Every tree and leaf, every bright face and every single fae form is caught in a silver burst of light, until the clearing is a dazzle of outstretched, beating wings. They sweep out from the backs of all the cursed young fairies and sprites in a rainbow torch of magic, and the shadows cannot stand beneath such light. They don’t just rush to shelter. They don’t yammer or growl or fight. They simply stretch to tatters and disappear.
The willow trees lower their heads, the rowan spread their limbs, the fae stamp their feet, and the shadow of the Stag is massive. He is all of them in one place, just one creature with no more or less power than any other.
‘Go back to him!’ I shout.
The clearing rings with it, and my heart thunders as I stare at him. He looks at me then, right in the eye, and finally he nods. He turns, making his way back to the palace that is no longer hidden.
‘You did it!’ crows Yanny.
‘My,’ whispers Rory. ‘Look at that.’
Zara slips her hand into mine. ‘You cleared the shadows.’
‘I sent the Stag away. I sent him,’ I shiver, the cold finding its way to my bones. The air is crisp, everything more stark than it was a moment ago, before the shadows fled. ‘Will it kill him, Zara?’
‘No,’ says Peg, the familiar curve of his bird claws digging into my shoulder. ‘You used the power of your family, and your own, more importantly, and you sent his shadow back to him.’ His face looms before mine, his amber eyes glowing, a massive grin on his imp face. ‘You sent the shadows away – you broke the curse, Stella!’
‘What?’
I look up. Rory and her centaurs are staring at me, the fairies and the sprites too.
‘The Stag was the source of it all, and you sent it back to where it belonged,’ Rory says. ‘To your father.’
‘And you have wings!’ Yanny rushes at me, and he isn’t tired any more – he is flying, his own wings no longer tattered shadows but huge great sweeps of fire at his back. He curls up into the air, and then he swoops back down and flings me up with him, and I’m tumbling, diving, catching myself at the last minute, soaring in a flurry of fae wings, so many of them all whooping and hollering beneath the moon.
They are so sure of it. So full of joy. I twist and dive with them, and it should feel like a dream. Like magic. But I cannot see my own wings, and I don’t trust them fully. I don’t know what I’ve done. I don’t know who I am, and there’s a weight in my throat that doesn’t shift, no matter how their joy rings. I stumble to the ground, where Zara is grinning, leaning against her staff.
‘Look at you,’ I say, climbing to my feet. ‘All fae and magical.’
‘Says she with the wings.’ She grins.
‘He didn’t want me there, Zara,’ I say, watching the fairies and the sprites flit through the night sky.
It’s clear now. No clouds, no shadows.
She huffs. ‘Well, more fool him.’
I snort back a weird laughing crying cough.
‘Really though,’ she says. ‘This is your life. You’re living it the best you can.’ She shrugs. ‘Your best is pretty spectacular. But even if it wasn’t, it would be fine, Stella. It’d be good enough for us. Even if it isn’t for him.’
We link arms and look up together as Yanny curls through the air. He hollers, waving down at us, and does a pirouette in the air, falling and landing clumsily. Elowen darts forward and takes his face in her hands, and she is laughing, her wings unfolding as he pulls her off her feet and back up into the sky with him.
29
‘I think,’ Rory says, ‘that it’s time for us to go and see your grandmother.’
I nod, with a sidelong look at Zara, and then we make our way through Winterspell, Peg on my shoulder.
The stars are clear now, sparkling brightly between the branches, and as we go, I can hear the trees whispering. I trail my fingers along their trunks, and they speak to me of long summer days to come, and bright, moonlit nights, and the play of fae children in their arms. The air is singing with it, and even Rory seems somewhat mollified by the time we come out the other side with Zara and Mrs Mandrake.
‘We’ll let you chat to your nan,’ Mrs Mandrake says as we near the house. ‘I’ll see Zara home.’
‘Is that OK?’ I ask Zara, as Mrs Mandrake skirts the house to her truck. ‘You can come in . . .’
‘I think I’ll leave that pleasure to you,’ she says, her eyes sparkling. ‘I want to talk to Mrs Mandrake anyway.’
‘I’m so glad you were there,’ I say, drawing her in for a hug.
Zara smiles. ‘We did a pretty good job in there, didn’t we? And Mrs Mandrake says that now I’ve seen so much, I’ll have to sign the secret contract thing and have lessons with you upstairs!’
I grin back, revelling at the prospect – but the elation is short-lived.
‘When you’ve finished congratulating yourselves, girls,’ says Rory, shifting her hooves. ‘Perhaps we could proceed?’
Zara shoots me a look of sympathy and darts around the house to the waiting truck . . . It’s very tempting to go with her.
‘Come, Stella,’ says Rory. ‘Undo these cursed charms – they’re hurting my eyes.’
I turn to the charms along the silver wire and run my fingers along them, whispering the words of undoing. Wondering if we’ll need them again. Then Nan is at the door, and Rory is lowering her head to get through.
‘Perhaps I should go back into Winterspell,’ says Peg. ‘Just to check things are still OK . . .’
‘Ha, no!’ I say. ‘If I’ve got to go in the house, so have you. Besides, Nan will have been worrying.’
We head in, Teacake dashing in before us and making for the hearth.
‘Well, what a fine nest you made for yourself,’ says Rory to Nan as she ushers us in.
Having a centauride in your kitchen is no laughing matter. But after a frosty start, she and Nan start to talk in earnest, and the tension slowly ebbs away. They speak of the palace, now clear for all to see, and the thaw of my father’s winter. There is talk of him facing trial, of banishment. I sit with Peg and Teacake, trying not to think too hard about any of it. My head is thrumming with everything that’s happened, and my wings shift restlessly at my back. They feel weird.
I stand to look in the mirror over the fireplace.
My father’s copper-flashing strands of hair are woven through the brown, now. My mother’s silver, mirror eyes. The horns, that do look a little like spiralling conkers, set high on my brow. And the wings. I turn to study them. They gleam with bright curling lines of silver and copper.
I am fae. Truly fae: half moon sprite and half wood sprite.
‘Do you like the look of yourself?’ says Rory, her eyes laughing.
‘I think I do,’ I say.
Nan nods. ‘As you should. I’d forgotten how lovely your wings are. Rather unusual to have such elements combined.’
‘She’s rather unusual all round, I should say,’ says Rory. ‘I may have underestimated her. She broke her father’s curse, legend or no legend.’
It’s late, and my eyes are scratchy with tiredness, but I can’t make myself move. Rory said her goodbyes hours ago, and so it’s just me and Nan, and Peg and Teacake. Home. Safe. Everything the same, and yet . . . everything different.
‘I thought he would help, Nan,’ I say, looking into the fire.