Page 91 of Wings of Reverie

Weaver didn’t trust himself to speak.

“You showed up, and my nightmare turned into a dream,” she said. “You told me we’d solve it all. You stayed with me until I woke up. And somewhere along the way, everything took on that violet color that’s always been yours.”

“I only did it because I felt guilty for lying to you,” Weaver burst out. “You were so worried, and I could tell myself it didn’t matter as long as I thought you were selfish and shallow. And of course I understand now that no one deserves to suffer this way. But last night all I could see was how afraid you were that the tree was going to die, when none of it was real to begin with, and I couldn’t bear it. But one moment of kindness doesn’t make me good.”

“Stop,” Periwinkle ordered him, and he did. “You gave me nightmares. But the first time you saw one from the inside, you took it away.” She paused, scooting a little closer to him, catching his hands with her own. “I came back because I chose to believe in the magic over my doubts. But I believe in you too, Weaver.”

He’d been pushing everyone away for so long. Shutting everyone out. He’d been so afraid to believe in anything, because the only people he cared about had lost everything.

He didn’t want that anymore.

Periwinkle spoke up again. “You know, Weaver, maybe it was your dream I found, but maybe the dream magicdidfind me,” she said. “Even if I wish it had happened differently, maybe it was meant to happen.”

She didn’t explain what she meant byit. She could’ve meant dreaming. But maybe she meant whatever was still left between them.

As much as he’d done to destroy it, maybe there was still the chance for something there. To be friends, if she wanted it. To be more, if she wanted to defy even his wildest dreams. That tiny spark in Weaver’s chest began to glow, brighter even than before.

It was the only light he had there in the dark.

And out in the night—on Snow Globe Mountain—he would need it.

28

“Good Harlow. Good—good Harlow!” Periwinkle’s voice was shaking.

She’d never had a flight as wild this one. And she wasn’t even actually flying.

Periwinkle gripped the sides of the sled as she and Weaver raced off from the Hall of Winter to look for Stella’s workshop, pulled by an extremely rambunctious wolf pup. Snow Globe Mountain loomed in the distance, its slopes the deep, moody purple of a bruise.

The storm around them was vicious. But despite it—or maybebecause of it—the good news that she’d shoved away outside the Hall of Winter earlier had begun to settle inside her. The storm was just a storm. The Pixie Dust Tree was safe. And whatever happened that night, her friends would come home from the Mainland.

But they still had to destroy the nightmares back at the hall. They still had to wake the slumbering Winter Woods.

“How are we going to find this place?” Periwinkle asked. The wind tore at her hair, carried her voice away. “Remind me what the Keeper’s notes said?”

“They said tofind the thread,” Weaver said grimly, shifting the reins to steer Harlow toward the mountain. Though Legs had peered out with an eye or two to see where they were going, he’d gone back afterward to hiding safely at the bottom of Weaver’s pocket. “That should be easy in a blizzard. Luckily, the story about Stella and the drum mentions that she sat and looked out a second star–side window while she planned. Meaning—”

“There has to be an entrance on the second star–facing side,” Periwinkle finished. “A window, or a door—something.”

The wind rose. Harlow threw back her head and howled along with it. Somewhere in the distance, Periwinkle heard the crash of a falling tree.

Find the thread.It seemed impossible, between the dark and the storm and all the caves and covert places the Keeper had warned her about on the mountain. It was also impossible not to think about Selene, who’d gone missing on a night like this, in a storm like this. If it had happened to Selene, it could happen to anyone.

Glancing at Weaver, Periwinkle wondered which he felt more strongly: fear, or grief.

She herself was a whirl of more feelings than she’d ever felt at a time. Weaver had broken her heart and spun her nightmares, but he’d also spun her dreams and tried to undo the damage he’d done. She’d hardly been able to believe it when she saw the dreams glowing in his hands.

But she’d chosen to forgive him and believe in him, just as she’d chosen to believe in the dream magic. To trust the web that had caught her friends, the needle and the thread that had guided her.

It had terrified her, to forgive and believe and make herself vulnerable again. But there was no way forward without doing it. And Periwinkle—Periwinkle was not going back.

Standing next to her in the sled, Weaver caught her hand and squeezed it. Periwinkle gave a trembling squeeze in return.

Then suddenly, something—caught.

For a second, Periwinkle thought the sled had hit a rock. But the catch wasn’t beneath their runners; it was inside Periwinkle, knotting itself through her chest, through her heart, through her wings. An invisible something looped her up and tugged her forward. When Weaver gave a startled gasp, the two traded glances, and Periwinkle knew he felt it, too.

Just as she had in her dream the night before. A thread, anchoring her through the gale.