A townswoman with dark skin and green eyes stood up. Aurora recognized her as a worker from the buttery. “They lead you around in circles,” she said. “So you can’t find your way home even on your own land.”
“Or put you under a curse,” said a young girl with red cheeks and an abundance of curls. As she spoke, she was looking at Aurora as though she expected her to well understand the dangers of being around faeries.
“They aren’t all like that,” Aurora said, thinking of how she had said much the same thing about humans to Maleficent—and might have to say something very similar to the rest of the faeries that night.
But the townsfolk and farmers all had heard the story of Aurora’s curse; all knew she had indeed pricked her finger on the spinning wheel, knew that only True Love’s Kiss had saved her. Some of them might have fought beside King Henry.
“They’re greedy,” said a boy. “They have treasure in the Moors, and they won’t share it with us.”
Aurora looked at him sternly, wondering if he had been involved in the kidnapping of the flower faerie, if it was his friend who had been cursed with ears and a tail.
“I’ll tell you a story of what happened in my neighbor’s house,” said a farmer with a scraggly beard. “There was a girl who preferred to gossip with her sisters rather than do her chores. Well, she figured out that if she left out a bit of bread and honey, one of the faeries would milk the cows and gather the eggs and feed the pigs. But one day her brother came upon the food and, not knowing what it was for, ate the bread and honey before the faerie could get it. And do you know what that creature did? Cursed the boy, even though it wasn’t his fault! Now any milk curdles as soon as he comes near it. The lad makes good cheese, but it’s still a shame.”
“The faeries frighten us,” said a woman in a stained apron, putting her hand on the man’s arm.
“It wasn’t always that way,” said an elderly woman with a patch over her eye. Her gray hair was pulled back into a bun, and her clothes were homespun. As she stood, the room quieted.
“Nanny Stoat,” several people whispered.
“When I was a little girl, before King Henry came to the throne, we’d seek out faeries for a blessing when a child was born. Many of us would leave out food—and no silly boy would think to eat an offering placed on a threshold—for the Fair Folk are a hardworking people and bring luck with their favor. Used to be that you’d not dare to deny succor to a stranger for fear of giving offense to the ‘shining ones’—for that’s what we once called them in those simpler times.”
Aurora rose from her carved wood throne and walked to Nanny Stoat.
“What changed?” she asked.
“King Henry led us into a war,” she said, “and we forgot. The younger generations only knew the faeries as enemies. And though we have always wanted the same things—enough food in our bellies to be strong, enough warmth in the winter to be hale, and enough leisure to have joy—things are different. The nobles take our best crops and demand taxes besides. And they say they need to do it because they need to protect us from the Moors.”
“Let me try to remind you of those days,” Aurora said, an idea coming together in her mind. “I want you to be able to meet one another in peace. And get to know one another without fear. I have been preparing a treaty to help create laws—so that you don’t have to be afraid of them and they don’t have to be afraid of you….”
Aurora spotted Prince Phillip on the other side of the hall, walking down the stairs with a book tucked under his arm. He glanced in her direction but avoided meeting her eyes. There was something in his face she couldn’t interpret. Perhaps discomfort.
For the first time, she saw the motley assembly of people in her great hall through the eyes of an outsider. She took in their sunburned faces and mended clothes. Could Phillip think that speaking with them herself wasn’t a proper thing for a queen to do? That they were not worth hearing?
No, not Phillip. He couldn’t think something so terrible. He wasn’t like Lord Ortolan.
Aurora realized that she’d paused long enough for people to notice and forced herself to keep talking. “I will hold a festival for everyone,” she said, “two days hence. We will have dancing and games and food. And we will sign that treaty.”
That meant she needed to finish it. And she needed to persuade everyone it was in their best interest to abide by it.
At the mention of a festival, a ripple of excitement had gone through the crowd. A few of the young people clasped one another’s hands and began to whisper until they were shushed.
“We and the Fair Folk?” Nanny Stout asked. “Together?”
“Yes,” said Aurora. “Please come, all of you.”
Lots of voices rose then, talking over one another. There were many questions and worries, all of which she tried to address. By the time she left the great hall, she believed most of her people would come, even if it was only out of curiosity. Now she just had to convince the faeries.
And Maleficent.
Chapter 14
No matter how difficult it was sometimes for Aurora to accept that she, who had never set foot in the palace until a few months before, was now the queen of Perceforest, it was still harder to get used to the idea that she was queen of the Moors. She suspected the Fair Folk found it hard to get used to, too. They were accustomed to following Maleficent, their defender, and if they did consider Aurora to be their ruler, it was only because Maleficent had ordered it.
In the Moors, Aurora felt like a little girl.
Especially when she found herself holding up her skirts and jumping from stone to stone, giggling as she dodged mud from the wallerbogs—including the one that had escaped Count Alain’s arrow. Then she was speaking with the enormous tree sentinels and scratching under the jaw of the stone dragon. Mushroom faeries and hedgehog faeries, a little foxkin in a drooping hat, and a hob with grass growing from the top of his head all scampered out of their nests and holes.
Eventually, tired out, she rested on a patch of moss as they gathered around her.
Had these creatures, whom she had thought of as friends, truly stolen away children from Perceforest? Cursed those boys? As comfortable as she felt here, Aurora knew that didn’t mean the Moors didn’t have secrets. She knew that war had been waged on them and that they had fought back.
“I came here tonight to ask you what you think about humans,” she said.
There were a lot of frowns exchanged and some snickering.
“Yes,” she said, “I know I am a human. But I won’t get angry. I promise.”
Diaval arrived at that moment, walking out of the shadows with a small wizened faerie called Robin by his side.
“Such a human thing to promise,” said Robin, “when you can no more choose how to feel than a cloud can choose when to rain.”
“I will try not to get angry,” said Aurora.
One of the hedgehog faeries stepped forward, giggling. “I think they want our magic.”
“And our rocks,” said a water faerie, popping her head from the stream. “They want to slice them up and wear pieces of them on their arms and around their throat. Or melt them and make them into rings and crowns.”
“They smell funny,” said one of the wallerbogs, which seemed rich, coming from a creature who spent so much time in mud.
“And they’re loud,” said Balthazar, one of the border guard.