To break his family's curse, Faolan mac Domnall seeks to marry the beautiful Saoirse, princess of Mide. Spirited and outspoken, the wild Saoirse wants nothing more than to escape the life that's been decided for her. Determined to outmaneuver a twis...
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The Dreamweaver's cottage held no warmth. Though the memories still flickered in the reflections of the shattered mirror, the color had drained from her world. In the desperation to do the right thing, she had prevented Saoirse from risking her life, but she had destroyed her fastest way to the Winter Kingdom. The wisp-magic had faded into mist.
The realm of the Winter Queen was not impossible to reach by foot. It was a place the low-fae avoided, feared above all others in the faerie realm. The hills sparkled with fresh-fallen snow, the opalescent leaves in the birch trees echoed with sweet melodies—and yet the thought of the still, frozen lands filled Siofra with dread.
Only the high fae could pass through her kingdom at the height of winter. As her power grew, the north wind shrieked as it ripped through the trees. Icy rain drove away any that might enter the frozen lands. Even in the calm of the night, the arctic temperature froze wings solid and burned skin to blisters.
It was not the bitter cold that kept the weak and powerless away as the solstice neared. The fae queen coveted all that she no longer possessed, all that she would never feel. Memories of laughter, dreams of adventure, a mother's comfort. With her icy touch, she stole the spirits of the unlucky fae and humans who found their way to her wintry court.
Fortunately for Siofra, she had little skin left for the frost to bite. Soon her memories would be lost to the rowan-curse. There would be nothing left to fear. Or at least, that's what she told herself as she limped away from the Dreamweaver's cottage.
The cry of a distant horn through the darkness of the forest froze her. The Solstice Hunt. It was too late. The Winter Queen would bind his soul forever at the end of the longest night. The dawn marked defeat. She would not make it to Faolan in time. All of her love and courage had come too late.
A sob threatened to rip from her chest, but before she could let it envelop her, a flurry of buzzing filled her ears. A swarm of pixies descended upon her with a frantic purpose.
"Stop!" she cried. "I don't know what you want!"
They buzzed and chimed in their strange high chirping. They trilled, circling, until she ceased swatting at them. In impatient hums, their iridescent bodies glowing in the cold, they gestured frantically. Flanked within their swarm glowed a single wisp. The pixies spiraled around it, guiding it to her.
There were no gifts in Otherworld.
"I have nothing to give you," Siofra whispered, agony tearing through her voice. She had no favors to offer, no trinkets to tempt them. Even the red berries in her branches had fallen away.
There were no gifts in Otherworld, and yet the pixies insisted. They pushed the wisp closer and closer until she held it in her wooden hands.
For Faolan, their wings hummed.
The trembling glow of love burned in her chest. Faolan who was kind enough to earn gifts in Otherworld.
The pixies who had once fled at the sight of her now pulled at her branches, at the stardust weave, to pull her through the forest toward a faerie pool.
