But as Knotgrass began giving a contestant another riddle, Lady Sabine walked onto the stage, dragging Prince Phillip along behind her. Aurora’s stomach lurched and her heart raced.
“What is he doing here?” Lord Ortolan whispered to her.
Aurora shook her head at him and turned to listen to Knotgrass.
I am a trickster who conceals the truth
To the delight of the young and old.
I am the father of puzzles and the daughter of poems.
Solve me by speaking the name of what confounds you.
Baron Nicholas, whose turn it was, stared at Knotgrass in confusion. As the seconds passed, the crowd began to jeer. The skin of his neck got red and he looked mulish. Then he strode angrily from the stage.
John’s turn came next. He guessed a jester, but that wasn’t the answer, so he got jeered at in turn. Then came Jack and Mark, neither of whom had any guesses at all.
For a moment there was silence.
Then Phillip spoke. “A riddle.”
He was met with cheers even before Knotgrass confirmed that he was correct.
But Phillip didn’t appear pleased that he’d given the answer. And he didn’t meet Aurora’s gaze. In fact, he didn’t resemble his usual kind and affable self at all. He seemed like a stranger to her.
“I didn’t know you were engaged in this game,” Count Alain said to him, not quite quietly enough that they wouldn’t be overheard.
Phillip made a nonchalant shrug. “Nor did I. But Lady Sabine insisted on my not missing it.”
Lady Sabine seemed to be extremely pleased with herself. No doubt she thought she had done her queen a good turn.
Aurora wasn’t sure what to feel. There was a part of her that wanted to run from the stage, go off by herself, and weep, but she wasn’t sure what she had to be sad about.
Who cried because a handsome prince she cared about told her that he loved her?
But she’d been afraid. And she’d hurt him because she was afraid.
And now her best friend was angry with her and it was entirely her fault.
At three contestants, the elimination process slowed down. Riddle after riddle was asked and answered.
On and on they went. Round after round.
I was before the world began
And will remain when it is gone.
You may make much of me
Or squander me,
But you will not call me back
Once I am lost.
Time.
What force and strength cannot get through,
I with a gentle touch can do;
And many in the streets would stand
Were I not, as friend, at hand.
A key.
I am a nimble creature
Who skips from tree to tree.
My tail is my glory.
Like the ant, I store for winter
In the knot of my treasury.
A squirrel.
Robin dropped out first, with a grin at Aurora that suggested he knew the answer but was going to cede the field to Phillip. She suspected he’d only entered the contest to keep Count Alain from dancing with her. Shooting an arrow into the Moors had really turned the faeries against him.
“This could be the final riddle,” Flittle said, to the cheers of the audience. They’d enjoying watching the game thus far, and now that they had the promise of seeing at least one more of the nobility made a fool of, their enjoyment kicked up a notch.
“I have one,” Lady Fiora said.
“No,” Aurora told her firmly. “Since it’s the final riddle, I ought to be the one to ask it.”
Lady Fiora and Count Alain exchanged glances. Aurora took a steadying breath. She didn’t like the idea of opening the dancing with Count Alain, since he could not be relied upon to be welcoming to the faeries.
Yet dancing with him would certainly be less fraught than dancing with Prince Phillip.
But Phillip had been dragged onstage by Lady Sabine; it wasn’t like he was demanding anything of Aurora after his confession. And he was her friend. Maybe if she signaled to him that they were still friends, she could apologize for how she’d behaved after the banquet and they could forget about everything that had been said. Friendship was safe. If they could get back to that, they would be safe again, too.
“The answer I give is no, but it means yes. Now what is the question?” Aurora asked Prince Phillip.
He looked her directly in the eye.
“I do not know, Your Majesty,” he said.
The crowd was shouting and Count Alain was eagerly answering, but all the noise seemed to come from very far away. She couldn’t focus on any of it. All she could see was Phillip turning away from her and walking off the stage.
Chapter 20
Maleficent arrived with her company of faeries as the sun began to dip toward evening. She wore a formidable gown of black velvet and silk, with tattered edges on her wide skirts. Diaval was on her arm, in black velvet and silver. A cuff hung from his ear, swinging back and forth in time with his gait.
Just walking onto the castle grounds gave her a deep sense of unease. The place absolutely stank of iron—so much so that even after Aurora’s efforts at removing it, she couldn’t help noticing the scent with a shudder. It brought back the sense memory of her skin blistering, of her helplessness when bound in its chains. It brought back the pain of her missing wings. It brought back the brutal satisfaction of standing in front of the first human she’d ever loved and finally finding a way to hurt him as badly as he had hurt her. And it brought back her standing over Aurora’s sleeping body and knowing that the person she loved best might never wake.
Maleficent tried to shake off all of that. Aurora had created the festival to unite her kingdoms, and Maleficent was determined to frighten as few humans as possible.
And she had to admit the festival itself was quite charming.
Humans were everywhere, both those dressed in finery and those in homespun. The tables outside the castle were full. There were tureens of soups and elderberry jam–filled pastries in the shapes of angels and goblins, moons and towers, wolves and mermaids. There were cakes dusted with gold flakes and dotted with edible flowers. There were jellies and crèmes in jewel colors, molded into improbably tall and slightly wobbly shapes. There were fruits made of marzipan and rolled in sugar so that they shone in the candlelight.
And there was a riot of flowers everywhere—familiar flowers. Maleficent scowled. They were the work of Flittle, Thistlewit, and Knotgrass, she was certain. They adored their own wing colors so much they matched not only their clothing to them, but absolutely everything else. She could even see where they’d been fighting with one another: some daisies became peonies halfway across a single bloom.
A wicked smile turned up the corners of her mouth. It would be a small thing to unify the decorations. She flicked her fingers in the air, sending out sparks of magic.