by Holly Black
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.
“What a fine idea of Count Alain’s,” he told Aurora.
Ahead, Prince Phillip said something to Lady Fiora. Her laugh rang out, and Aurora wanted nothing more than to tell Lord Ortolan to go away. It was only her memory of her rudeness to her aunties that made her bite the inside of her mouth and nod. “Yes. Indeed, I ought to go and thank—”
“You know,” Lord Ortolan said in his usual ponderous tones, “I was there when your father took his throne.”
King Stefan had done that by slicing the wings from Maleficent’s back and presenting them to Aurora’s grandfather. Aurora hated to think of it, and she hated the way Lord Ortolan’s tone made it sound as though, to him, this was a good memory.
“I was the one,” Lord Ortolan went on, “who showed him how to behave like a ruler. You know he grew up very poor, a shepherd’s son. Thanks to my tutelage, no one remarked on his humble beginnings. He presented himself as a king, and a king was all anyone saw. I can teach you the same things.”
“I am not like my father,” said Aurora, and the hardness in her tone surprised her.
“No, but you’re clever for a girl,” said Lord Ortolan. “You’ll learn quickly.”
One other thing Aurora hadn’t grown up with in the woods: men. She hadn’t gotten used to being dismissed by them, and she hadn’t had to figure out what to do in response.
Oblivious to Aurora’s vexation, Lord Ortolan went on. “Things are different for you, of course, being a young lady. The dangers are greater. That is why my advice is invaluable. For example, you may have noticed that Prince Phillip has been dangling after you. I believe he is here to win your land for Ulstead through marriage. Be wary of him.”
“Marriage?” Aurora echoed, startled out of her growing anger. “You think Phillip wants to marry me? You don’t understand—”
“There are some very eligible young men among your own people,” Lord Ortolan said. “And once you wed, you will no longer have the burden of ruling. When your father was king, Queen Leila had no matters of state to concern herself with. There are a few nobles that I could recommend….”
For a moment, Aurora understood the temptation Maleficent faced, with all the magic she possessed. If Aurora could have turned Lord Ortolan into a cat, she couldn’t swear that she wouldn’t have.
“Let me make this clear. I am the queen of Perceforest and the Moors, and I do not consider ruling them a burden.” She squeezed her legs more tightly against Nettle’s sides. The horse sped up, leaving Lord Ortolan and his annoying advice behind.
Maleficent paced back and forth across the Moors, the hem of her long black gown sweeping over mossy rocks and loam. The charcoal feathers of her wings fluttered in the wind.
Diaval, in his raven form, pecked at beetles that scuttled along at her feet, their green wings making them appear like scattered jewels.
“She’s too sweet-natured,” Maleficent said.
There was no reply from the raven.
“Are you listening?” she asked Diaval, scowling. With a flick of her hand, he became human, crouched on the ground, a beetle still in his mouth.
He got up with a sigh, crunching the bug. His hair was as black as his wings had been, and there was something inhuman in his eyes. It comforted her.
“Always, mistress,” he said, wiping a stray leg from his lower lip. “Too sweet-natured, Aurora. Terrible personality flaw, to be sure.”
That only deepened her scowl.
“She was raised by pixies,” Maleficent went on. “In the woods. She will fall prey to deception.”
“Yes, mistress. Very probably,” agreed Diaval.
“Tell me more of what you observed,” Maleficent commanded, annoyed by his unwillingness to spar with her.
Nearby, a black cat, who had once been something else entirely, was trying to climb a tree to get at a pigeon perched on the lowest branch. The cat scratched its way up the bark only to slide back down a moment later. The pigeon—the one Aurora called Burr—appeared entirely unconcerned.
“She was out riding,” said Diaval. “That boring old wiffle-waffle of an advisor was in Aurora’s ear.”
“What of the prince?” Maleficent asked.
“Riding with the men-at-arms, perhaps to evade several young ladies attempting to separate him from the herd.”
She began to pace again, her brow furrowing. “And the count who invited her?”
“As far as I can tell, they barely spoke a word to each other,” Diaval said.
“For now.” Maleficent pulled Aurora’s note from the folds of her gown and smoothed it out, perusing it once again.
Her gaze fell on the cat. Diaval had found it and persuaded Maleficent to bring it to the Moors, on the theory that it might not know how to do cat things very well yet. It seemed to her, from the way it watched him in raven form, that it was catching on perfectly well.
Her lip curled as her gaze went to the castle and her frustration mounted. “I mislike Aurora being so far away from us. Would it have been so terrible if she’d remained asleep for just a little bit longer?”
“Mistress,” said Diaval, genuine surprise on his face.
“Only a teensy bit,” Maleficent said with a pout. “Until she was twenty-five, perhaps.”
Diaval didn’t answer, but it was clear that he thought she had gone too far.
Maleficent gave a great sigh. “We will just have to make sure nothing happens to her. Now that the curse is broken, she can be protected and safe. Always.”
“Are you speaking of your, uh, flowers?” Diaval asked.
The blooms were coming along quite nicely, Maleficent thought. Every week the bushes gained a foot in height, the branches becoming denser, the stinging parts growing ever longer and sharper. Eventually, they would be the size of daggers, long enough to pierce a man’s heart. That would keep Perceforest safe, even if—according to her note—Aurora wasn’t convinced they were necessary.
Maleficent frowned. “If only she would terrify them, fill them with awe and fear. Humans love nothing that does not fill them with fear.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” he said.
She looked at him for a long moment, not sure she had heard him correctly. “And?”
“Oh, nothing,” he continued. “I suppose I’m not human.”
“No,” said Maleficent, placing her finger under his chin, her sharp nail pressing against his skin. “Nor, as you remind me regularly, would you want to be. Now, do you know what I expect of you?”
He raised a single brow. “One never can be entirely sure, mistress.”
“I expect you not to fail me,” she said, turning away fro
m him in a sweep of black cloth. She looked over her shoulder. “Or Aurora. Now let us go to her.”
Diaval blinked back at Maleficent, something of the bird still in the tilt of his head. “She is not afraid of you, either, you know. She never has been. And she is entirely human.”
Still fuming, Aurora urged her horse ahead of Lord Ortolan.
“Was he prosing on?” Lady Fiora asked, falling back to ride alongside Aurora. She glanced over her shoulder at the advisor. “The old fossil. I suppose he hopes to bore you into letting him get control of your treasury.”
“He seems more worried Prince Phillip will steal my heart,” Aurora confided with a laugh.
Lady Fiora laughed, too. “No chance of that. He’s returning home to Ulstead.”
Aurora wondered if her horse had taken a wrong step, because she experienced the curious sensation of her stomach dropping. “That’s not possible. He would have said something.”
Her companion lowered her voice to a whisper. “My maid overheard him talking with a messenger from his kingdom just today. Apparently, he is to depart within the week.”
Aurora took a deep breath, drinking in the familiar scents of the forest. The sun dappled the ground, filtering through the leaves and making shifting patterns along the forest floor. It ought to have made her feel better, but all she could think about was Phillip’s leaving.
Somehow she’d imagined things would go on exactly the way they were.
But of course, that was impossible. His parents must have missed him. And he had duties back home, perhaps even including an obligation to a marriage, as Lord Ortolan suggested—just not one to her.
“Don’t you love it out here?” she forced herself to say, her voice brittle.
Lady Fiora looked around. “I don’t mind being in the forest with a large party, but I worry over sounds. There could be bears. Or adders. Or faeries.”
Aurora considered telling Lady Fiora that bears and snakes would run the other way from all this human noise, but she wasn’t sure Lady Fiora would find that at all reassuring.
“The faeries won’t hurt you,” Aurora attempted.
Lady Fiora gave Aurora a strange look but didn’t contradict her. One didn’t contradict a queen.
“And there are lots of wonderful things in the woods,” Aurora went on, steering her horse toward a wild blackberry patch. She leaned down and plucked a few ripe berries, then held them out to Lady Fiora, who she knew had a sweet tooth. “See?”
Lady Fiora’s delicate nose wrinkled. “Uncooked fruit? That’s sure to make you ill.”
Count Alain rode up beside them, catching sight of the bounty in Aurora’s hand.
“How enterprising,” he said. “Perhaps we can bring those to the kitchen. I am sure the cook would be charmed.”
The palace cook sent up no fruit or vegetable that wasn’t thoroughly stewed or braised or baked into a pie. Aurora had previously supposed that was to show off the skills of the kitchen, not that the nobles believed that eating fruits and vegetables raw would do them harm. Aurora had spent her childhood devouring raw berries, often going home with her hands and mouth stained by them, and no harm had come to her.
She popped the blackberries into her mouth, to the astonishment of her companions.
“Someday soon I hope to convince you to visit my family estates,” Count Alain said, recovering from the shock. “I can see that you have a great appreciation for the outdoors, and my own little corner of Perceforest is quite rustic.”
“You must miss being home,” Aurora said to Count Alain, but it was of Phillip she was really thinking.
“And yet it is hard for me to tear myself from your side,” he said with a smile. “The only solution is for us to go together. There are rivers choked with fish. Woods ripe with game. And, of course, iron mines—the richest in all Perceforest.”
Aurora repressed a shudder. It wasn’t Count Alain’s fault that his part of the kingdom produced iron, which was poisonous to faeries. Iron was useful in other ways. Pots and wagons and barrels all had iron.
“Those mines are the source of my family’s wealth. It has allowed us to construct an estate that I hope will meet with your approval. We have imported orange trees from the south and keep them warm by growing them indoors.”
Before Count Alain could go into more detail about the splendors of his estate, Prince Phillip’s horse trotted up alongside Aurora’s steed.
“I hate to interrupt,” Phillip said, “but I think I may have found a vantage point. We’re very close to the place where you were crowned, in the Moors, aren’t we?”
She remembered that day, remembered her aunties bringing her the crown and Maleficent declaring her the queen who would unite the two kingdoms. She had taken the bark-covered hand of one of the tree warrior sentinels when she’d noticed Phillip was among the faeries, with his gaze on her and a soft smile on his face. Her heart had beat so hard that she’d felt something a little like panic.
That was before she knew about the kiss.
He’s not the one for you, Thistlewit had said later that night. If he couldn’t wake you, then he’s not your true love. Such a pretty boy as that, he probably loves himself a little too well to have room to love anyone else.
At first it had stung to hear that, but later it was a relief. After all, if Phillip didn’t love her, then it was okay to tell him embarrassing things. It was okay to be honest. It was okay to be totally herself.
“Yes,” Aurora said. “Very close.”
“You have been in the Moors before, Prince Phillip?” Lady Fiora asked. “You must be very courageous.”
That earned her a swift glare from her brother.
“Not at all,” Phillip said. “It’s an extraordinary place. There are plants growing there that I’ve never seen before, roses in colors I don’t have the words to name. And everything is alive. Even the rocks move. All the leaves in a tree might take flight and only then would you realize you were in the middle of a swarm of faeries.”
Aurora had never heard a human describe the Moors so beautifully.
Lady Fiora was staring at Prince Phillip as though she thought him even braver than before. “I would have fainted if I saw half those things. But I trust you would have caught me.”
Aurora rolled her eyes. Prince Phillip looked flummoxed by her flirtation. “I suppose I would have tried.”
“If we’re so close and you like them so well, perhaps you should explore the Moors again now,” Count Alain said testily. “That is, if Aurora will let you.”
Phillip laughed. It was a kind laugh—kind enough to draw the sting from Count Alain’s words. “Well, I was wondering if we could see into them from up there. Since Aurora brought us all here to get a look.” He pointed up the hill. There seemed to be a ledge of stone above them, but it meant riding through an area that was both off the path and thick with fir trees.
Aurora steered her horse up the hill with a mischievous grin. “I believe we can. Let’s scout ahead.” Phillip followed her.
“Where are you going?” Lady Fiora called after them.
“To see the Faerie Land!” Prince Phillip called back.
Lady Fiora hesitated, looking at her brother. Count Alain glowered.
Aurora saw Lord Ortolan sitting astride his horse and, despite herself, remembered his warning: He is here to win your land for Ulstead.
But he wasn’t. Phillip was going home. And he hadn’t even told her.
He would go back to his own country and eventually marry a noblewoman there. And while they would always be friends, his life would probably grow busier. He would have less time to spare. She would be less and less a part of his life. The more she thought, the more inevitable it seemed, and the more heartsick she grew.
A little way up the hill, Phillip stopped his horse.
Where the Moors began, the landscape changed. Crystal pools of bright blue water washed around tall pillars of stone, and small rocky islets dotted lakes. The trees were wrapped in brigh
t vines of vibrant green. And Aurora could see clouds of what appeared to be butterflies blow across the sky. Wallerbogs scuttled along the banks. Mushroom faeries peeped out at them from behind rocks while water faeries leaped from the depths, their glowing blue bodies shining in the sunlight.
Yes, this would be a perfect spot to bring her court.
“I wish we could leave the other riders and go swimming,” Prince Phillip remarked.
Aurora laughed. “Lord Ortolan’s heart would stop.”
“And we know Lady Fiora would faint,” he returned, “especially when I dunked you under a lily pad.”
Aurora shoved his shoulder. “You wouldn’t dare dunk me!”
“You’re free to consider it an act of war from a neighboring kingdom,” he said.
She opened her mouth to give some reply when the words struck her. A neighboring kingdom. His kingdom.
“Phillip,” she began, “is it true—”
But before she could ask, shouts came from the men-at-arms. Phillip and Aurora shared a glance, and then both started back down the hill.
Halfway there, she spotted a raven wheeling through the air. A very familiar raven.
What was Diaval doing?
When she got to the bottom of the hill, she found her men-at-arms surrounding a large bush. Their weapons were drawn.
She thought of the missing boy, Simon. Could he have just gotten lost in the woods?
“Wait!” she cried, jumping down from her horse’s back. “Whatever you have trapped there, don’t hurt it.”
Phillip was beside her in an instant, his sword drawn.
“It’s no beast or faerie, Your Majesty,” said one of the men-at-arms with a smirk.
Another stuck a pole arm into the bush. A howl went up—a very human howl.
“Stop!” Aurora said. “That’s cruel.”
The soldiers looked rebellious, apparently unsure whether to obey. After a moment, they drew back from their quarry.
A man crawled out of the bushes, carrying a brace of rabbits close to his chest. He had a scraggly beard, and his ragged clothing hung on him. He looked around at the riding party, staring openmouthed at Aurora, then took off running.