Page 46 of Wings of Reverie

“Wow.” Weaver took a long drink of his own iced tea. “So that connection runs deep, huh?”

Mitsy looked indignant. “I’m a decorator,” she said. “Hazard of the job. You may think it sounds trivial, but no one’s happy about a decorator who doesn’t understand aesthetics. Not that anyone’s complaining about youraesthetic, so you can calm down,” she added, gesturing at Weaver with an eye roll.

Weaver looked to Periwinkle and fake-gasped. “Did you hear that? No one’s complaining about my aesthetic. I—”

Periwinkle stuffed a mini quiche in his mouth before he could say anything else. For a second he gaped at her, wide-eyed as his jaw worked around the food, but Periwinkle just patted him on the cheek and turned back to Mitsy. “You’re right. It’s been really hard without Fletcher,” she said, laying a hand over her heart andfinding it was racing a little. “The Frost Festival has been such a nice distraction.”

“I’m sure.” Mitsy nodded sympathetically. “It’s nice to have so much to celebrate. Oh, did you go to the snowball fight last night?”

Periwinkle thought of racing through the snow with Weaver the night before. Not just of their snowball fight, but of their argument, and everything he’d said to her afterward.

Of the moment she’d promised him honesty, even if it wasn’t pretty.

When she glanced back at Weaver, he’d finished choking down his quiche, and he was looking at her, too. “We did,” he said politely to Mitsy, stifling his smile. “How about you?”

“Of course!” Mitsy tossed her hair. “I was on Ginger and Ursa’s team. Our base wasn’t far from here, actually—”

Beneath the cover of the table, Periwinkle reached for Weaver’s hand.

Weaver glanced over sharply, startled. But he didn’t let go.

When he squeezed her fingers, Periwinkle felt the slide of his palm against hers like a lightning strike.

A second later, Mitsy turned away to pour herself another drink, and Periwinkle nodded her head toward the edge of the pavilion.Now, she mouthed silently, and she and Weaver darted toward the other side of the terrace to hide behind an oak tree. When Periwinkle looked back at Mitsy, she found her enthusiastically hugging another party guest.

She only realized she was still holding Weaver’s hand whenWeaver’s thumb brushed her knuckles. Abruptly, she tugged her fingers free.

“You’re totally right. I get it now,” Weaver said around another mini quiche, raising his eyebrows. “Brunch is great.”

“Is that—did you put more of them in your pockets?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “One of them’s for Legs.”

Periwinkle shook her head. “Forget it,” she said, and gave a breathy laugh. Her palm was still tingling. “Let’s go.”

Then they took off toward Snowcap Glade—and the Drift.

The Drift was the quietest place Periwinkle had ever been in the Winter Woods.

If you stared at it from the top, you might think you were still in Snowcap Glade; with the sun high overhead, the Drift could’ve just been another sweep of blinding white snow. But for the fairy who dared to get closer, it was clear that one rise—thisrise—of snow was much bigger than all the others. As tall as any tree in Mistletoe Terrace or Evergreen Overlook, the Drift was a huge dome of packed snow, like an upside-down bowl at the edge of the glade.

There might be a forest underneath all that white. There might beanything.

When Periwinkle and Weaver landed at the base of the Drift, where there was a gap between the snow overhead and the snow underfoot, Periwinkle felt like a nosy guest looking beneath a host’stablecloth. Except she’d never looked under a table at a party and found a dense, foggy thicket waiting.

“Well?” she said. “Where do we go?”

“The Keeper’s notes say the workshop’s at the center of the Bobbin Wood,” said Weaver. “Since we’re starting at the southern edge of the Drift, a little east of center, and scouts who’ve flown over top of it say it’s about a two hours’ flight across, we should—” But he broke off at her expression. “What? Did you see something?”

Periwinkle frowned. “I’m not sure.”

Because she hadn’t seensomething, exactly, deep in the mist and darkness. It was that somewhere, she’d noticed a break in it. An absence in the darkness.

Maybe—possibly—a light.

Whatever it had been, though, it was gone. Periwinkle shook herself. “So—that’s the plan?” she asked. “The Drift is two hours across, so we just fly for an hour and hope we find something?”

“Bearing mostly straight and a little to the left,” Weaver said grimly. “Not much, but it’s a clearer plan thanchase the dreams. Keep an eye out.” Periwinkle nodded. Then she lifted the suncatcher she’d brought with her, and they flew ahead into the unknown.