Page 19 of Wings of Reverie

“Tonight,” she agreed. “After moonrise.”

A tiny thrill, sparkling and unexpected as a falling star, ran down between Periwinkle’s wings as she walked away.

6

Periwinkle sat inside Lattice’s Bakery and waited for her wings to dry. She didn’t have anything to work on or read, but the bakery was busy, and so she was, too.

Through the morning and into the afternoon, the door chime rang cheerfully as winter fairies came in to pick up treats for themselves or boxes of them to take home, all smelling like almond and allspice, cinnamon and cardamom, winter fruits and winterberry syrup. Every time the door opened, Periwinkle caught a glimpse of something happening out in the square, and the cool, sharp air from outside swirled in to mingle with the spicy smells inside the bakery. And every time a new fairy came in, she foundherself in a new conversation—because the story about her staying back from the Mainland had gotten around faster than a winter storm.

So whether the fairies who came to Lattice’s were busy or chatting unhurriedly with the baking-talents, everyone wanted to hear what had happened to keep her home and to invite her to whatever party they were going to that night. When Gliss’s friend Mitsy came by in the early afternoon, Periwinkle couldn’t help wondering how far Gliss and Spike had made it on the Mainland, and if they missed her as much as she missed them.

“I’m here to pick up that box of cherry jam stars?” Mitsy said to the baking-talent behind the counter. Mitsy was a decorating-talent, pale and black-haired and brown-eyed, with the second-most expressive ponytail Periwinkle had ever seen (the most-most expressive being Gliss’s).

“Let me wrap them up for you!” the baking-talent said. “They’ve just cooled.”

“And they are spectacular,” Periwinkle said, holding up jam-sticky hands. She’d had a cherry jam star, a cinnamon roll, and a cardamom knot as she’d waited for her wings to dry, and it had been long enough that she’d had to re-frost her iced chamomile tea twice.

“Periwinkle!” Mitsy exclaimed. “I heard you’d stayed home. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Just an accident with bad timing,” Periwinkle said with a shrug. (She’d perfected this answer over the course of the morning.)

“Aaaaaand now you get to be around for the Frost Festival!” Mitsy squealed, clapping her hands. She lowered her voice. “Listen. You want to make sure you’re going to therightparties—nothing cool happens in Chilly Falls anymore; all the best ones are here in Snowlight Square and a few other places. Oh, and you have to be strategic about who you give gifts for the Book Flood.”

“Really?” Periwinkle frowned. “Spike lives in Chilly Falls. I like it over there. There’s ice sliding, and a great brunch spot, and the sweetest owl family lives in her tree. I should go check on them while she’s away,” she added, half to herself. “What’s a Book F—”

Mitsy raised a hand. “Periwinkle. Focus. This is important. Whose parties are you going to tonight?”

“Oh.” Periwinkle cleared her throat, faking indifference as she brushed imaginary dust off her dress. “It’s in a place you probably haven’t heard of,” she said. “It’s, like, kind of exclusive. They honestly didn’t tell me much.”

The party would beincrediblyexclusive, in fact, being that it didn’t exist, unless she was counting Weaver coming over. Though it was true that he hadn’t actually told her much about how the night would go.

“Oh.” Mitsy’s eyes widened. “That’s exciting. Well, color me curious. I can’t wait to hear about it.”

Periwinkle nodded, trying to look mysterious and cool. Probably would’ve been easier if she hadn’t been trying to wipe jam off her fingers at the same time. “As a matter of fact, I really ought to go get ready.”

Mitsy nodded, ponytail bobbing. “Of course,” she said seriously. So Periwinkle said goodbye, thanked the baking-talents, opened the door to Snowlight Square—and stepped into a sparkling wonderland.

While she’d been inside, the night market had sprouted up like magic over the square’s ice flagstones. Dozens of stalls were set up with pine boughs and holly branches swagged across their awnings, and twelve-pointed star lightcatchers hovered overhead. Periwinkle could smell chamomile and cardamom-ginger-clove tea, and trinkets and tiny wonders of every kind were on display.

The Frost Festival had officially begun. Six days of celebrations, all leading up to the First Frost Ball.

Just under a week of glittering celebrations.

Just under a week to find out how to save the Pixie Dust Root.

Periwinkle had no idea what the next several days would hold. But the night market all around her was unlike any market she’d ever seen. Uniquely luminous. Extra special, extra magical.

Maybe it was because this was her first Frost Festival. Maybe it was because, if the worst happened to the Pixie Dust Root, it could be everyone’s last.

Periwinkle walked slowly through the stands, trying to take everything in at once. She stopped first to look at an elaborate arrangement of cards sparkling with delicate frost patterns—complicated work, as she knew better than most.

But there was more, so much more. When she finally set down the cards, Periwinkle moved on, only to get distracted again. Therewere self-winding scarves in a rainbow of colors, delicate evening bags made of snowflakes, books with gilded and illuminated covers, lightcatchers encrusted with glacier chunks and gems, potpourris and perfumes, sparkling jewelry made of silver, gold, icicles, and frost, and whimsical winged slippers embroidered with winter birds.

“Would you like something?” asked a sparrow man.

“What?” Periwinkle glanced up, dazzled by the lightcatchers’ reflection on a display of carved-ice bottles.

“A dress?” The sparrow man gestured around his stall, draped heavily with clothes in every shape and color. “Something for the First Frost Ball, perhaps?” he added, nodding first at a gown made of snowdrop petals, then at a sweeping, wide-skirted dress of juniper needles, both with matching masks.