Maleficent wasn’t sure what to do or what to say. But then she thought of Aurora, who had always encouraged her to speak her mind — and her heart. She could keep her emotions inside as she had always done, but what good would that do? How would that help Conall in his last moments? Breathing deep, she knelt down and took Conall’s hand in hers. Honesty it would be. “You saved my life…twice,” she said, surprised to hear her voice crack with emotion.
Conall’s mouth opened as he tried to find the breath and energy to speak. Seeing him struggle, Maleficent felt her eyes fill with tears. It was hard to believe that only days earlier, he had been a vision of strength. But while his body was weak, there was still strength in his eyes as he looked at her now. “Remember where you came from,” he said. “I have made my choice. You must make yours.”
Why? Maleficent wanted to cry. Why did you make the choice to save me? But those words wouldn’t come. “I don’t want you to die,” she said instead.
“This was always my time,” Conall said. “It’s only death.” As he spoke, he struggled to sit up. Reaching out, he cradled Maleficent’s face in his hands, gently rubbing her tearstained cheek with his thumb.
Pulling back, she eased Conall down as the last breath left his body. As it did, a blue light began to pulse from him, filling the air between them. Gasping in surprise, Maleficent inhaled the light.
The sensation was immediate. The wound in her stomach vanished as Conall’s spirit was absorbed into her body and began to spread. She felt new strength fill her muscles, and her wings extended wide, pulsating with power. Looking down, she saw green magic pooling at her fingertips, vibrating and pulsing, ready and waiting to be unleashed. Getting to her feet, Maleficent stretched, and then her eyes widened.
Like her, the Great Tree was absorbing Conall’s spirit. It was like the Tomb Blooms in the Moors, she realized. A connection between the living and the dead, a holder of all the magic fey who had passed from this world to the next. As she watched, the tree grew a new branch. Vibrant green leaves budded and matured until they were thick. Reaching out like an arm, the branch covered Conall until he faded from sight. Moments later, when the branch lifted, Conall was gone. He had become part of the tree. He was finally at peace.
Maleficent, however, was not. With her new strength came new rage. She wanted revenge. Revenge on those who had taken Conall from her and revenge on those who stood for all the sadness the Dark Fey had suffered. And now, with her strength returned, she would exact that revenge no matter what the cost.
Glancing one last time at the Great Tree, Maleficent squared her shoulders, and then, spreading her wings, she flew.
Ingrith was thrilled.
Standing in her tower, she watched through her telescope as half a dozen Dark Fey ducked and weaved, trying to evade the red shells her soldiers fired with abandon. Shouting to his warriors, the leader of the fey indicated for them to dive. They swooped down to the river and then skimmed along its surface before streaking up the face of the castle. Close to the stone wall, the soldiers were unable to get clean shots, so the fey were able to fly safely.
Or so they thought.
Ingrith smiled gleefully as the first of them flew right into her trap.
Pumping their wings, they skimmed along the wall until they reached the top. A line of decorative kites flapped in the breeze in front of them. Spotting the harmless decoration, the fey moved toward the kites.
Ingrith held her breath, waiting as they flew closer. And closer. And closer still. When they were almost upon the kites, Ingrith shouted, “Ignite!”
At her command, the soldiers fired — directly at the kites. In an instant, fuses hidden until then burst into flame. The kites turned from harmless decoration to clouds of red dust. As Ingrith watched in delight, four of the fey flew right into the dust. Immediately, they burst into water, sand, and ice. The leader barely avoided the dust himself. Letting out a scream of rage, he went at the soldiers.
But it didn’t matter. Not now. Ingrith had gotten exactly what she wanted. It was a massacre.
Turning, she moved away from the edge of the tower. Gesturing to one of the young soldiers, she asked for a status update. Gerda was still in the chapel, the soldier reported. As they spoke, Gerda was pumping the red dust over all the faeries. Many had already been transformed, and those who had not were still trapped. It was only a matter of time.
“Mother—” The sound of Phillip’s voice over the barrage of red dust surprised Ingrith. She turned and saw him standing on the other side of the tower, his hands clenched by his sides, his face a mask of disappointment and anger. “You need to stop this,” he said.
Ingrith shook her head. “We are at war,” she said.
“This isn’t a war!” Phillip snapped, all traces of patience and kindness gone from his voice. “It’s a massacre!”
If the venom hadn’t been targeted at her, Ingrith would have been impressed by Phillip’s sudden backbone. But right now, she didn’t have time for his righteousness. She needed him to understand. “These creatures stand between us and everything we deserve,” she said. “Ulstead will never flourish while they are alive…while they have what we do not. I am protecting the kingdom — and your future.”
Phillip’s eyes narrowed at her words. “What about my father? Were you protecting him?”
Ingrith bit back a snarl. Her son’s sudden show of strength had come at the most inopportune time, and she was done with it. Turning to Percival, who had silently been watching the mother and son, she gestured to Phillip. “The prince isn’t feeling well. See him to his chambers.”
With her command issued, Ingrith turned her attention back to the sky. Behind her, Percival hesitated, unsure what to do. Before he could do anything, Phillip acted. Racing to the edge of the tower, the prince leapt. Ingrith’s head whipped around as she watched her son’s body hover in mid-air for a moment. A cry started in her throat but stopped as she watched Phillip’s long arms reach out and snag the string of a passing kite. Torn free from the ramparts, it was floating up into the sky. But with Phillip’s weight it began to fall.
A moment later, Percival followed Phillip. Jumping off the edge, he grabbed hold of Phillip’s ankles. Then, as Ingrith watched, they began to fall out of sight, hurtling to the ground far below.
Ingrith sensed the other soldiers’ eyes on her, but she did not give them the satisfaction of a reaction. She couldn’t afford to back down. Not now, when victory was so close. Phillip had chosen the wrong day to become a man. As the soldiers grabbed Aurora and dragged her away from the chapel below, Ingrith watched Phillip and Percival’s fight take them toward the lawn. She let him go.
But as her gaze moved over the tower, she saw something — or rather, someone — on the horizon. A cloud of flashing green lightning was growing. Ingrith’s smile of victory faltered.
Maleficent was coming….
Chapter Seventeen
DIAVAL STRUGGLED AGAINST THE ROPES THAT BOUND HIS HANDS. THE THICK TWINE DUG INTO HIS FLESH, CAUSING IT TO STING AND BURN. BUT HE BARELY REGISTERED THE PAIN. He was too focused on the soldiers standing guard over him, their fingers resting on their weapons. They stared back at him, taking pleasure in what they thought was his pain.
After slipping out of the human line, Diaval had managed to evade the guards and soldiers long enough to make it to the chapel. His eyes widened in terror as he watched red dust, created from the Tomb Blooms that had once marked the faeries’ graves in the Moors, drift down over the trapped faerie folk. Every faerie it touched was instantly transformed into their “natural” form. Mushroom faeries became simple fungus. Dandelion faeries turned to flowers, while tree faeries grew stiff, their legs becoming roots that dug into the chapel floor. In horror, Diaval had even watched Flittle, the sweet and huge-hearted pixie, transformed into a flower bush as she tried to save the others. It had been traumatizing.