Page 32 of Wings of Reverie

“No, but there are plenty of talents in need of help preparing for the First Frost Ball. And you wouldn’t mind helping, as you’re otherwise unoccupied.”Right?he didn’t add, like he was waiting for her to argue.

At that point, a fairy flying past with her arms full of pine needles skidded to a halt in midair. “Help? Who’s helping?” It was Floss, a sewing-talent who ran a workshop in Snowlight Square. She had long, snowy white curls, deep black skin, and roses in her cheeks as sweet as any spring garden fairy’s.

“Periwinkle will be,” Lord Milori said pleasantly, with a polite gesture in her direction. “Floss, I seem to remember your spinning- and sewing-talents and the like are somewhat overwhelmed with clothing and decoration orders for the First Frost Ball. Could you use someone to help with fetch-and-carry work?”

“Oh, we could definitely use the help,” Floss said quickly, lighting on the rock beside them. Floss did most things quickly. “We’renearly snowed under.” She and Lord Milori turned expectantly to Periwinkle.

Periwinkle fought the urge to stomp her foot and shriek. But there was only one answer she could give.

She forced a smile and forced down her irritation, wondering if after the day she’d had with Weaver it was possible to explode from annoyance.

“That sounds great. I’d love to help,” Periwinkle said, sounding as Periwinkle as possible. “I’ll start tomorrow?”

“Perfect!” Floss trilled, giving a radiant smile. “We’re on the second-star side of Snowlight Square, between the cobbler and the art studio. See you bright and early!” Then she flittered off with her armful of pine needles as quickly as she’d appeared. But Lord Milori stayed beside Periwinkle, once again frowning slightly, his owl pattering around on the rock face like it wasn’t sure why they hadn’t moved on.

He had expected Periwinkle to complain or push back, she could tell. Now, he just looked more suspicious than ever.

“Excellent, Periwinkle. This should be helpful to the craft-talents,” said Lord Milori, looking bemused. “Thank you.”

“No, thankyou,” Periwinkle answered, maybe a little too enthusiastically. Her smile felt frozen in place. How was she going to have time to search for the dream-magic workshops when she’d be spending every day at Floss’s?

This would be fine, she told herself as she told him goodbye andflew toward home. Just as soon as Lord Milori stopped treating her like she was some kind of puzzle.

Everything would be just fine.

Periwinkle sat on her porch above the Frost Forest and watched the lights shining far away in Snowlight Square. The Book Flood celebrations had officially begun.

She’d stopped back by Lattice’s Bakery on her way home from the hall earlier. By the time she’d reached the square, tables were already set up for a party, laid with tea, pomegranate juice, cinnamon cakes, and honey cakes. A pine needle carpet had been settled over the square’s ice flagstone ground, scattered with piles of feather blankets and soft eucalyptus-leaf couches. The pavilion canopies went up just before nightfall; the fairies started appearing just after.

To her surprise, Periwinkle had found gifts for the Book Flood piled by her front door when she got home, and they’d kept showing up on her porch all afternoon. She’d been too preoccupied to move them.

As she sat on the porch in her hanging chair, Periwinkle could imagine the fairies reading silently or to one another over in Snowlight Square, drifting through adventure stories or recipes or mysteries as they lay on their feather blankets, one or two falling asleep face-first in their books as she’d done before, herself. Frostystars twinkled brightly overhead, like the sky was telling them all their work was done, and now it was time to celebrate. Periwinkle was just thinking of opening one of her Book Flood gifts to pass the time when Weaver landed on her porch.

Sitting in the shadows in her hanging chair, she watched him for a minute, waiting for him to do something. Knock, or notice her. But Weaver did neither right away.

He stared for a long moment at the piles of wrapped books on Periwinkle’s porch. Then he tugged at his waistcoat, smoothed out a raven’s feather that had gone wonky, combed his fingers through his mop of hair. Flexed his hands and then shook them out.

When he set his knuckles against her door, then pulled them back, then lifted his hand again, Periwinkle finally decided to give him a break.

“Hi,” she said, shifting forward a little. “Were you planning to go inside before dawn?”

Weaver turned, startled. “Oh. Hey. I didn’t see you there.”

“I mean, I assumed. Here, come sit.” Periwinkle waved him over.

He blinked. “Up there? With you?”

“Sure. We can share a seat without one of us punting the other off of it; we proved that earlier.” She hopped down. “Be right back.” As Weaver perched uncertainly on the seat, Periwinkle ducked inside.

“Where are you going?” he called after her.

But she was back as quickly as she’d left. “Nowhere. I got yousomething.” She flittered into the chair beside him and held out a package decorated with holly and spruce. “Happy Book Flood.”

“What’s this?”

“What do you think it is? I got it while we were in the private section at the hall today.” Periwinkle smiled wryly as he tore off the wrapping.

“Stories of Never Land and the Mainland,” Weaver read from the cover. Then he went quiet.