Now there was no freedom and no time limit on the spell, because of the lightning in the plant and so the king had no way of retrieving his throne. Shown great kindness by the king, they hastily fused together a caveat. Love could undo this and the lands would be returned to the king. In order to ensure that this would be completed, though, the king had to act quickly. Taking pity on the king who had helped them, the elves fashioned a disguise and sent him with a horse to the wilds of the forest. On the other side of the silver lake, stood a palace. Inside were two princesses, one just born and the other barely a year old. They would make a fine match for the young hidden prince. All the king had to do was bind his son to one of them and then wait until the prince and the princess grew up and were married. Then all would be returned to how it was before. But, and the elves were clear on this, if love were not served and this union was severed, the kingdom would forever fall and the prince's life would be in danger. They had done this, not out of hostility, but because they had learned the folly of their way and they knew what it meant for greed to overtake action. In this manner, the king would never be able to marry his son off advantageously to another and risk breaking the bond of true love that was within the elves' devised contract. If he did, his son would die.
And so you see, the elves do not trust the humans because the elves themselves have not yet forgiven themselves for their terrible action. It is why we now hide within the forest. We banished ourselves from the kingdom.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Philip
“I'm sorry. I tried to read the poem. It was supposed to work to wake your sister. But it didn't.”
“What poem?”
“Just some stupid words, I've a pocketful of promises that I have from you. Some have been fulfilled. Some are waiting to come true...”
“I thought you said it didn't work,” Midnight said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He stopped mid-phrase and looked at her. She was glowing, not internally, but as though a confetti of light had poured over her head. Philip stared at her, blinded by the beauty of the moment.
“It's like magic,” she said, as he continued to stare.
“Not like magic,” he said gently, “it is magic. Elf magic.”
He looked at her, held captive by the light, by the illumination of the truth and he didn't dare hope that it could mean what he thought it did.
“This will only work on the people that it's meant for.”
“How will we know if it works?”
“You'll know.”
The words of the elf danced through his head, tumbling through his heart.
“What's happening?”
Philip spoke softly, hesitantly, “Do you trust me?”
She nodded, as the light continued to flow between them.
“Fedderlin, the elf, said that this would only work if it were meant to, if the people were drawn together. He told me that it was my job to wake Aurora, but it didn't work when I read it to her. Nothing happened until now.”
“We're supposed to be together, then? Is that what this means?” Midnight said.
Philip nodded, the flurry of his heart drowning out her words.
She was elated and yet sadness tore at her heart.
“But, what about Aurora? This was meant to save her, meant to wake her.”
Philip blinked, thinking, and then nodded slowly.
“Yes. I thought that I was going to lose you in order to free her. But if this was meant for us and never for her...”
His words trailed off. He looked at Midnight's face now. Even as the light continued to swirl around her, the joviality of its translucence had drained from her face.
“How will we ever wake my sister?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Edora
She insisted on making things right. If Fedderlin's story had taught Edora anything, it was that she mustn't give up, that she had to make amends. Wrapping herself in her cloak, she turned back toward the castle.
As she walked, the snow burned under her feet. The drifts caught her eyes in a blinding white display. Flakes began to fall on her. She'd brought no cloak, not having stopped for one in her dash from the palace.
As she darted through the forest, her image flickered. Behind the pine, she was Edora the girl. Now behind the oak, she morphed into Edora the deer. There was no explanation, other than time. The snow was falling, the last of Aurora's roses were being buried under the weight of winter. Edora didn't think of any of this, though. She ran. She ran without stopping, because she had caused a terrible misfortune to overcome the castle. A deer was not supposed to become a person, to be in a library, to fall in love and to undo the stability of the palace. None of this was what was supposed to happen. And yet, this is exactly what happened.
It was her fault, all of it.
She heard the arrow, before she saw it. A swish ripped through the air, grazing the space between her hair and ear. The surprise knocked her to the ground. Splayed on the snow, pools of red spread from her. She'd been hit! The freezing temperatures had numbed the pain. Edora had been oblivious to it all, but not to this.
Through the thicket of trees, she saw the figure approach. Darting from tree to tree, she saw the shadow of the hunter. Not since the morning after her transformation, had she feared this figure. He stalked the woods, his nostrils flared toward her and she was certain that she'd seen him before. Half-slouching, half-creeping, she saw an animal, wild and intent to follow her. Edora had never been tracked before, not like this. Yes, she'd run from the hunter before, but running had been the shorter part of fleeing. She'd hidden. That was all that Edora had done. There was safety in hiding, in remaining out of the way, where one couldn't be harmed and where one could cause no trouble.
A flash of arrows erupted over her, like a comet's tail. They punctured the snow around her and an ooze of mud spewed from the wounds of the earth. Flattened against the snow, Edora stretched her hand toward an arrow. If she could only free it from the ground's icy grip, then there was a sliver of hope. She had no bow to fling her arrow forward with, but at least she was armed if she were approached. So much hinged on that possibility. There was, of course, the likelihood that this spew of arrows would splay around her.
The second arrow pierced her skin, just above her shin. It was exposed from her crouched position as she reached for the arrow.
“Stop!” she cried out, “I'm unarmed. Please, help me.”
Young Edora the deer would never have been bold enough to say such a thing, assuming she had the ability to speak. Her flickering identity solidified slightly as she said it.
Bravery. A sign of beauty. Perhaps, it wasn't too late. A girl would not be hunted down. A girl could harm, but was not harmed. That was her experience with life. It seemed to make sense. But was it worth the sacrifice? Was it worth betraying the good of others for her own? Again, she felt her structure solidify.
She held her head up and tried to stand. Pushing her way up from the snow, it burned against her hands. She shivered as she stood there.
Half-man, half-lion, he stalked her. His eyes glowed yellow, like the harvest moon.
“Please, I only wanted to do what was right. I only wanted to do what was good. Why do you hunt me?”
“Because I am the hunter and you are the prey.”
His voice was raspy, coming at her with the tongue of a viper, though he was no snake.
“I do not understand.”
“You tricked me,” he said, stepping nearer.
“What are you talking about?”
She knew that she had made many mistakes, but she hadn't expected this. What had she ever done to this man or this mountain lion, this creature?
“I thought you were fully human and I needed your heart to make my transformation perfect,” he said, stepping nearer.
“You,” she said. She was not fully surprised, for the hunter had always been her enemy as the deer. What did confuse her, frighten her even though, was that she real
ized that she had run from him in many forms. She remembered seeing his slinking body, traipsing through the forest. His humanity was peeling away from her, as he leaped at her now. He tumbled over her, more cat than man. As though she were only a mouse, he took her in his giant paws. He leaned into her, his breath hot on her body, sizzling against her skin. She remembered when he had kissed her, fully human, how empty that kiss had been. As he bent to her now, she felt the aliveness of his body. He wrapped her in his cloak, which was turning to fur, and she felt the iciness ease away from her skin.
“Why do you want to hurt me?” she said again.
“I don't want to hurt you. You were supposed to save me. If you loved me, a human with a full heart, then I would be fully human, no longer half beast.”
She shook her head and a wave of pain went through her. He caught sight of her wound now and looked at his paw in horror as the red of her blood emanated out.
“I didn't mean to hit you. I only wanted to stop you.”
He said it with such gentleness that she was certain all that she had thought was no longer true.
An arrow pierced the air. In that moment, the man who had been the hunter, dissipated in the background. In his place stood only the animal, ravenous, wild, and in that precise second, injured. Yes! He'd been hit. Rather than relief, though, she felt only pity. No longer did she see the predator. She saw only a wounded animal. She approached him, the blood still seeping from her own body. Edora ripped a long strand of material free from her skirt. Pain seared through her at the exertion. She reached for the wounded animal, seeing the last shreds of his humanity flicker away as he tried to bite the hand that sought to help him. No fear coursed through her, only concern. It was not for herself, though, for no longer was she the scared deer. Though there was no one there to help her, she pressed the fabric to the animal, hoping to ease his pain, risking his snarling teeth. She collapsed.
Edora lay there, cold and shivering on the snow. If only she were a deer, she might be able to glide away effortlessly. Leaping through the snow, past the trees. But Edora could do no such thing. She was a human, full of knowledge, full of hours spent reading in the library and yet utterly powerless against the ferocity of the forest. Never did she think that the natural world itself would turn on her. She'd always assumed that so long as she remained free of the hunters, all would be fine. That had been her mistake. She was certain of it. She'd not stayed clear of them. She'd placed her hand into the hunter's glove and stood with him. She'd been whisked away to the kingdom, puzzled but not fighting it. Her curiosity had only grown as she walked through the halls, only mounted as she passed from one door to the next. The tapestry had been a warning. She understood that now. But she'd ignored it. Fedderlin had tried to tell her how she could change back, but that too had gone unheeded by her. What a fool she'd been! She'd asked how to remain a human. She'd practically begged to learn the secrets of transformation, to know what would allow her to remain in this form and not to change. And now, for being foolish, for having not thought about any of the consequences and for running headlong into it all, she was being punished. If there were any solace, it was this: soon it would all be over. She would be with her mother again, frolicking somewhere high in the clouds, in the land of the Sky Spirit, where he guarded the deer from the harm of the hunters.
Then, for a long while, there was nothing.
And then, from far off, as if it were emerging from a dream, she heard a voice calling to her and she knew at once that it was Midnight.
“Please! I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to ruin the castle, to steal your love, to – ”
She felt Midnight at her side, but she was only warmth. There was no condemnation in her presence.
“What's happened, Edora? You're injured!”
She sounded concerned, holding Edora in her words and in her embrace the way that she would hold a sister.
“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Forgive me. Please, forgive me. Say that you will. I know that I have no business in asking, but please.”
“Edora, come, we must get you home.” She said home, as though it were encompassing, not a place meant of exclusion, a place that Edora had wrecked, but a place where she belonged.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tilly
Tilly approached Midnight.
“I'm sorry, Your Highness, so deeply regretful of the terrible thing that I have done.”
“What have you done, Tilly?” Midnight looked at her with a directness. Tilly would not stop looking from Midnight to Edora, as though there was some link between them. Perhaps, there was something that Tilly had done.
“I have resented your feelings toward Philip. I spoke ill and I'm – oh, Miss,” she said, collapsing into a sob. Midnight reached for a handkerchief, but Tilly stopped her.
“It's all right, I have one here.” As she dug into her apron pocket, something tumbled out alongside of the handkerchief.
Midnight bent to pick it up, feeling the weight of her jade and emerald necklace in her hand. Tilly had been distraught about much, apologizing for a lot, but this she had neglected.
“What do you know about this?” Midnight said, holding out her hand.
Tilly blinked.
“Nothing, Miss. I promise. I didn't know that was there. I must have picked it up, when I was helping you get ready for the ball or tidying up.”
“Tilly,” Midnight said, “have you been feeling things you don't usually?”
Tilly nodded,
“Yes, Miss. I've been terribly wicked.”
“You're not wicked, Tilly. You're simply under the influence of the necklace.”
“Miss?”
Edora sat stiffly in the chair, her limbs bitten by frost, her heart misunderstanding the ferocity of the beast, the truth of humanity.
“You were not speaking about me? That is to say, you were speaking and it was not about me?” Edora said now to Tilly.
Tilly shook her head.
“You did nothing wrong, Edora.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Philip
“Philip, we can't be together. I know, there's magic. But you're meant to save my sister. You admitted as much. I knew it from the moment that we first danced together.”
“The moment we danced together?”
“The slippers, the ones made of glass, the accompanying note said that the answer for Aurora rested with the one who danced perfectly.”
“It was a test?” His face clouded, as though everyone had manipulated him, even her.
“I'm sorry. It's the only thing that I knew to do.”
“No,” he said, taking her hand in his, “I understand. I was just disappointed because I thought that was us. I mean, I have no illusions of being a great dancer, but you made me feel that I could soar.”
She swallowed.
She knew that there was magic between them; she'd seen it. But, she also knew that he was meant to save Aurora and that if the poem had worked on them and not her, that she would be trapped in sleep forever.
“I have to go. My sister needs me.” She let her hands fall away from him, pained, but resigned. If it came between Aurora and Philip, the sentence couldn't even be finished. Aurora always came first. Maybe another sister would have resented that, but Midnight didn't. Aurora didn't expect to be put first. She only wanted Midnight to be happy. She held onto the thought of Aurora's smile, trying to understand what she could possibly do to save Aurora.
“Midnight, wait.”
Something rippled through her.
Midnight. He'd called her Midnight. She wracked her mind, trying to remember if she'd let it slip, trying to figure out if he'd overheard anyone say it. No one had. Only someone from inside the castle could possibly know that. But there were none, none inside the castle that were of his age, his build, except for –
She leaned in, looking closer at him now,
“Philip,” Midnight spoke his name with familiarity and yet surprise.
“It was you, al
l along? How did I not realize?”
“Midnight, there's more,” he said. He balled his hands up.
“Look, I don't know how to say it. I don't really understand it. So I'm just going to say it.”
She looked at him, nodding,
“Of course, Philip. Please, go on.”
“My father told me to go to the ball. I didn't understand why. Maybe if I had, I wouldn't have. Maybe that makes me a coward, running from my family obligation, or maybe it just means I want to live my own life. I don't really know. But what I do know is that I love you and not her.”
Midnight stared at him, confusion swirling around her. Then, the end of his sentence hit her.
“You love me?”
He swallowed back the lump in his throat. She looked so angelic standing before him, as if every star in the night sky had highlighted her features and silver starlight burst over her. The heroic thing would be to deny it. To accept that he was fated to be with Aurora, even if the poem hadn't worked. There had to be some way to save her. But, if there were one thing that Philip couldn't do, it was to lie to Midnight.
“Yes,” he nodded, “I do. I always have. Even when I was just Philip with the horses. I know Aurora blamed me for your fall, but I did everything I could to stop it. I've always watched out for you. I've always admired you. I assumed that you'd never notice me. I was no prince, after all, only, now I... well, I am.”
While Aurora Slept- The Complete Trilogy Page 17