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The day she left for the long flight was inconspicuous, and her winglet would miss her, but Mink was in the clear. She knew that Cliff and Uncle Winter would cover for her if anyone noticed anything about the dates, but no one would. No one ever remembered Moth Day.
She had a Biology final on the next new moon. She loved Biology. She loved learning about life, and all the little parts that came together to create it, to make it thrive. It was all so cool!
The flight was really really really nice! Mink loved how cool the breeze was, especially as she flew over the Sand Kingdom desert. It was like the world knew where she was going. It was like the snow was calling her home.
Mink took a moment to rest on the ruins of the Great Ice Cliff, to catch her breath. From here, it was a short flight home. She just needed to sit here for a while. Catch her breath.
Catch her breath.
She sat there for a while, relaxing in the bits of ice and the soft snow. The sun was up and shining and it was the best kind of day—the kind of day that was cloudless but not empty. She loved a clear day! It was, like, very relaxing.
Maybe she’d go visit Bee’s moms after this. Pantala was supposed to be great, this time of year.
Nah, she had to take her final.
What if, though?
Mink took to the sky, and she flew to the palace, flapping her wings hard enough to hurt, but the pain was strangely relieving to feel, spreading through her body like she was taking a dip into some hot springs. She nearly crashed into the gates, which was super embarrassing because the guards looked really alarmed and she felt bad, but luckily they smiled after she smiled, and they were super nice and let her in, even though they hadn’t seen her for a full year and she could’ve been replaced by some crazy animus shapeshifter.
She raced through the halls, tail wagging. Snowfall hadn’t had time to visit her in the last few months, and Mink missed her hugs. She burst through the throne room doors—
Lynx was holding court today. She looked very pretty, with her signature freckles and her crown, silver and set with five opals cut in the shape of sunbursts.
On either side of the throne room, IceWing nobles turned to face her. Evidently, Lynx was in the middle of saying something, because Mink could hear her voice echoing across the walls because she cut herself off and cried, “Mink!”
And Mink found herself in the loving squeeze of a Lynx hug.
“How are you, kiddo?” Lynx whispered in her ear.
“I missed you,” Mink said. She hugged Lynx back, but she felt like she wasn’t hugging her hard enough, even though she was hugging at a maximum appropriate hug strength.
“Your sister went out flying,” Lynx said. “She wasn’t expecting you to leave so early.”
“I don’t sleep in anymore,” Mink protested.
“It wasn’t—” Lynx began to say. “Here, I have to finish making a boring speech, why don’t you go to your room?”
Mink pulled away as Lynx cupped the side of her face with a talon.
“I love you,” Mink said.
Lynx smiled. She looked sad, so Mink hugged her again.
When she next pulled away, Lynx was smiling, truly smiling.
Mink didn’t go to her room. She went to Snowfall’s room, which used to be their mom’s. She slept on their bed for a couple of hours, and she tried really hard to dream that she was a little dragonet again, barely stringing together sentences, making gifts for everyone, sleeping with her mom curled around her.
She didn’t dream at all, but when she woke up, there was a wing over her back. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know it was Snowfall—Queen Thorn gifted her this bespoke SandWing perfume that smelled like gardenias for her hatchday two years ago, and she had been wearing it ever since.
Mink nestled closer to her sister, who stirred in response.
“Mink?” Snowfall said softly. “Are you finally awake?”
Mink swallowed. She had a headache, suddenly. Needles, spears, daggers all jamming into her skull and twisting. She whimpered aloud. “I don’t want to leave, Snowy.”
“We won’t,” said Snowfall. “We won’t.”
“Even when Crystal comes?” Mink sniffled.
“She’ll sleep here with us,” said Snowfall. “We’re not leaving until you’re ready.”
Her heart was broken. Her heart had been broken for a long time and no one ever tried to fix it and at first, she didn’t understand. Wasn’t she kind? Wasn’t she loving? Why wouldn’t anyone help her?
But it didn’t take long for Mink to understand. She knew by the time she was two. That was one of the things she loved about herself. She was smart. Smart enough to know that no one could help. That her heart would hurt forever.
Sometimes she would stay up late reading scrolls. She always started with her favorites. There were the ones about the amazing things her mom did before the war, and the ones about how Lynx saved the world from an evil plant, and her Uncle Winter’s account of Snowfall and Lynx’s wedding…
There were only so many times she could read those, however. And she was an awesome student, so she had read her textbooks front to back by the third week of every semester.
She didn’t want to read about the war. She hated the war.
Which left her with the Animus scrolls. Every story, every account, every record of every animus, lovingly curated by Starflight and Turtle, and Mink had read everything in that shelf and seen the rule a thousand times.
Animus magic cannot resurrect the dead.
“I love you, Snowfall,” Mink said. “I love the way you reign, but…”
“I know,” Snowfall said.
“I want my mommy,” Mink said. “Just for another hug.”
It was raining and it was warm, and coming from some hole in the ceiling. Because Snowfall never cried. Snowfall’s words. She never cried, and that was that, and if you mentioned it, dungeons for a week.
“You know what’s funny?” Mink asked. “Everyone remembers the day mom died, and they want us to make speeches and everything, but no one remembers her hatchday.”
Snowfall’s breath hitched. Mink could feel that she was wiping her eyes.
“Lynx does,” Snowfall said.
“Lynx isn’t ‘everyone’,” said Mink.
“That’s right.” Snowfall sniffed. “She’s the best.”
“She won’t miss you?” Mink asked. “Even if I slept here for the rest of today?”
“She’s tough,” said Snowfall. “She’s the best, remember?”
Mink couldn’t argue with that. She shivered, and Snowfall hugged her tighter.
“Do you think it’s dumb?” Mink asked. “That I keep making us do this, and freaking out at the last minute?”
“It means having to—” Snowfall sighed. “It’s hard to do things that remind you she’s gone.”
Mink whispered, “Do you think she’d like it?”
“Mom would love it,” Snowfall said. “You’ll see. Remember the moths?”
The first year Mink insisted on celebrating their mother’s hatchday as a family, a swarm of moths descended upon them. They were likely attracted to the candles that they had lit between the assortment of Queen Glacier’s favorite pastries.
They’d chosen one of the ledges that overlooked the courtyard. One of Glacier’s favorite spots to watch them play. Mink would often see their mom observing them and wave, and Glacier would wave back, of course, and Mink would think about asking Glacier to come join them, but Glacier looked so happy, just being there, so Mink never did.
When the moths flew around them, Snowfall and Crystal freaked out, of course, but these moths were just so beautiful, wings glittering like fresh snow, that Mink just smiled and turned back to her sisters, and said, “I think Mom approves.”
Moths were one of the forms that the Great Ice Spirits took to visit the living, after all, and whenever Glacier would read Mink the story about the sad fifth circle orphan who would get visits from her parents in the form of moths, advising her on how to become a better IceWing until she made it to the top of the Gift of Order, Glacier would always smile at the end of it.
And moths had come every year after that.
Mink exhaled shakily. “I wish I could sleep here forever.”
“Then Mom would miss you at her party,” said Snowfall.
And that got Mink to smile, somehow, and she said “I guess you’re right.”