But in her travels through Perceforest, she discovered something she hadn’t expected.
The nature of humans.
Maleficent had known a few of them, of course, but, well, a vanishing few. She hadn’t really understood how desperate their lives could be. She hadn’t seen them digging in the dirt for shriveled vegetables, their faces lined and their bodies bent. She hadn’t seen hungry children, or young lovers torn apart by greed, and she hadn’t seen the cruelty neighbors inflicted on one another.
Now she alighted in trees and watched. It made her recall watching over Aurora when she was a baby, neglected by the pixies who were supposed to raise her.
It made her think of Stefan, orphaned and desperate for power.
And it made her certain that getting Aurora away from other humans was the best way to keep her safe.
But as much as she might like to, she couldn’t just drag the girl back to the Moors and keep her there. No, she had to tempt Aurora to spend more and more time among the faeries until she forgot all about the humans. And for that, Maleficent needed something extraordinary.
A palace in the Moors.
A majestic place that would make the castle in Perceforest appear like a dull pile of rubble.
Stretching out her fingers, she began to twist and shape the earth, conjuring up soil and rocks in a spiraling path up a hill. And then she moved on to the palace itself, smoothing out great boulders into walls and thickening vines into staircases. Spires rose into the air, thick with moss, green and magnificent. When she was done, there was a castle where no castle had been, all of leaves and flowers, wood and stone—a living thing, pulsing with magic.
And if a part of her hoped to make up for the hurt she’d already caused Aurora with a truly extravagant gift, if part of the structure itself felt as though it were shaped from her guilt and her fear of losing Aurora again, well, that only made it more beautiful.
Chapter 5
Aurora spent the later part of the morning and the early part of the afternoon writing letters and sending pages running to deliver them. She wrote to her castellan, commanding him to send men-at-arms and watchmen to look for the missing groom. She sent another note to her stable master, asking him to provide a description of the boy—and to verify that a horse was missing. And she got a footman to check on the silver dish.
Then she wrote to her godmother.
The other notes could be carried by messengers, but that one could not. Aurora took it up to the dovecote and found a bird she had brought from the Moors. Its wings were white, its head black. Aurora had named it Burr.
“Here you are,” she whispered to the bird as she bound the note to its leg with a gently tied loop of twine. Then she took the bird out, holding the fragile body in her hands. Beneath soft feather, she could feel the rapid beat of its heart. “Take my message straight to Maleficent.”
When she threw the bird into the air, she thought of other wings. Wings trapped by her father, King Stefan. Wings beating their way home.
By the time she was supposed to go out riding with Count Alain and the rest of the court, she was eager to be in the woods, surrounded by the comforting scents of damp earth and fallen leaves. Yet she wondered if she should cancel the outing. Somewhere in her lands, a boy was missing, and while it was entirely possible that he was riding a stolen horse to another town, she couldn’t stop thinking of his family’s pleas for her to believe better of him.
But she reminded herself that being a ruler meant not becoming distracted by every problem in her kingdom. She needed to go on the ride, because if she could show her court the beauty of the Moors, they might yield on the treaty.
It wasn’t easy to focus on the bigger picture, but she had to try.
Marjory talked her into changing her kirtle, and she put on a heavier one of deepest green with an embroidery of vines around the throat. With it, Aurora pulled on warm stockings, riding boots, and a woolen cloak trimmed in wide ribbons.
Marjory also rebraided her hair into a series of plaits that crisscrossed in the back, like the ribbons of a corset. Then, finally, Aurora was racing down to the stables, cloak flying behind her.
But just as she arrived at the stall where her dappled gray horse, Nettle, waited, she heard a familiar buzzing behind her.
Knotgrass, Thistlewit, and Flittle flew into the stables, obviously out of breath. Although the pixies had worn human guises for most of her childhood, they didn’t bother with those now and went almost everywhere carried on their small colorful wings.
“Oh, good, we caught you in time,” said Flittle, tugging on her bluebell-shaped hat.
“What’s the matter, Aunties?” Aurora asked, alarmed.
“You shouldn’t run like that,” scolded Knotgrass, wheezing a little. “Elegant ladies do not hurtle through their castles!”
“Nor do they scowl,” said Flittle at Aurora’s expression.
“And must you ride such a fierce-looking animal?” asked Thistlewit. “It just doesn’t seem safe. Isn’t there a nice rabbit that could carry you? A silky, gentle rabbit. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
“She’s too big for a rabbit,” said Flittle.
“I could make one larger,” said Thistlewit, “or shrink Aurora. Wouldn’t you like to be a bit smaller, my darling?”
Aurora, knowing their magic was erratic at the best of times, shook her head vehemently. “I like myself just the size I am. And I like rabbits just the size they are, too. Now, what is it that you’ve come to talk to me about?”
“Oh, just a very little thing,” said Flittle. “Sometimes your subjects come to us to ask about your preferences. Because of our closeness to you. Why, we think of ourselves as your most trusted counselors, and I am sure you would agree.”
Aurora knew them well enough to be sure that nothing would make them think otherwise, so she held her tongue.
Knotgrass broke in. “Just the other day, we told the cook all about your favorite dishes. Of course, I told her you love trifle, especially the kind with raspberries….”
Flittle put her hands on her hips. “And I informed Knotgrass that raspberries give you a rash.”
“Tripe,” said Thistlewit.
“Rude!” exclaimed Flittle.
“No,” said Thistlewit. “Aurora loved it. I am almost certain. I have a distinct memory—”
“My favorite food is most definitely not tripe,” said Aurora. “And I haven’t gotten a rash from raspberries since I was very small—which I no longer am, although no one seems to realize it.”
With that, she swung herself onto her horse’s back. And without another word, she rode out to join the courtiers waiting for her in the courtyard.
By the time she got there, she felt guilty. She knew the pixies meant well. She was just tired. And cranky. And overwhelmed.
“My queen!” Count Alain called at her approach. He wore a velvet jerkin. His horse was black, its coat brushed to a high shine. A bow was strapped to the side of his saddle.
Beside him was Lady Fiora, his younger sister, dressed in blush pink. She waved eagerly to Aurora as she approached, and then she turned to say something to Prince Phillip. He was astride a white horse, with a sword at his side. When he looked at Aurora with a half smile on his face, she felt lighter than she had all day.
But before she could ride to him and pour out her troubles, Lord Ortolan drew his horse beside hers.