Wings of Starlight

by Allison Saft

For those who see the world as it could be: brighter and full of magic

Few will ever know that even the most mundane thing—the waning of the moon, the flow of the tide, the serendipitous reappearance of a lost trinket beneath your kitchen table—is magical.

Ever since her Arrival—the night she emerged from a fallen star, as all the Queens of Pixie Hollow before her had—Elvina had impressed upon her that she was different. That they were different, marked indelibly with stardust. Besides Elvina, Clarion was the only governing-talent in all of Pixie Hollow.

What kind of queen would she be if she turned away from the suffering of even the smallest of her subjects?

Clarion wondered what it must be like to feel as though you belonged somewhere—to have so many others to turn to, who all understood you so completely.

Winter did not frighten her as much as she knew it should. From the warm, secluded safety of her bedroom, there was something so peaceful about it—and so terribly lonely. Just like her.

The Queen of Pixie Hollow required a mastery of politics, organization, and leadership—but also the magic unique to governing-talent fairies. A magic that Clarion had been struggling to perfect since her training officially began. She could not teleport. She could not produce more than a flicker of light. Evidently, she could not even help a single bee without horrifying her subjects.

“To be a good queen—” “Is to be as cold and remote as the star from which you were born,” Clarion finished for her.

If Winter and the warm seasons were truly meant to be apart, then why did this bridge exist at all?

He studied her face, and the searching intensity of his stare made heat crawl up her neck. Whatever he found made a faint smile curl on his lips. That, she thought weakly, suited him far more than gravity.

What must it be like, she wondered, to be so certain of your path? What must it be like to share it?

Petra cast surreptitious glances her way every now and again, the color on her cheeks deepening with every passing moment. Sometimes, it was impossible to tell if she wanted to run from Artemis or toward her.

“Because you were made for this. I feel it, when I look at you. Perhaps it’s your magic. Perhaps it’s you. Whatever it is, you have an aura about you. You command respect, yes, but more than that, you inspire hope. It is the first time I have felt it in a very long time.”

Without thinking, Clarion turned her face into the crook of Milori’s neck and tried not to notice the way his breath hitched.

“Next time will be better.” “Next time,” he echoed, as solemn as a promise. “I’ll need to get my coat repaired first.” She plucked at a loose thread on her sleeve. “I’m not sure how long it will take. It took a few days for her to make it the first time.” “I don’t mind,” he said. “I’ll wait for you.”

“Like summer, this brief moment before you ascend the throne is fleeting. Think of it, then, as a time to be awake to what you want—and who you want to become.” I’ve always wanted things I shouldn’t, she’d told Milori once.

They sat almost knee to knee in the darkness, close enough to touch. The very thought prickled along her skin like electricity. Ridiculous, she scolded herself. They’d been far closer than this last night. But then, that had been out of necessity. Somehow, this felt far more vulnerable. Especially when he was looking at her like this. Clarion could not name

He was gazing at her like she was something to marvel at. His expression went soft and unguarded when he noticed her staring back at him, as though he hadn’t expected to be caught but did not mind it overmuch. There was no mistaking the wide-open yearning in his eyes. He had looked at her like this once before, she realized: the very first time she’d crossed into Winter. She wondered exactly how long he had wanted to kiss her—and felt very foolish, indeed, for being so oblivious.

Clarion leaned fully into Winter and kissed him. As his lips moved against hers, something bubbled up within her like spring water until it spilled over completely. Happiness, she thought, far purer than any she had ever felt—and magic.

When he spoke, his voice was low and full of wonder. “You’re incredible.”

He threaded his fingers in hers, and Clarion did her best not to melt. His touch grounded and thrilled her more than she cared to admit.

“I hope you know the same is true for you.” Milori carefully tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His knuckles lightly traced her cheekbone as his hand fell away. “You will be an excellent queen.”

“I like you,” she continued breathlessly. “Far, far too much.” “Then I don’t understand why—” “It scares me.” How much I want you. How painful it would be to lose you. “I meant what I said. I don’t regret a thing. I am glad it happened, but it cannot happen again. Going forward, we should maintain a formal distance between us. Before it becomes too painful.” As the seconds ticked by, the stricken look on his face softened gradually. He took a wary step closer to her, as if he were afraid of chasing her away. With his voice pitched low, he said, “I do not think I’ve been subtle about it, but I feel I should tell you that I like you, too.”

His gaze trailed down her face and lingered, just for a moment, on her lips. He was right that he had never exactly been subtle; Clarion knew, down to the stardust in her bones, that he would let her. And yet, he stood as still as a sparrow man carved from ice.

She knew she must have looked rather ridiculous, wearing this patched-together coat over the most elegant ball gown she owned. But when she glanced up at Milori again, he was watching her as if the entire ensemble were the most striking thing he’d ever seen.

“Still, I can’t help feeling guilty—like we’ve forgotten the slumbering. It feels wrong to celebrate without them.” “I’m not sure it’s wrong to hold what moments of joy we can find.”

She twined her fingers in the fabric of his cloak where it met at the dip of his collarbone. Holding his gaze, she said, “I don’t want to leave.” Milori looked as though he had been waiting his entire life for those words. A dam had given way within him, and the emotion burning in his eyes broke over her like a wave. His hands came to rest over hers, his fingers encircling her wrists. She could feel the wild thrum of his heart beneath her touch, the chill of his skin seeping into hers. “Then don’t,” he murmured into the bare space between them.

Through the clamor and seething of battle, she found her true north: Milori.

“I wished that there could be a different future for me in Pixie Hollow,” he said quietly. “One where I was not bound to the Nightmares. Where maybe our worlds were not so divided.”

Wonder filled Milori’s expression as their light danced on the snow fluttering around them. When his gaze found hers again, she could not remember how to draw breath. How beautiful, to see the exact moment he fell in love with her. Perhaps he had always loved her, on some level, ever since that night he allowed himself to hope again.

“Clarion.” He said her name like a plea. “Weighed against your life, they are nothing to me. I would make that trade every time.”

How could his own safety mean so little to him? But she’d been reduced to a captive in her own body, forced to watch as he sacrificed himself for her. It was the worst kind of torture she could imagine. “Be angry if you must,” he said, “but I can’t lose you.” Miserably, she understood she would do the same. What fools their hearts made of them.

“She’d do the same for me,” Milori said. Clarion scrabbled to cling to those words. But darkness crept in at the corners of her vision. The last thing she heard before she slipped under again was: “She’s worth protecting.”

As she stared up at him, into his earnest gray eyes, the immensity of the feeling that overcame her seemed like both a revelation and an inevitability. She loved him.

Perhaps she was always bound to, from the very moment she saw him standing on the border. How could she not? She loved his steadfastness, his kindness, even his reckless, selfless bravery. She loved his wry humor and his unshakable devotion to his people. She loved him because he had set her free, too.

Love opened you up to too much pain. Love divided your allegiances, your priorities.

“I would make every decision thinking of you. I would risk anything, everything, to protect you. Do you understand? I love you, Milori. It scares me too much.” “I love you, too,” he said miserably.

A love like theirs was ruinous. A broken wing was nothing compared to a broken heart. She could only hope that the pain of both would fade with time.

When Artemis arrived at Petra’s bedside, she glared down at her. “You—” Petra began, but she was silenced when the scout placed a kiss on her forehead, then, more tentatively, to her lips. By the time Artemis pulled back, Petra’s entire face was stained crimson. “Don’t ever,” Artemis said, “scare me like that again.”

As though there were a tether binding them together, her gaze found his in the crowd. How rare it was to see him in the brilliance of the afternoon light. The sunstruck silver of his eyes transfixed her entirely. Everyone in the clearing had seconded him, bursting into raucous applause. But they sounded muffled in her ears, and everything but him faded away. It was as though she and Milori alone had been plunged into some private, shared world—one outside of time, shimmering like a dream. She could not take her eyes off him. She could not guard herself against the pride beaming out of him—and all the longing, too.

His eyes were the brightest, clearest things she had ever seen. They pierced straight to the heart of her with his quiet, kind strength. Her heart gave a terrible lurch. She did not know if she would survive losing him. But whether they stayed together or not, she would lose him. One way or another, the stars would keep them apart. Best, then, to keep him safe from her.

“You made me believe I deserved this, and yet, you have made me feel like I would give anything to be someone, anyone, else. I would give it all back if I could.”

“You will have all your subjects to love you. And even if I am not beside you, you will still have me. There will never be a star brighter. I will always love you.”

She took his face in her hands and kissed him—briefly, selfishly, if only to commit him entirely to memory. The feeling of his lips, soft against her own. The way his breath hitched, no matter how many times they had done this. The pleasant chill of his skin beneath her touch. The scent of evergreen and crisp air. It brought her no relief when it felt so final—and so insufficient. This was goodbye.