Until he realized just what he had to say to Aurora, and it turned out to be nothing like what he had practiced.
Chapter 13
The next morning, Aurora met with her castellan, a large dark-skinned man with cropped hair and a scar that ran across his cheek, pulling up one corner of his mouth. Everyone called him Smiling John, a name Aurora found sinister, since the allusion was to a badly healed wound. He entered the great hall with two men-at-arms. All three of the soldiers were heavily armored and grim-faced.
“We have some news of the boy, Simon,” Smiling John said. “Hugh, give her the report.”
A solid wall of a soldier, pale with straw-colored hair, spoke. “We believe he fell in with a band of brigands.”
“Brigands?” Aurora echoed, shocked. “But his father said—”
“It’s a sad state of affairs when one’s own family don’t know the lay of the land,” the man continued, “yet all too common. Seems that he liked a bit of dicing and that’s how he got into debt. From there, he turned to stealing to make the money. Only a matter of time before he stole from the palace.”
“So there is a dish missing?” Aurora asked.
“A large jardiniere,” said Hugh.
She thought of Simon’s family denying even the possibility he’d been involved in wrongdoing. Believing he’d been taken by faeries. They wouldn’t want to believe this.
“So where is he?” Aurora asked. “Thief or not, he’s still missing. And he’s still very young.”
Smiling John shook his head. “We found the stolen horse—which led us to one of the brigands, who was trying to pass it off as his own. He’s imprisoned now and claims not to know Simon’s whereabouts. Our people are still looking. The boy could be lying low. But there’s the more likely possibility that the brigands, once done with him, did away with him, if you catch my meaning, Your Majesty.”
“Do you think that’s what happened?” Aurora demanded.
“No way to know,” said the castellan, “until we find him, alive or dead.”
Aurora nodded. The day had just begun and already she was weary. “Then do so,” she said. “Find him. And soon, before the trail goes cold.”
Many more meetings followed.
Three boys had caught a flower faerie in the Moors and were keeping her in a birdcage. They’d been spotted exiting back into Perceforest, and one had gotten cursed with a foxtail and a pair of fox ears. The Fair Folk were demanding the flower faerie be released, and the boy was demanding that his curse be removed. The faerie herself was demanding a seven-year supply of honey for her trouble.
A cow had gotten lost and then wandered home with braided flowers around its neck and a tendency toward producing more cream than milk. The cow’s owner wanted to know if something would happen to her if she drank it.
With each new accusation, Aurora felt the treaty unravel further. It was only a matter of time before something truly terrible happened—before blood was shed and the humans and Fair Folk returned to being at war, with her unable to halt it.
Finally, Lord Ortolan gave her one piece of good news. Maleficent’s black rose hedges had stopped growing, although they showed no signs of receding. “And they give off a distinct scent. It has been described as musky and not unlike the scent of spoiled plums, with a heady sweetness. Is it dangerous?”
“Let us hope not,” Aurora said with a sigh. After the conversation about the brigands, she couldn’t help feeling that perhaps Maleficent had had a point about the safety of Perceforest’s borders. “Tell me, is there anything we can do to lessen people’s fear of faeries?”
Lord Ortolan’s eyebrows rose. “I understand that you’ve grown used to them, but they are not like us. They’re not human. They’re immortal, with powers we don’t understand.”
Aurora nodded, not in agreement, but with the understanding that he had no interest in helping. “I think a new approach to the treaty must be taken. I wish to hear from my subjects on their concerns—and superstitions—about the Moors.”
Lord Ortolan looked alarmed. “Your Majesty, begging your pardon, such a thing could take many, many days to arrange. Your court, of course, comprises many persons from influential noble houses already who have weighed in on the treaty negotiations, and we have sent drafts to those who have the largest estates and the most riches. But for this, they would have to travel here. And we would have to prepare for their arrival—” He stopped at her expression.
Aurora had had enough. “I have spent enough time in consultation with the nobles,” she said. “Now I want to hear from the rest of my people.”
“Your kingdom is very large, Your Majesty,” Lord Ortolan began.
“Let us start here, then,” she said, “close to the castle. I wish to speak with farmers and tradespeople. This afternoon.”
“This afternoon?” Lord Ortolan repeated faintly.
Aurora smiled at him. “I will have town criers sent out immediately to invite people to the castle. And I will go tell the cooks we will need much in the way of refreshment. Perhaps you can send someone to gather up some of those new black roses? They will make marvelous decorations.”
Aurora paused. “But I need to talk to more than just the humans. I will send a message to the Moors that I want to talk to the faeries this evening. I am sure they have fears and superstitions, too.”
With that, she left him looking as though he itched to overrule her, perhaps even scold her. But he couldn’t, and they both knew it.
By that afternoon, Aurora had grown nervous. As she had hoped, many tradespeople and farmers had been willing to take the small payment she’d offered to make up for a day’s work, and were busily eating from the spread of cold meats, bread, and pies she’d provided. She was pleased to see that Hammond, the farmer who had been poaching in her forest, had come, although he stayed at the back of the crowd.
She knew she had to stand up in front of them.
She knew she had to listen to them, even if she didn’t like what they had to say.
But if she didn’t find a way for the faeries of the Moors and the humans of Perceforest to think of themselves as no longer at war, it wouldn’t be long before someone did something so terrible that they were back at each other’s throats again—this time permanently.
Aurora walked into the great hall and went to her throne. Gone were the winged gold lions that had once been there; her new one was simple and elegant, cut from a block of marble. As she sat, a hush fell over the villagers. She saw their gazes go to the crown shining on her brow.
“People of Perceforest,” she said, “you may know me as the daughter of Queen Leila and King Stefan, but remember that I was raised by my aunties and my godmother, faeries one and all.”
She saw the surprise on their faces and wasn’t sure if they hadn’t believed the tales or were merely astonished to hear Aurora herself confirm them. “Now I am not just your queen, but theirs. The queen of the Moors. And I want all of my subjects to come together. For decades, there has been enmity between the humans and the faeries. Why?”
For a moment there was only silence in that echoing hall.
Then a man stood. “We keep clear of the Moors. Those faeries steal your children, sure as anything.”
Aurora saw some grim nodding in the crowd and heard a few murmurs of the missing groom’s name. She wanted to tell them what she’d learned from Smiling John, but they had no reason to believe her, at least until Simon was found.