around the shaft, and smoke curled slowly up from it as though it had been singed. A faint golden light glittered around the edges of its wound.

Slowly, Clarion turned—and what she saw nearly brought tears to her eyes.

Petra stood a few yards away, brandishing some kind of weapon Clarion had never seen before. The look on her face was caught somewhere between triumph and horror. Her hair was bloodred under the cover of night, with snow gathered like a smattering of stars in her curls. Artemis stood beside her, a slash of darkness against the expanse of white, one hand resting on her hip.

“Nice shot,” she said. She looked begrudgingly impressed. “And good reflexes.”

Clarion could hardly believe they were really here. Had her mind not been otherwise occupied, she might have been concerned about innocent bystanders catching a stray arrow. She did not think Petra had ever aimed a weapon in her life. But right now, she could feel nothing but overwhelming gratitude.

“Go,” Milori said softly. “I’m going to help the others find their way to the Hall of Winter.”

“I’ll be right behind you.” She held his gaze, seized with a sudden bolt of fear. If anything happened to him…No, she could not even think about it. “Be careful.”

Milori nodded tightly. “You, too. I’ll see you soon.”

He turned, the fabric of his cloak snapping behind him, then took flight. Clarion could not completely swallow down the knot of anxiety in her throat as his glow was muted by the heavy snowfall. Milori could handle himself, she assured herself. She’d be at his side again soon enough. Tearing her gaze away from where he’d vanished, she ran through the snow to Artemis and Petra.

“What are you doing here?” After a moment, something more pressing occurred to her. “Howare you here?”

Petra let her weapon drop to her side. As if it were the most obvious thing, she said, “We weren’t going to let you do this alone. As for the how…my prototype coats might be ugly, but they get the job done well enough.”

Clarion drank them in. The two of themdidlook ridiculous; they were drowning in fabric. The coats were oversized patchwork monstrosities, clearly made of whatever Petra had found lying around Tinker’s Nook. Clarion couldn’t help laughing through the burn of tears at the back of her throat.