Despite the preparations for and the promises of its inevitable arrival, winter still surprised Fir Tulach with icy fervor. Overnight, a nipping wind kissed bitter cold into each corner of the world. The fields frosted, troughs iced over. Even Banner, a hulking mass in his shaggy winter coat, nuzzled Faolan for stolen warmth each trip he made through the stable.

Though the cold bit at his cheeks and frosted his breath, Faolan mac Domnall kept himself warm with juggling a problem he'd never imagined having. A reclusive princess as a promised bride and a—Siofra.

Ever since Saoirse had locked herself away in her tower, ever since she refused to see him, Faolan's stomach twisted at the thought of their wedding. He'd left the wrapped moonbeam cloak without even a glimpse of the princess. In his head, he knew it was grief that drove her to isolation. But in his heart? Rejection and hurt burned in his throat, for Faolan worried she did not love him. Shame followed. He was not sure if he could love her.

Their proposal had tumbled into existence out of wild desperation and fed off the strange energy of curses—he understood that. Their shared adventure to Otherworld, nighttime laughter in the stable, coy glances and scribbled notes—did those things not count as the foundation for love?

Saoirse was wild and beautiful, full of capacity for unbridled joy and heavy sorrow. A life worthy of songs. She would be a queen. Like catching lightning in a bottle, Faolan did not know if he could ever truly hope to hold her.

"No, not like that," Siofra rasped as the starlit thread dissolved in his fingers.

And then there was his dreamweaver.

"You're not concentrating," she continued, pulling the ruined wisps and strands of stardust out of the spinning wheel. "Focus on your connection as you spin."

"I can't do it," Faolan answered, fighting the creeping frustration in his voice. Siofra made it sound so simple. Think of your princess and pull the stardust into thread. He pictured the strands of amber in hair, her stormy eyes, the corner of her smile. The basket of dark, sparkling sand had quivered and flowed into starlit lines, but they did not hold.

"I can't do it, idiot boy," she corrected, gesturing dryly at her left hand, the ashy bark peeling away in flaky layers.

"Is it getting worse?" he asked. In her single black eye, Faolan did not see the fear and sorrow he knew was there. He found it difficult to find it in the lines of her tense body. As the curse continued to spread, those tells in her posture, in her gestures, disappeared. Each day, she inched further and further away, adamant to face it alone.

The scaly bark grew thicker, her fingers now frozen wooden claws. Only a sliver of human face remained, an ashen mask covering the rest. Crooked branches had sprouted from her shoulders, bare except for bright crimson berries.

"Curses spread," she said with forced firmness, an attempt at a casual shrug, turning her ragged face from him.

"And you're certain there isn't a way to break it?"

A painful shudder rippled through her body, and Faolan cursed his insensitivity. Of course she's certain, his thoughts hissed through the uncomfortable silence. Only a thoughtless oaf would continue to remind her of that.

He ached to offer again. To offer to stay in Otherworld until the curse consumed her. The immediate rejection had hurt, and the following explanation of time in the faerie realm, of the risk he'd be taking, did little to soothe it.

"Let's try again," Siofra said, her scratchy voice pulling him from self-censure. Despite its innate harshness, she worked to keep her tone soft and encouraging. "You almost did it. Think of your princess, everything that draws you to her, and try again."

Faolan sighed and closed his eyes. He tried to imagine her freckles, the sound of her bell-like laughter, but they did not come. Instead, he thought of his dreamweaver. She collected sunshine when it hurt her heart. She walked to find moonflowers although it pained her. She collected stardust because she had promised. Hideous and otherworldly, standoffish and sharp, Siofra endured and endured and she had sprouted in his heart. It was as unexpected and delicate as the first blooms who pushed through late winter's frost.

"There," she breathed.

Faolan opened his eyes to a starlit spindle and the tiny, crooked corner of Siofra's smile.

She made him feel seen.

She made him want to be worthy.

As the spindles filled with the thin starlit yarn and Siofra unwound them into loose skeins, Faolan realized that the cottage had changed since that first trip to Otherworld. Despite the breath of winter, warmth flooded the tiny space. Their nearness, the crackling hearth, the shared weaving—Otherworld had become more familiar than the smell of must in the stables, than the memories of his mother.

At the end of their days together, Faolan returned home with a heart heavy in his chest. The anger and pity, still raw from confronting his feelings about his father and brothers, burned with fresh salt each homecoming. The curse that crept faster and faster through Siofra's life filled him with anxious worry that she might not be there when he returned.

In a desperate hurry to return to Otherworld, Faolan woke before the sun to start his chores and flew through each task with an unfamiliar restlessness. The hastiness of his work shone in the dirt that lingered on the floor, the layer of crusted stew still in the pot. Without his usual thoroughness, the cottage fell further into disarray.

A shade of guilt clung in his chest, a stubborn burr near his heart. His time in Otherworld, spinning and weaving with Siofra, was glowing and golden. The frigid nights, his empty belly growling underneath a pile of blankets, were warm and filled with the memories of their days. Even with the silver-set backdrop of winter and the frosted fractals on the windows, the dreamweaver's cottage had become a cherished refuge.

The hearth crackled merrily, but it could not compare with the husky lilt of the dreamweaver's laughter when he caught her off guard. The draped fabrics were rich with color in the firelight but paled compared to the warmth of sharing the weaving bench with Siofra. Side by side, Siofra worked her uncanny gifts and the ribbon that bound them pulled stronger and stronger.

Siofra had strange magic, not only with weaving, but with bleeding the poison from his heart. In her stillness, he told her the worries and secrets he'd never been asked to share. The anger at his father, the betrayal of his brothers, the sorrow of losing his mother. As the bitterness bled out of him, only the stories remained.

"As Cian told it, my father defeated six men to win her hand. She was so fair and lovely and clever, that her father had arranged a set of games to prove their worth. Such feats of strength and bravery as the lands had never seen!"

"The stories of legends," she smiled, pulling the glittering yarn back to him. "But Cian is your fierce brother, no? I imagine Declan might tell a different story."

Following the pattern, he flashed her a grin. "Ah, Declan tells the tale of their unwavering love, my father's heartfelt proposal. Liam and I groaned to hear his rendition, but the village girls begged him for it."

As he handed the strand back to her right hand, their fingertips kissed. Faolan's hand lingered, his eyes met her face. From beneath thick eyelashes, that black eye flickered with hesitation.

She broke their contact, resuming the weave with fluid efficiency.

"And what will they say of your proposal to your princess?"

Her casual tone did not fool him. Each time they risked coming too close, each time he forgot Saoirse, his dreamweaver reminded him with callous gentleness.

It sent a shadow of frustration and shame across his heart. Faolan would rather she admonished him. The sparing tone riled him.

"I imagine they won't say anything about me. It was her proposal, wasn't it?"

A petulant resentment bubbled into his words. A wave of embarrassment followed. It wasn't Siofra's fault that Saoirse had refused to see him. It wasn't Siofra's fault that she had filled a part of him he hadn't realized was empty. It wasn't Siofra's fault that their time together was drawing to an end.

She handed the twisted thread back to Faolan, considering him a moment before speaking. He tried not to notice that she minimized the brush of their skin.

"Do you want to marry her or not? A shared life faces more difficulties than this."

Do I want to marry her?

Faolan couldn't picture himself in a castle, wearing a crown. At least, not as himself. He remembered how he had struggled to find something presentable to wear to the town meeting and how foolish he'd looked, despite his efforts. He remembered the faint blush on Saoirse's face when she appraised him.

Tell me what I should do. Tell me to stay here. He couldn't make the words leave his throat. He wanted her to admire him. How quickly would she turn him away when she realized he was a fickle, oath-breaking louse?

"I made a promise, didn't I?" The words weren't right, but holding to that virtue had dominated his thoughts.

Siofra scoffed, her fingers freezing at the threads. She stood and turned, trailing her right hand across the growing bolt of stardust. Her touch sent a ripple of shimmers across the strange iridescent weave.

"What?" Faolan egged, a defensive rumble in his chest.

"You really are an idiot sometimes."

It did not ring the same as her name for him. It lacked her edge of wry humor, it lacked the warmth that had been growing between them.

"How am I an idiot? It doesn't matter how I feel."

About Saoirse or about you. The unspoken words sent his heart pounding, a heavy drum he feared she might hear. He yearned with all of his heart to confess the truth of his feelings, and yet, he could not make the sounds known. To make this all real and tangible and present? It was more than he could bear.

"Do you know why Otherworld is so dangerous for humans?"

The abrupt shift in topic, her dispassionate tone, cooled the heat of his frustration. Siofra had emphasized that the faerie world was dangerous, and yet each facet they had glimpsed shimmered with wonder. His first glimpse into Otherworld had its share of misadventure, and Siofra's curse filled him with pity and dread. But sunshine and moonflowers?

Siofra watched him as if his pensive flight, that churning pool of thought, was expected. As if she had all the time in the world, as if her head of leaves had not fallen, as if more than the lonely red berries remained in her branches.

"Curses? Is that it?"

"The High Fae, the aos sí, live forever," Siofra corrected. Her eye found its way to the frosted window, looking past the panes into a distant unknown. "With each passing year, they lose parts of themselves."

Her scratchy voice faltered as if she struggled to find the words. Impatience threatened to fill the void of his recent irritation. Siofra sighed, hugging her petrified arm to her side.

"Humans live so briefly, they're consumed by anger and happiness and sorrow and love. They burn with it, and it attracts the fae."

Faolan pictured the swarm of pixies that trailed after Saoirse, that took to sitting on his shoulders. Despite her protests to the contrary, the last bit of human in Siofra drew them in too—provided she wasn't baring her teeth and swatting them away.

"But where's the danger in that?" he asked, trying to keep his tone even. Though the winter kept pixies from fluttering—their wings immobilized with crystalline frost, their lights dimmed to a weak glow—even when the days had been golden and warm with autumn, their attention had seemed harmless enough.

"Pixies and other low fae follow it, moths to a flame. But the High Fae? They want to keep it, to own it. They demand commissions for sunshine and falling leaves, frozen moments in time, poor substitutes for living passion."

Illuminated in the gray daylight, the edges of her curse looked more ragged than ever. The anxious edge in Siofra's voice made Faolan wonder if there was more to the High Fae, if there was more to the danger, if there was more to her curse.

"Why are you so afraid? What's changed? Let me help you."

"The closer we get to the solstice, the thinner the veil between the worlds. It's easier for them to spirit humans away. I've been selfish," she whispered, "in keeping you here. But it's time for you to leave Otherworld forever."

"I will not leave you," Faolan whispered, firmly.

"You will. Live a long, loved life in the human world. Marry your princess."

Siofra's tone was wintery, brittle and frozen. Faolan worried that pushing past patience might shatter her, but he had tried to convince her without success. He knew her iciness hid something more. Her insistence on Saoirse, on dictating his feelings? It had to mean more.

"Why do you keep pushing me away?" he cried, knocking the bench over as he stood, reaching for her hand. She had so newly healed that wound of abandonment, it threatened to split open once more. "I know you don't want me to leave."

Siofra lingered at his touch for a breath, looked into his eyes. In the sliver of human mouth, the deep inkiness of her right eye, indecision burned—in every line of her stiff body—as if she debated leaning into his arms. The moment wavered, a reflection lost in a rippled pool.

"Just leave. I can finish the last few rows on my own."

"Siofra, don't—"

"Leave, Faolan!"

Before he could think, a sudden lightness descended upon him, invisible strings lifted each joint in his body. An uncanny tension wormed through his blood, commanded by an unseen puppeteer. Though he pushed and strained to stay, to finish their discussion, his legs strode to the mirror with purpose.

"What? Siofra!" he managed to say before stepping through the silvery portal. A bone-biting chill replaced the cheerful crackle of the hearth. Snowflakes that slipped through the stable's ceiling replaced Siofra's harrowed face. Banner's familiar nicker replaced the echo of a quiet sob.

She used my name against me, he thought in disbelief. She sent me away.

She left me.

A frozen wind screamed through slats and the hollowness of shock boiled into fiery purpose.

"I'll leave too, then," he said aloud, looking at the mirror in determination. "I'll send the mirror back to Saoirse. I'll ask her to forgive me for breaking the engagement. And then I'll go."

Banner pawed the earth as if filled with Faolan's uneasy energy.

He grunted as he lowered the mirror into their family's small, near-broken cart and led Banner to it with trembling hands. Resolve pulsed through him, a wild heartbeat.

Leading the horse from the stable, the wind even sharper at his cheeks, Faolan eyes watered. He breathed into Banner's shoulder and the horse huffed a sympathetic sigh.

It was not quite validation, but the warm horseflesh and the smell of his grassy breath filled Faolan with warm encouragement. The horse boy wrapped himself in the tattered plaid and pulled himself onto Banner's bare back.

"You and I, Banner. We will go," he whispered, stronger for not being alone.

Hands no longer trembling, he encouraged Banner towards the frosted path to Mide's winter castle, first towards Saoirse, and then towards the unknown. 

Word count: 26,646