“Your Majesty,” Lickspittle said, relieved when he saw the pleasure on the queen’s face, “I have plenty of iron powder for my formula, but I’ll need Tomb Blooms from the Moors. Lots of them.”
Ingrith nodded, her eyes still fixed on the dandelion stalk in her hand. “You’ll have all that you need.”
She didn’t care what it took. Lickspittle would have his supplies. Because now, after all these years of planning, she finally had it: the key to destroying all faerie kind.
And soon she would be able to use it.
Chapter Eleven
MALEFICENT FELT TERRIBLE.
DAYS HAD PASSED AND HER WOUND CONTINUED TO FESTER. SHE HAD THOUGHT THAT BEING SURROUNDED BY OTHERS OF HER KIND WOULD HELP, THAT THEY MIGHT KNOW A WAY TO TREAT HER INFECTION. But the iron was too powerful. Too human.
Standing in the infirmary, she tried to be patient as one of the healing fey pressed and prodded at her wound. Pain radiated through her body to the tips of her fingers. Reflexively, she bared her fangs. The fey treating her was unbothered.
“How are you feeling?”
At Conall’s voice, Maleficent turned. Slowly, she lifted her wings, stretching them so that they nearly touched the far walls. “Strong enough to fight,” she answered, forcing her voice to sound firm even though that simple effort had been enough to nearly send her to her knees. She didn’t want Conall to think her weak.
The past few days had been spent discussing and planning for the wedding — though not in the way she had imagined when Aurora first told her about the engagement. Then Maleficent had actually hoped to spend no time discussing it. She had hoped simply to tell Aurora no and be over with the whole mess. But Aurora had said yes to that ridiculous proposal. And now Maleficent wasn’t speaking to Aurora at all, let alone about a wedding.
With Borra, the talks were not about whether the marriage should happen; instead, they spoke of battle strategy. And with Conall, it was always about hope and the possibility of reconciliation. But it didn’t matter whom Maleficent spoke to or listened to. Seeing the young fey — stuck inside the Nest due to fear of the humans outside — watching them learn to fly…it had been a turning point. She was going to fight, no matter the cost.
Conall was silent for a moment after Maleficent’s declaration. She felt his eyes heavy on her. Finally, he nodded. “But when you get inside the castle?” he asked. “When you see her? Will you be strong enough then?”
As he spoke, he moved closer. Maleficent reached out and grabbed his arm, about to tell him to leave her alone. But she hesitated when she felt the ridged flesh beneath her fingers. She looked down. Conall’s arms were riddled with burn marks. “Were you a warrior?” she asked. She had assumed he was, despite his opposition to Borra’s warlike attitude.
He nodded, his eyes darkening. “For a long time,” he answered. “But no more.”
“What changed?” Maleficent asked.
“You,” he answered.
This surprised Maleficent, and she cocked her head in confusion. He smiled slightly before going on. “And Aurora. You showed me a different way.”
Maleficent dropped his arm. That again. Conall’s fascination with her relationship with Aurora was getting old. That was in the past. “I told you that was a mistake.”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t a mistake,” he said. “It was a choice. Your choice.”
She exhaled deeply. Conall was infuriating. Time and again, he told Maleficent that she should not fight. When Borra had said destroy, Conall had said forgive. He made it clear that she should stay out of the fight and repair her relationship with Aurora. Still, he insisted Maleficent get better. Raising an arm, she gestured around the infirmary and then pointed at her wound. “Why do you want me strong if you don’t want me to fight?” she asked.
Conall didn’t answer right away. The room became quiet as he gazed at Maleficent. Finally, he gave her the smallest of smiles. “Maybe I’m preparing you for a bigger fight,” he answered. Then he left the room.
Maleficent watched him go, her mind racing. Just when she had begun to believe there was nothing left to feel, she had an annoying itch growing in her heart. And it was all Conall’s fault.
• • •
Aurora felt ridiculous. She had been dancing — or rather, attempting to dance — for hours around Castle Ulstead’s ballroom while Ingrith looked on and Gerda, the queen’s aid, played a wedding waltz. Her feet felt like rocks, and her stomach was roaring. She just wanted to sit down and have a snack.
But every time she and Phillip slowed their steps, or Aurora tripped, Ingrith would clap her hands and call, “Again.” Aurora felt as though the torture would never end. She had a brief flicker of hope when she made it through an entire waltz without a mistake. But the hope vanished when she saw Ingrith hold up a pair of high heels. “Again,” Ingrith called out. So again Aurora and Phillip started to sway — only this time, Aurora wore the most painful footwear she had ever encountered.
Finally, though, it seemed Ingrith was satisfied. Nodding to Gerda, the queen allowed the music to stop. Aurora’s shoulders sagged and she looked longingly at one of the chairs. But before she could sit, Ingrith was whisking her back to her dressing chamber to be primped and pampered for afternoon tea.
As Aurora followed her, she tried to stay positive. She had known that agreeing to a wedding in three days would mean things would be rather rushed. But she had never imagined how busy she would be — nor how much she would miss Maleficent and the Moors. Every minute of the past two days had been filled with fittings and teas and consultations and dance lessons. The only time she had seen Phillip was when they were practicing their waltz, and even then Ingrith had always been present. The couple hadn’t been able to talk, and she desperately needed a confidant. Despite her knowing Maleficent was gone, there was still a piece of Aurora that hoped she was wrong — and that her godmother would appear and fix everything, sending it all back to normal.
But she was no longer a child. She knew most dreams did not come true.
Now Aurora found herself sitting with the queen and a collection of noblewomen. Ingrith had told her they were the ladies to impress. If they gave their stamp of approval, all of Ulstead would follow. Shifting on her chair, Aurora kept a smile plastered on her face as the women around her spoke. Her hair was done up in an elaborate coif that mirrored Ingrith’s, and the dress she wore was conservative, tight, and gray, a hand-me-down from the queen herself. If Maleficent did come back, Aurora thought, she probably wouldn’t even recognize me.
Noticing that one of the noblewomen needed more tea, Aurora smoothly stood and filled the cup. Everyone watched, as if hoping she might spill. But when the tea was poured neatly, they all nodded.
“Your Majesty,” one of them said, “she’s absolutely lovely.”
“And to think of how she was raised,” another said, as though Aurora were not right next to her. “By the same evil witch who cursed her.”
Aurora felt her face flush. How dare they? They had no idea what her childhood was like. She had enjoyed a wonderful childhood because of, not in spite of, Maleficent. Taking a deep breath, she held up a tray of sweets, hoping to change the subject. “Tarts?” she asked, making her voice as sickly sweet as the desserts themselves.