As the women continued to chat, absently taking the treats from Aurora as though she were invisible, Aurora sighed. When she was sure that no one was paying her any mind, she slipped away.
Racing down the long, soulless hallways, she kept the tears back until she finally reached her room. She pushed open the doors, tore off her uncomfortable shoes, and rushed onto the balcony. She needed air. And silence.
But a moment later, the door opened. Fearing it was Ingrith coming to take her back, she turned. To her relief, it was Phillip. Spotting her on the balcony, he moved to join her.
“Aurora,” he said as he took in her watery eyes and sad face, “tell me, what’s troubling you?”
She didn’t answer immediately. She wasn’t sure if she could tell him the truth. But then she found her courage. After all, she was going to marry him — in a day. If she couldn’t talk to him now, what was the point?
“I’m not sure I belong here,” she finally said, her voice barely a whisper.
Phillip shook his head. “You belong with me,” he said.
She smiled. She knew he was trying to reassure her, but his words didn’t help. “Everyone’s been so kind,” she said, taking his hand to show him he was a part of that. “But I’ve only been here two days and I feel like another person.” She stopped and looked deep into Phillip’s eyes.
“I know, it’s hard….”
She shook her head, the reaction surprising both of them. “No, it’s too easy. This jewelry, my hair.” She lifted a hand to her perfectly coifed head. “Even my smile has changed. I don’t feel like queen of the Moors anymore.” As she finished, a prickle of doubt formed in her heart. Had she been wrong to tell Phillip how she felt? But then he squeezed her hand, his warm, open face full of the kindness and light she had fallen in love with in the first place. The prickle began to fade.
“I want to marry the girl I met in the forest. And only her,” Phillip said softly. He reached out and brushed a hand over the sleeve of her elaborate dress. His fingers tugged gently at the fabric, pulling at one of the gems. Looking up, his eyes twinkled with love. “You don’t have to wear these ridiculous clothes.”
The last of the prickle faded completely away as she moved into Phillip’s arms and squeezed him tightly. Of course he would understand. Of course he would know that she was stronger than the foolish women downstairs. He knew her and loved her for all she was; he always had.
But as she turned to watch Phillip leave, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at her was a stranger. An image of Maleficent, her horns covered in fabric, flashed through her mind. Who had she been to ask the Dark Fey to hide who she was? To play dress-up to make others happy?
No wonder Maleficent had gone and never returned. It was terrible to try and be someone you weren’t.
The Moors were quiet. Thick clouds had covered the sky and sent the creatures scurrying off to their beds. But while the magical creatures slept, invaders approached.
Holding up his hand, Percival signaled to the forty or so soldiers waiting behind him. At Queen Ingrith’s orders, he had found the young man who had brought the Tomb Bloom to Lickspittle in the first place. Ben had been quick to offer his assistance — as soon as he saw the nice bag of gold Gerda held up. With the boy showing them the way, Percival had led his best men to infiltrate the Moors. Their objective was to gather as many of the Tomb Blooms as possible and return — without being caught. Gerda had stiffened at the orders. The last place she wanted to go, especially at night, was the Moors. Every noise sounded suspect; every scent was troubling. She much preferred the clean and orderly Ulstead.
But Ingrith’s orders were hers to obey.
Seeing no obvious sign of danger, Percival lowered his hand, and the soldiers moved out of the trees and into a wide-open field. It was full of Tomb Blooms. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of the brilliantly colored flowers reached their petals to the moon, which had only now slipped out from behind the clouds. The white light gave the flowers an iridescent sheen and made Percival shiver nervously.
He didn’t like the light. Darkness was their friend for this mission. Beside him, Ben anxiously swung his gaze back and forth between the dark night sky and the field of Tomb Blooms.
“What if the”—he hesitated, scared even to say the words—“winged one returns?”
Gerda shook her head. “She’s gone.”
“Are you certain?” the young man pressed.
Gerda didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The boy was there to help, not ask questions. But far as she was concerned, Maleficent would never bother them again.
Chapter Twelve
SITTING IN THE CENTRAL CHAMBER OF THE NEST, MALEFICENT, VERY MUCH ALIVE, LOOKED AROUND AT THE DARK FEY GATHERED TOGETHER. THE SIGHT, THOUGH NOW MORE FAMILIAR, STILL MADE HER HEART POUND ODDLY. Spending years alone with the thought that she would never meet another of her kind had made her harder, colder. But now, as she sat drinking and eating with dozens of other Dark Fey around a roaring fire, she felt some of that hardness softening.
Conall sat beside her. He, too, was silent as he listened to the voices ebb and flow around them. Maleficent couldn’t help wondering what he was thinking about as he looked around the room. What was he thinking now, as he turned and looked at her? Was he thinking that she seemed lost? Or was he thinking that perhaps here, with them, she was found? His eyes locked on hers, and then slowly he passed her a flagon. She almost laughed at the simple nature of the gesture, which was nothing like the complexity of her thoughts.
She took a sip and then moved to hand it back to him. As she did so, the tips of their wings touched. Instantly, Maleficent pulled her wings back and adjusted on her seat. The sensation of touching someone else was foreign to her. But to her surprise, Conall did not back away.
And then searing pain tore through her. She doubled over as vision after vision bombarded her mind. She could see blades flashing in the air, men slicing through dozens of Tomb Blooms in one fell swoop. She could hear the angry, hurt screams of her kind. Instantly, the softness was gone. Her eyes flashed with fury.
“I have to go,” she said.
“What is it?” Conall asked, his voice tinged with worry.
“Humans are in the Moors,” she answered. “I feel it.” She stood, ready to fly. But Conall blocked her way.
He shook his head, then nodded toward her wound. “You’re not ready,” he said.
Maleficent was not in the mood. “Move,” she snarled.
By this time, the other fey had noticed the anger that flowed from Maleficent’s skin. Without her realizing it, green magic was pooling around her feet. Conall ignored them all as he tried in vain to calm her.
“If you go now, you will die,” he said matter-of-factly.
“Let her go, Conall.” At Borra’s voice, Maleficent turned. “Nobody can control her,” he said.
Maleficent knew what Borra was doing. It was what he had done since the moment they met: he was goading her, pushing her to release the darkness. She might have fought it before, but not now. More green magic pulsed through her and into the air. “I will not ask again,” she said, turning back to Conall.
Tension hung in the air. Then, finally, he moved aside.
Maleficent didn’t hesitate. Brushing past him, she spread her wings and lifted from the ground. In moments, she was out of the Nest and flying through the night sky. Her wound ached, but it was no match for the rage that boiled within her. She had left the Moors for only a few days and already they were in danger. Humans. Conall could say all he wanted about the power of love and the ability to change. But those were only words. Actions spoke louder. And right now, the actions of the humans were making her head scream with the voices of her ancestors’ anguish.