Page 45 of Wings of Reverie

“You know,” Periwinkle said, “it doesn’t have to be a problem. We could just join them for a bit.”

Legs had been sitting happily on Weaver’s collar since Weaver had gotten him from the workshop that morning. But at Periwinkle’s suggestion, the spider dropped straight into his pocket. Weaver drew back, grimacing like she’d suggested they walk to the workshop on their hands. “I don’t dobrunch, Periwinkle.”

She gaped. “What could you possibly have against brunch?”

“The problem isn’t brunch food items,” he said pointedly. “The problem is the kind of people who like to show up late for breakfast and stay there too long.”

Periwinkle loved brunch. She, Gliss, and Spike had standing brunch plans every other Sunday at their favorite out-of-the-way café in Chilly Falls. Blizz’s Bistro served the fluffiest waffles in the Winter Woods, and Periwinkle had every intention of startingup her dates with her friends again right after everyone got back.

“You have to understand that I take this personally,” she said. And really, the brunch set out in Mistletoe Terrace looked to die for.

She and Weaver had eaten a bite when he’d come over early that morning. But that had been a matter of toast with jam over Periwinkle’s kitchen sink, nothing compared to the spread laid out on the tables. Besides that, it had been a strange night.

The moon had been well on its way across the sky when Periwinkle had woken up from her nightmare and found Weaver still there, the storybook open on his pallet, one starcatcher hovering dimly above him as he collected her dreams and nightmares. Periwinkle had tried to explain everything about the Pixie Dust Tree and the race with her friends so quickly that she hadn’t made any sense.

And then she’d remembered.

“I was Selene,” she’d gasped. There had been more, she knew, but that was the point that had lodged itself like an icicle between her ribs.

“Selene?” Weaver had frowned. “Did you know her?”

Periwinkle had shaken her head. “Not really. I mean, we all knewofher, but—no, I didn’t know her well. I probably dreamed about her because her name’s come up lately.”

She’d done her best to ignore the knot tightening in her stomach—to forget how, after racing through the skies as Selene, she’d watched the Pixie Dust Tree shatter like glass.

It was Weaver who’d helped her back to sleep, strangely enough.Before he’d left, he’d reminded her quietly that her dream had been just that. That her friends were safe, far away on the Mainland.

Just now, though, she kind of wished they were here with her at brunch.

“This could be a good thing for our cover, you know,” she said. “Joining in with everyone else for a while before we sneak into the forest is better than Lord Milori wondering why neither of us has been to a single Frost Festival event.”

Weaver dragged his hands down his face and groaned.

“You’re right,” he finally said. “I know you’re right. We’ll do it.”

Periwinkle laughed. “It’s brunch, Weaver, not a rescue mission from a dragon’s cave.” But he clearly didn’t agree.

“Listen,” she said, leaning close to whisper in his ear. “Like you said last night, we can’t afford to waste time, so we won’t stay forever. We eat something, we make light conversation, and then we dash.” She paused, giving him a large, encouraging grin. “Ready to party?”

Weaver huffed a laugh, hanging his head. When he finally looked back up at Periwinkle, he looked pained, but his mouth was almost smiling.

“Why is it impossible to say no to you?” he asked. Then he sighed. “You know me, Sparkles. I’m always ready to party.”

The fairies had built a pavilion of mistletoe, its leaves and berries gleaming in the light of the mooncatchers beneath its canopy. Between icicle plinths showcasing pieces by the art-talents ran four long wooden tables, their tops coated in lace-patternedfrost that must have taken days to plan and create. Fairies hovered around the tables or sat in chairs with their backs draped in mistletoe leaves, helping themselves to platters at the tables’ centers piled with miniature quiches, potato pancakes, pastries—Periwinkle’s stomach growled. A little way off, white rabbits and badgers loped around dishes of carrots and cucumbers laid out especially for them, and cardinals nibbled at bird feeders in the trees overhead.

“Just a few minutes,” Weaver muttered to himself. “This is fine.”

But as the two of them flittered casually into the trees, a shriek cut through the chatter. Weaver winced and put a hand over one ear. Periwinkle whirled, then sagged in relief. “Mitsy!”

“Periwinkle!” Mitsy squealed. The decorating-talent zipped toward them, ponytail flying. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

Periwinkle laughed. The two of them linked elbows and flew the rest of the way to the tables, leaving Weaver to skulk along behind them. “I didn’t know I was coming either, to be honest,” she said to Mitsy. “It was a last-minute thing. But this is beautiful.” Periwinkle served herself from a platter of potato pancakes and from another of cardamom knots, then touched up the frost on a pitcher of cinnamon-clove tea. She looked longingly down the table as she poured herself a glass, thinking it was a shame she didn’t have time to taste everything.

“I know! They did great work,” Mitsy said, popping a bit of raspberry into her mouth. She seemed about to sit down, but whenshe noticed Periwinkle still standing, she propped her hip against one of the mistletoe-covered chairs instead. “Speakingof parties, I’ve been waiting to hear all about yours from the other night. You know, the exclusive one you said you were going to? Who exactly got a snowflake invite? Was it fun?” Mitsy lowered her voice, tipping her head significantly so her shiny ponytail swung to one side. “Or were you bored without Fletcher?”

“BoredwithoutFletcher?” Weaver appeared at Periwinkle’s elbow, smirking.

Mitsy nodded energetically. “Everyone knows he and Periwinkle are meant to be—and their looks complement incredibly well.”