With renewed determination, Aurora paced back and forth. The Dark Fey were powerful. But they couldn’t defeat Ingrith on their own. She had to help them stop Ingrith and save her people. But how?
Then her eyes landed on the long train of Ingrith’s wedding dress—the one Aurora was supposed to wear that day. It was still on the dress form, and an idea began to take shape. Aurora moved toward the dress, lifting the train in her hands and tugging at it. The fabric was strong. It could work….
She raced to the bed, pulled off the linens, and began to tie them together. When she ran out of sheets, she tied the ends to the wedding dress train. Tying that to the bedpost, she paused, eyeing the now extensive length of homemade rope. I’m sure this is not what Ingrith had in mind when she gave me her dress, Aurora thought, allowing herself a small smile.
Satisfied that everything was in order, Aurora dragged the rope to the window. Using the sheets to protect her hand, she beat her fist against the glass over and over until the window broke with a loud smash. As glass shattered and fell to the floor, Aurora threw the rope out the window and let it dangle. Then she ran back toward the door to her room.
A moment later, just as she had anticipated, the guards rushed in. Spotting the rope, they raced to the window and looked out. They assumed that Aurora had climbed out and escaped. But they were wrong. Distracted by the broken window and wedding dress rope, they didn’t notice Aurora slipping through the open door. They were confused about Aurora’s whereabouts until they heard the door slam and the lock click into place.
Now they were trapped and Aurora was free.
But not for long. Racing down the long hallway, she spotted four more guards moving toward her. Her head spun as she looked for an escape. It seemed her only option was another window. Through an open pane, she could see her makeshift rope hanging. Taking a deep breath, she ran—and jumped. Her legs and arms pumped in the air as she reached for the rope. Her fingers connected with the fabric, and she clutched it as she dangled for a moment, her body swaying back and forth. Above, she heard a loud screech as the bed, which the rope was still tied to, began to move, pulled forward by her weight.
The screeching got louder. Aurora gulped. It was only a matter of time before the bed would slide across the room. And when it crashed against the wall, she was going to plummet to her death. Frantically, Aurora began to pump her legs, swinging her body like a pendulum.
She dropped farther as the bed slid a few more feet across the room. Now she was dangling in front of another window. If she didn’t figure out a way off the rope soon, she would die. She heard the organ playing in the chapel far below. And then came the sounds of faeries screaming. It felt like a nightmare. Aurora grew more frantic. She had to get to her people. Pumping her legs harder, she swung faster and faster until, with a crash, she smashed through the closest window.
Her feet landed on the carpeted floor of the king’s royal chambers. As she tried to catch her balance, her arms thrashed wildly. She was just about to fall back out the window when a hand reached out and steadied her. Looking up, she found herself staring into Phillip’s warm eyes.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Aurora didn’t get a chance to answer. A loud boom rocked the room. Looking out the broken window, she saw the Dark Fey approaching the castle. They swooped and dove through the air as Percival and a dozen other soldiers fired at them from the queen’s tower.
For a moment, Aurora was speechless. She had never before seen anything so beautiful in her life. The Dark Fey looked like huge birds of myth with their wings outstretched. Some were brilliantly colored, while others were duller, more the colors of sand and stone. Some had large horns, while others’ were smaller, tighter to their heads. But all of them had one thing in common. “They look just like her,” Aurora said, finally finding her voice. Scanning the sky, she strained to see if her godmother was among them. But Aurora did not see Maleficent. Her chest heaved.
Phillip had been silent, too, as he watched the Dark Fey come closer. He pointed at the winged creatures. “Maleficent is starting a war!” he cried. “First my father, and now this.”
Aurora heard the anguish in Phillip’s voice and felt for him, but he was wrong. She didn’t say anything but simply looked on as Percival’s soldiers fired more crossbows. The ammunition, which she couldn’t quite make out, appeared to be a red shell of sorts. It flew and slammed into one of the fey. In horror, she watched as the Dark Fey exploded, transforming from a solid shape into water. Then another fey was hit, and turned to dust.
Ingrith’s weapon. This had to be it. Aurora’s face paled as she once again remembered the Tomb Bloom Phillip had held in his hand. He’d said Ingrith had given it to him. She must have weaponized the flowers and was now using the red powder against the faeries and the Dark Fey. As the Dark Fey began to break formation, some diving toward the center of the town, while others tried to get closer to the queen’s tower, Aurora turned from the window. She saw that Phillip was moving to leave, eager to stop the war he did not understand.
“It’s not Maleficent,” Aurora said, finally giving voice to her thoughts. “Phillip, she never cursed him. It was your mother. I’m sorry.”
Phillip opened his mouth to protest but stopped as he heard more screams from outside. His shoulders sagged. “What are you saying?” he asked softly, as if he knew the answer but needed to hear it anyway.
“It was the spindle,” Aurora said, her heart aching as she watched Phillip’s face fall. “The curse is still in it.” With the sounds of war still waging outside, Aurora moved into the center of the chamber, to where King John lay on his bed. Gently, she lifted his arm and pulled back his sleeve. “Your mother used it against your father. Look,” she said, nodding to the small, barely noticeable red mark on the king’s upper arm.
Phillip’s eyes grew wide in pained understanding. “They’re the same,” he said.
Aurora could do nothing but nod. She saw Phillip’s thoughts play out on his face as he moved from disbelief to anger to grief and back to anger. She didn’t want him to hurt, but she needed him by her side. Now more than ever. Pulling him back to the window, Aurora pointed to the chapel far below. “She’s locked the Moor folk inside!” Her voice became more frantic as she thought about what was happening—probably at that very moment—to her people. “This isn’t a wedding.” She stared into Phillip’s eyes, willing him to believe. “It’s a trap.”
Slowly, Phillip reached out his hand and squeezed Aurora’s. Her breath hitched. “We have to stop her,” he said.
Aurora exhaled. Then she gave Phillip a determined nod. “Go!” she said. She didn’t have to tell him where. He knew. He had to find his mother. “I’m going to the chapel.”
Together, they rushed for the door. All Aurora could do now was hope they weren’t too late.
THERE WASN’T MUCH TIME LEFT. MALEFICENT KNEW THAT AS SHE LOOKED DOWN AT CONALL. HIS BODY WAS FADING, HIS BREATHING MORE RAGGED. For a few brief moments, he seemed to rally, and Maleficent allowed herself the smallest sliver of hope that perhaps he would surprise them all and fight through the wounds.
But then he weakened again. The others, sensing the end was close, said their good-byes and left Maleficent and Conall alone. The room was silent now and oddly cozy—despite the fact that Conall lay dying in front of the Great Tree.
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 whil
e 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….
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.
And then Aurora had arrived, and hope had flared.
“Aurora…” Diaval said, grabbing the girl and pulling her into a tight hug. He felt her thin arms wrap tightly around him and for a moment, they just clung to each other, as on the other side of the door, the faeries screamed out for help.
“We need to get them out,” she cried, pulling free. Frantically, she began to tug at the door.
Distracted, Diaval didn’t hear the soldiers until it was too late. Rough hands grabbed at him, pulling him back and away from Aurora.
“Unhand him!” Aurora cried.
In response, another pair of soldiers grabbed her.
Diaval thrashed and struggled. But it was no use. In a flash, the soldiers threw themselves on him. Their heavy, smelly bodies covered him as he flaile
d about, trying to find freedom and fresh air. The soldiers’ uniforms and the flash of metal from their weapons surrounded him.
Suddenly, a loud bellow broke through the din of the soldiers’ attack. To Diaval’s surprise, the noise was coming from him. Looking down, he saw that he no longer had the weak, long-fingered hands of a human but the massive pads of a black bear. Letting out another roar, he rose on all fours. The soldiers went flying as Diaval began to bat them away like they were nothing more than bugs.
Diaval heard more screaming behind him. And he knew why. His transformation had made it clear enough, but Aurora’s words confirmed it.
As Aurora looked up at the sky, a smile broke over her frightened face. “Maleficent,” she said.
Diaval reared back and let out another roar. Everyone was going to pay.
Turning, he shook off the last of the soldiers and then slammed into the chapel doors. The wood splintered as easily as a toothpick. The faerie folk who had escaped the transformation began to stream out of the chapel and race to safety. Diaval would make sure they were safe. She was sure of that. But it was up to Maleficent to take care of the rest.
Maleficent’s giant wings flapped powerfully as she flew closer to Ulstead. The rage that had begun as she watched Conall’s life fade had strengthened during her journey over the water. Now, as she arrived at the border to the kingdom, she was seething. Green magic burst from her in powerful shock waves, knocking down anything and anyone that fell in its path.
Getting closer, she waved her hands, opening a huge hole in the earth in front of the castle. Soldiers standing guard fell into the abyss with screams. Another wave of her fingers and a tornado dropped from the sky, sucking up still more soldiers. In vain, the men fired at her, trying to take her down. But Maleficent was too high and too fast. She easily evaded them.
As the parapets came into view, gleaming white, she laughed at the irony. The queen who called the palace her home had a heart that was dark and smoldering—the furthest thing from pure white. Her castle should be dark and smoldering as well, Maleficent thought. She allowed herself a smile. She would see to that—soon.
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