Wendy shook her head. “No. No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t worth Kitoko and Darby’s lives for this night of fun.”
Then Tink shook her head. “That’s where you are wrong.” The fairy looked around at all the boys tumbling around them, shrieking and laughing, wine spilling everywhere. Two of them thundered past Tink, stopping to kiss her cheek. She patted them affectionately on their heads, and they scampered off into the tree.
“This life with these boys, without adventures, would crumble like old toast. Bored boys, in a great number, could be very harmful to our way of life. I believe where you come from, they call those wars.”
Wendy stared straight ahead. “You play at war here. Death is death, and I’m not sure I see the difference. Wars are fought for freedom. Kitoko and Darby died for wine.”
“Wars are also fought for treasure. Why am I even talking to you? You couldn’t possibly understand,” Tink snapped before closing her eyes. “Sorry. I am sharp edges.” She took a minute before responding in a much friendlier voice.
“Men where you come from have died for much sillier reasons than wine, I’m sure. Besides, as long as Peter stayed safe, isn’t that all that matters?” Her voice rose when she mentioned Peter’s name, her eyes drifting up to the Generals’ booth. “He is the sun and the moon and everything in between.” She looked at him longingly before turning her eyes back to Wendy.
“I’m sorry for the way I’ve acted since you arrived. I’m sorry about earlier today.” She twisted up her glittery pink lips. “I knew you still had flight. I would never . . .” She looked down, a hint of sadness trembling her features. “It can be quite lonely, you see, being the only one of your kind left in Neverland.”
Wendy’s fingers traced a small circle on the table, feeling the splintering wood beneath her palm.
“What happened to your kind?” Tink blinked back tears, looking surprised. Wendy waved her hand.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked—you don’t have to tell me.”
Tink regained control of her features and began scratching her head, pulling out leaves from her blond bun.
“I am not used to being asked.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper so that the drunken boys dancing past them in a conga line wouldn’t hear. She choked out her words, her hands splayed on the table.
“I was just a young child when the darkness came. I had been sleeping, nestled deep in the dreams and consciousness of our people. It crept down from the mountain, like a black fog. They welcomed it, but their welcome songs turned to screams.” A sob rose in her throat. “Such a cacophony of sounds, the screaming and the singing. There were blasts of white heat, and a singeing black cold, like a burn. I remember the last sound I heard of my people, their voices lifting together before there was a ripping sound, and then there were wings, shredded wings, falling like snowflakes through the air. Bodies falling to the ground, hitting it hard, staying still. I ran and ran, and I hid in a grove of trees, burying myself in some muddy leaves. I was so young and so terrified. I could hear the darkness roaring after me, tearing the trees apart to find me. Our King, Qaralius of the Great Acorn, appeared above me to fight, attempting to draw the darkness away from the last of his race. He was . . . glorious.”
Tink looked down at the ground.
“He fought valiantly, but I heard his cries as it ripped him apart.”
Tink shook her head and turned away, grabbing a bottle of wine from the seat next to her. Wendy felt her eyes swell with tears for this pathetic girl who had seen so much death.
“Then Peter came. He came with his sword, and he fought the darkness, and he won. He found me, picked me up, and took me here. He saved my life. He was just a boy then, and we grew up together, bound forever, closer than siblings, closer than you could ever dream.”
Wendy shivered at the word, imagining Peter and Tink, tangled up in each other, the hungry eyes of the jungle all around them. Tink turned back to Wendy, a smile upon her face.
“But things change. I hope you can forgive what I’ve done to you. I can be . . . jealous of Peter, but who am I to stand in his way? If his desire is for someone else, then I must give him what he wants.”
She reached for Wendy’s glass, sloshing out a dark red wine into her cup. Then she poured her own glass.
“We’ll drink tonight, to new friends.” Her eyes clouded over. “To Wendy-bird. May she fly forever.”
Wendy grasped the cup, her eyes on Tink. An uncomfortable chill was spreading through her chest. She looked up, and Peter’s eyes were on them both, a confused smile on his face. He leapt off the alcove and landed hard beside Tink.
“Tink. What are you doing here?”
She turned to him with a desperate smile.
“I’m doing what you asked,” she whined. “I’m making friends with Wendy.”
Peter gently ran his hand under her chin, turning her face up toward him. “Good. I’m glad. I would really like for you both to be friends.”