by Lexa Hillyer
The sun has grown so bright behind her that it takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to her. She steps forward, and he can see her face. For a moment, she is Isbe at twelve, come to harass him out of boredom and dare him to abandon his chores for the fields. Then his eyes focus, and she is this Isbe, in possession of her full height, her cheekbones wide, and for the first time, in his eyes, regal. She has changed, irrevocably, he sees. She is no longer the wild-haired, crooked-grinned child, nor the fierce-lit young woman he’d fallen hopelessly and secretly in love with.
He finds that his jaw has dropped open, and though she wouldn’t know it, he sheepishly clamps his mouth shut. He finds too that he is shivering slightly, despite the heat of the day breaking out, pushing back the cool shadows of dawn.
“Gil,” she whispers, as though speaking in the language of the horses. “Is it really you?”
He can’t find a reply—his tongue has gone to straw dust.
“Say something so I know you aren’t a ghost.”
“I’m not a ghost,” he says—because at least that much he’s fairly sure of.
She nods, a mixture of emotions chasing across her face. She rests her hand on the door of an empty stall.
“I miss her,” she says quietly.
It takes him a second. “Freckles?”
Isabelle nods again.
“Cobalt will be foaling soon,” he tells her, feeling sheepish all over again. Hasn’t he anything more impressive to say than that? After all this time?
But she smiles, suddenly lit up. “I hope she will have a mare,” she says, and he grins, happy that he has made her happy.
“I will let you know when the foal safely comes.” A promise that means more than what it says. I will be here. I will always be right here.
There’s a sudden ache in his arms and hands. He goes back to brushing Cobalt, muttering softly to her, in order to keep his hands occupied, in order to keep his mind from running his fingers through Isabelle’s hair, tracing her jaw, reminding himself of the way her lips taste. He has not allowed himself to hope for anything—he never has. Not even as he watched the prince’s vessel set sail for Aubin.
And he can’t start hoping now, or it will break him.
But still she draws closer—carefully, like she doesn’t want to startle him.
“Gil,” she says again. “I want to thank you.”
He turns again to face her. She is now only a few feet from him. Another step, and he could reach out to touch her. He would no longer be touching the wild girl she was, but the princess she has become.
He never dreamed, not really, that she’d be his. But he didn’t anticipate, either, the sting of the day she’d end up someone else’s. In his mind, she could never belong to any man, or anyone at all.
But what does he know? He’s just a stableboy.
“Thank me?” he asks.
She clears her throat, and he sees a brief storm of feeling there. “For saving William’s life.” She pauses. He nods, though she can’t see it. “And for rescuing Aurora. For . . . remembering.”
He swallows a small lump in his throat. Guilt strikes him hard at the thought that there was a time, however brief, that he’d truly forgotten.
She draws in a deep breath. “And for me. Thank you for saving me—again and again and again.” She steps toward him, reaching out, her hand seeking his face.
Unable to exhale, he leans in closer, so that she may run her fingers lightly across his cheeks and eyes and mouth. He tries to smile but another, far more humiliating urge possesses him, and it’s all he can do not to break into tears. Her touch feels like rain, washing away that urge but bringing more of it.
“I—” He ought to tell her that he loves her and always has. That would be the noble and right thing to do. To lay it bare, bravely and boldly, no matter the consequences, no matter the impossibility of it.
No matter whether she will ever say it back.
And yet the words are caught somewhere deep within, turning themselves over, like the unborn foal inside Cobalt, still finding their way into being.
But she must know already, because she puts her hand on his cheek, and then she stands on her tiptoes and briefly—like the heartbeat of a tiny creature—brushes her lips against his.
He feels as though she is the one who’s a ghost, as though his last breath has been stolen, and he doesn’t mind; he never wanted to breathe, never wanted to live except for this—except for her.
“There is much left to do,” she says now, already backing away from him, and he wants to reach after her, but he mustn’t, and he doesn’t.
He lets her go. He will always let her go. He will be content to know only his side of it, only his side of love.
“Isabelle,” he says suddenly, finding his breath again, just before she exits the stable. “What did you wish for?”
The story has traveled around and abroad, growing grander by the whisper. That Isabelle is part fae, that she possesses the power of wishing but has vowed only to use that power once. Her way of assuring the people that they can trust her.
She tilts her head, and then she does something that surprises him. She blushes. “It might seem silly if I told you,” she says.
He is flooded with happiness. It is just the glimpse of the old Isbe that he needed. “Just tell me,” he says, partly because he wants this moment to go on just a second longer, and partly because if he can possess one last secret of hers, it will sustain him, perhaps forever.
“Gil, do you believe in true love?” she asks.
“Yes.”
She pauses. “Good.”
And then she is gone.
Isabelle never answers his question; not now and not in the years to come. Not when all of Deluce goes into an uproar after Isabelle and Aurora grant the territories of LaMorte to a crazy old nun by the name of Hildegarde. Not after Gil marries the pretty widow, Editha, and becomes a good father to his niece and nephew. Not after Isbe’s daughter by William is born: a tiny, gangly, part-fae child with long limbs and a voice as loud as a rooster’s.
She doesn’t have to say. He has figured it out on his own. Because Gil knows her—knows her heart, and what it wants most in all the world.
The answer has always seemed plain to him:
Isabelle wished for Aurora to find true love.
And perhaps, after all, she did.
Acknowledgments
I thought the sequel to Spindle Fire would be easier to write than the first book. I was wrong! At many times this book seemed instead like the winter glass itself—an impenetrable paradox. No matter how I held it to the light, it refused to reveal its secrets to me. I think that’s why the theme of storytelling emerged—how do you know what your story is, and how do you let its message find you, instead of the other way around? That’s the miracle of writing: the moment the story discovers and claims you.
I have many people to thank for supporting me in this process. I will start with Kamilla Benko, Alexa Wejko, and Tara Sonin, who all contributed, at various times, from helping to brainstorm Aurora’s dark journey to untangling the logistics of all the curses. Kamilla, the hour hand inside the clock was a stroke (pun intended!) of pure, Cinderella-inspired genius! As always, I have Lauren Oliver to thank as well, who talked me through my own low moments with this book, and reminded me of the simple fact that the true self is uncluttered; it’s always there, at the center of everything—this was, in a way, what Isabelle needed to remember too.
Then there are Jess Rothenberg and Rebecca Serle, who spent many hours beside me, type-type-typing away, in addition to the other members of the Type A Writers’ Retreat.
A super-powered thank you to the SPINDLE SQUAD (who deserve ALL CAPS!) for cheering me on and supporting the series from the start. You. Are. Amazing. Huuuuge thanks are due to Adam Silvera too, the brains and brawn behind so much that goes on to get both books into the hands of readers and fans, and to Emily Berge, who swooped in late in the game like an unexpected faerie to
help out!
Thanks are, as ever, due to my wonderful editor, Rosemary Brosnan, who helped to bring clarity to every muddled moment. And thank you as well to Stephen Barbara: literary agent, venting partner, savviest suit wearer, and lifelong champion.
I’m incredibly grateful to everyone at HarperCollins and Epic Reads, including the indomitable Kate Jackson and Suzanne Murphy, as well as Andrea Pappenheimer, Jessica MacLeish, Courtney Stevenson, Erin Fitzsimmons, Barb Fitzsimmons, Kate Engbring, Bess Braswell, Olivia Russo, Sabrina Abballe, Bethany Reis, Laaren Brown, and everyone else. (There are just so many people whose hands and hearts touch these books!)
Same goes to the team at Inkwell Management, including Lindsay Blessing and Claire Draper. And to artist Lisa Perrin for making the covers of my dreams! Thanks as well to glorious Diana Sousa for her awesome graphics and incredible world map. And thank you to Howie Sanders and Jason Richman at UTA, for all their efforts on behalf of Spindle Fire on the West Coast.
Thank you to my family and family-in-law—I can’t list all the names here, there’s just not enough room! But in the theme of sibling love, I’d like to give a shout-out to my sisters and brother—Shira Hillyer, Megan Schulz, and Adam Schulz—and to my grandmother, Ellen Friedlander, who passed away during the writing of this book, but who reminded me, a month before she died, that I should chill out a little. With any luck, our greatest work is still ahead of us.
Finally, thank you to my husband, Charlie, for the countless ways he supports me, and to my Minna Freya, who is, I’m beginning to think, part faerie after all.
About the Author
Photo by Charles Grantham
LEXA HILLYER is the cofounder of Glasstown Entertainment, a former YA editor, and the author of Proof of Forever and Spindle Fire. Lexa is also an award-winning poet: Her first collection, Acquainted with the Cold, won the Melissa Lanitis Gregory Poetry Prize as well as the Foreword IndieFab Book of the Year Award. Her poetry has been anthologized in Best New Poets 2012 and has appeared in several journals. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband, their daughter, and a skinny orange tree.
www.lexahillyer.com
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Books by Lexa Hillyer
Proof of Forever
Spindle Fire
Winter Glass
Back Ad
DISCOVER
your next favorite read
MEET
new authors to love
WIN
free books
SHARE
infographics, playlists, quizzes, and more
WATCH
the latest videos
www.epicreads.com
Copyright
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
WINTER GLASS. Copyright © 2018 by Lexa Hillyer. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.epicreads.com
Cover art by LISA PERRIN
Cover design by CATHERINE SAN JUAN
Map by Diana Sousa
* * *
Library of Congress Control Number: 2017939010
Digital Edition APRIL 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-244092-1
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-244090-7
* * *
18 19 20 21 22 PC/LSCH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
FIRST EDITION
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.
Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street
Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia
www.harpercollins.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Canada
2 Bloor Street East - 20th Floor
Toronto, ON M4W 1A8, Canada
www.harpercollins.ca
India
HarperCollins India
A 75, Sector 57
Noida
Uttar Pradesh 201 301
www.harpercollins.co.in
New Zealand
HarperCollins Publishers New Zealand
Unit D1, 63 Apollo Drive
Rosedale 0632
Auckland, New Zealand
www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF, UK
www.harpercollins.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
195 Broadway
New York, NY 10007
www.harpercollins.com
