Page 79 of Wings of Reverie

“You have seemed different,” Lord Milori said thoughtfully. He paused then, keen eyes studying her. “Are you sure there isn’t anything you want to talk about?”

Periwinkle wrung her hands.

Truly, how much time did they have left in the evening? Could she afford to trust Lord Milori?

Could she affordnotto?

But as Periwinkle was deciding how exactly and how much to explain, she finally spotted Weaver downstairs.

Her heart surged. “Good night, Lord Milori,” she said. “I hope you enjoy the rest of the ball.” Then she fluttered downstairs and slipped through the crowd to Weaver, leaving Lord Milori standing alone.

At first, Periwinkle was afraid she’d lost him again. Fairies milled in and out of the Hall of Winter, laughing, eating, admiring one another’s outfits, showing up late or leaving early by the lightof the snow lanterns from the competition, which had been moved just outside the hall to light Juniper Glade.

She searched for him there around the doorway and out in the courtyard, but when Periwinkle finally found Weaver, he was farther inside, around the corner from the entrance. His hands worked busily with the spindle as he stood in the shadows between a bookshelf and the wall, a frown lining his face.

It was time, then. She was ready.

Periwinkle approached him, heart and wings trembling. But as she drew nearer, she realized that Weaver wasn’t alone.

Hidden behind the bookshelf, Weaver was talking to Dougal, the healer.Hishealer, Periwinkle remembered he’d told her the night before.

Did he have a headache again? Was that why he was with Dougal?

But then—why was he using the dream spindle so openly?

“Weaver.” Periwinkle flew to join them and put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready?”

“He is,” Dougal said, glancing at her with interest. A mask hung around his neck by a string, and though his clothes were neater than usual, he looked more exhausted than ever. Unease shivered up between Periwinkle’s wings.

She glanced at Weaver again, hoping for an explanation. But he wouldn’t look at her.

“It’s time,” Dougal said, and now, he sounded impatient. “Has one week been enough to make you forget?”

“Of course it hasn’t.” Weaver bit the words out, frustrated.

“Weaver?” Periwinkle frowned. “The root. We need to go.”

But again, Weaver didn’t answer. His dark eyes were as hollow as pits as he finished the last of his spinning and handed it to Dougal.

For the first time, Periwinkle noticed that both sparrow men were wearing gloves.

And by the soft light of the starcatchers, she could suddenly see that the thread Weaver had given his healer didn’t glow the color of good dreams.

Everything began to happen very quickly.

Before Periwinkle could ask Weaver anything, Dougal flew past her, out of the shadows and into the winter fairies’ company. Periwinkle and Weaver hurried after him toward a snowflake carving at the base of a nearby arched doorway.

“What are you doing?” she croaked. But too quietly. Not quickly enough.

Dougal adjusted his spider-silk gloves and began tying the thread to the carving, knotting and looping it through the branches of the snowflake till it was secure. Then he moved along the atrium’s perimeter to the next doorway, and tied the thread to the next carving just the same way. One archway at a time, Dougal made a complete lap of the room, like he was circling a target on a map.

In the full light of the ballroom, the thread was an oily black-purple, a repulsive, slimy-looking thing.

For a moment, she’d frozen; her world had stopped turning. Butthe truth flooded over Periwinkle then like a wave of melted ice, shocking her wings and her thoughts.

“Weaver,” she whispered. Tears gathered in her eyes. “What have you done?” Weaver stared back at her, looking like he’d fallen and had the wind knocked out of him.

But he couldn’t say anything. Periwinkle knew. They could both see the dark thread in Dougal’s hands, and nothing Weaver said could explain away its existence.