It didn’t matter that Maleficent helped Diaval get her milk when she was a baby, or that Maleficent caused some vines to save her when she ran straight off a cliff while chasing a butterfly right in front of those oblivious pixies. It didn’t matter that things had worked out for the best. It didn’t matter that Aurora’s goodness had woken something in Maleficent she’d thought was lost forever.
It was still foolish to try to see the best in those who were wicked.
And most humans had those seeds of wickedness in them, just waiting to bloom.
But there was no making the girl believe that she’d been mistaken in trusting Maleficent. And Aurora was likely to make the same mistake again, probably with that floppy-haired prince who was mooning over her or that arrogant count desperately trying to impress her. She was going to trust in their goodness, and they were going to fail her, perhaps even hurt her.
“Stay here, in the Moors,” Maleficent said impulsively. “Here, where you’re safe. Here, with me.”
“But at the palace—” Aurora began. Before she could get the sentence out, Maleficent lifted her hands, and in a swirl of golden light, a mist that had hovered over one particular area cleared and her palace of flowers and greenery was revealed. Its spires seemed to spin up into the sky.
The girl could not fail to be delighted by it.
Aurora gasped, her eyes widening in awe. Her hand went to cover her mouth.
“Now you have another palace,” Maleficent said, “one the like of which has never existed before and may never exist again. Come, let’s tour it.”
“Oh, yes,” Aurora said eagerly, everything else momentarily forgotten.
Maleficent followed, watching the girl’s skirts billow behind her and smiling. Aurora raced through the flower tunnel. Then she spun around in the great hall, causing a shower of pink petals to fall from the canopy.
When she discovered her bedroom, she stopped to marvel at the columns of twisted tree trunks, at the enormous bed with embroidered blankets stuffed with the spores of dandelions in place of feathers, and to exclaim over her open balconies.
Maleficent could tell she adored the palace. She even allowed herself to feel a little smug.
“It’s so beautiful, Godmother,” Aurora said once they’d toured the entire place, “and I want to stay here with you. But I cannot. If I don’t change the hearts and minds of the humans of Perceforest, nothing else will matter.”
“You’re their ruler,” Maleficent said, “and ours. But you must decide if you will rule like a faerie or like a human.”
“You say that as though there’s only one correct answer,” Aurora replied, kicking a small pebble that was resting near some steps. It rolled over a few times, then grew little legs and scuttled off.
“Perhaps that’s what I believe,” said Maleficent.
Aurora took her hand, surprising her. It reminded her again of the sweet child Aurora had been—and, for all her height and the crown on her head, still often was.
“I want the humans and the faeries to see that it’s possible to live together fruitfully,” Aurora said, “to have love and trust between them, as you and I do.”
Willful, Maleficent thought. Foolish. Good. But what could she say? Aurora had taught Maleficent gentleness when she’d thought that part of her was lost. Now Aurora believed the world could learn gentleness. It was Maleficent’s fault that Aurora didn’t understand how unlikely that was. But all she could do now was vow not to let the girl get hurt.
And if that meant hurting someone else instead, Maleficent felt perfectly capable of doing it—delighted, even.
Chapter 10
It had taken Count Alain’s servants more than an hour to get the mud out of his clothing. And no matter how long he soaked in a bath of scented water, he still felt as though the grime of the Moors were caught under his nails and behind his ears.
He was not a man who was used to feeling foolish. Under King Stefan, his father had amassed a large fortune. The king had required large quantities of iron, which their mines could supply in exchange for gold and other favors. Ulstead, too, had been an excellent trading partner. When Alain had inherited his father’s title, it had seemed like a simple thing to retain their wealth, especially with a chit of a girl come to the throne.
In fact, the new queen had seemed like an opportunity. But dressed in fresh clothing and presenting himself to Lord Ortolan, Count Alain felt far younger than his twenty-eight years. He was embarrassed and furious, and even more furious because of his embarrassment.
The old advisor’s chambers were luxuriant, hung with tapestries and imported silks—a reminder that he had been in power for a very long time, guiding events behind the scenes. Count Alain’s own father had dealt favorably with him.
“Have a seat,” Lord Ortolan said.
A servant brought in a silver tray containing brown bread and butter, along with a pitcher of cider.
“Once, when you were a mere boy,” said the advisor as soon as they were alone, “your father was here at the castle, standing before the bed of a dying King Henry. He would have been chosen as the next king, and had that happened, you would be king now. Do not lose the chance to rule again.”
“You should have warned me,” Count Alain complained. “I didn’t expect that tree monster!”
“You were supposed to charm Aurora,” said Lord Ortolan, settling himself in one of the chairs, “not start a fight.”
“Did I not arrange the hunt to please Aurora? Did I not endeavor to have my sister pay her courtesies? I thought this would be a simple task.” He stood up, restless, and walked to the window. But even looking down on the courtyard made him remember the feeling of hanging in the air, sure he would die. “Aurora is very innocent. That should have been to my advantage.”
“And I primed her to be distrustful of that Prince Phillip,” Lord Ortolan said. “Really, it’s impossible to think how you failed.”
Count Alain turned toward him in scorn. “You did me no favors with your warnings. And they didn’t work. All Phillip had to do was ask about the Moors and she was swept into his conversation!” Count Alain threw up his hands.
Lord Ortolan fixed his gaze on the count. “You know the Moorlands exert an influence over her.”
“They are more dangerous than I thought,” said Count Alain, “and that is saying nothing of that creature who slew King Stefan.”
Lord Ortolan did not look particularly impressed by this declaration. “Find a way into Aurora’s heart. Marrying her is the only way for you to become king.”
Count Alain went back to the chairs and threw himself down into one. “Between Maleficent and Prince Phillip, it seems difficult. I fear I have given her a dislike of me, and it will be no easy work winning her over.”
“I have a plan,” said Lord Ortolan. “In fact, I have several.”
Chapter 11
That evening, Aurora presided over the banquet table in the great hall while dish after dish was presented. Sweet tarts, crèmes, fishes, and game dressed in savory sauces. She couldn’t eat. She thought of Hammond, the poacher, whose family might have starved while the entire palace feasted. And she thought of Simon, who had still not been found. She cut her gaze down the table to where Prince Phillip was talking to several courtiers, telling them a story that made them laugh.