by Holly Black
A servant brought in a silver tray containing brown bread and butter, along with a pitcher of cider.
“Once, when you were a mere boy,” said the advisor as soon as they were alone, “your father was here at the castle, standing before the bed of a dying King Henry. He would have been chosen as the next king, and had that happened, you would be king now. Do not lose the chance to rule again.”
“You should have warned me,” Count Alain complained. “I didn’t expect that tree monster!”
“You were supposed to charm Aurora,” said Lord Ortolan, settling himself in one of the chairs, “not start a fight.”
“Did I not arrange the hunt to please Aurora? Did I not endeavor to have my sister pay her courtesies? I thought this would be a simple task.” He stood up, restless, and walked to the window. But even looking down on the courtyard made him remember the feeling of hanging in the air, sure he would die. “Aurora is very innocent. That should have been to my advantage.”
“And I primed her to be distrustful of that Prince Phillip,” Lord Ortolan said. “Really, it’s impossible to think how you failed.”
Count Alain turned toward him in scorn. “You did me no favors with your warnings. And they didn’t work. All Phillip had to do was ask about the Moors and she was swept into his conversation!” Count Alain threw up his hands.
Lord Ortolan fixed his gaze on the count. “You know the Moorlands exert an influence over her.”
“They are more dangerous than I thought,” said Count Alain, “and that is saying nothing of that creature who slew King Stefan.”
Lord Ortolan did not look particularly impressed by this declaration. “Find a way into Aurora’s heart. Marrying her is the only way for you to become king.”
Count Alain went back to the chairs and threw himself down into one. “Between Maleficent and Prince Phillip, it seems difficult. I fear I have given her a dislike of me, and it will be no easy work winning her over.”
“I have a plan,” said Lord Ortolan. “In fact, I have several.”
That evening, Aurora presided over the banquet table in the great hall while dish after dish was presented. Sweet tarts, crèmes, fishes, and game dressed in savory sauces. She couldn’t eat. She thought of Hammond, the poacher, whose family might have starved while the entire palace feasted. And she thought of Simon, who had still not been found. She cut her gaze down the table to where Prince Phillip was talking to several courtiers, telling them a story that made them laugh.
“Is something the matter?” asked Lady Fiora, leaning across the table.
“No,” Aurora lied, pushing a bit of rhubarb around her plate.
“You must allow me to apologize,” Lady Fiora said. “My brother has always been overprotective. But it was my fault. I shouldn’t have insulted those—those—”
“Wallerbogs,” Aurora said.
“Yes.” Lady Fiora looked relieved. “Please forgive Alain. As fiercely as he defended me, he would defend you, were it your honor he felt was insulted.”
Horrified though she’d been by Alain’s behavior, Aurora couldn’t fault his love for his sister. He obviously cared for her a lot, to throw himself into danger the way he had. That was something she could sympathize with.
“I bear your brother no grudge,” Aurora said, “so long as he sees how wrong he was and never does anything like it again.” Looking down the table, she caught Count Alain’s eye. He raised his glass, and she raised hers in return.
If he’s actually sorry, then now is my chance, she thought. I am going to propose he sit down with the other nobles and explain that he jumped to conclusions and that the Moors are only dangerous to people intending to harm the creatures who live there. Maybe this will turn out to be what we need to finally finish the treaty.
When she rose from the table, Count Alain came to her side. She waited for him to apologize so that she could inform him of her request.
“I have a gift for you,” he said instead, drawing a carved wooden box from his side. “A small token, for the queen who saved my very life.”
A few courtiers had gathered close, clearly admiring him for his gallantry. Several ladies smiled at one another with vicarious enjoyment.
A gift was not an apology. But surely he would say something more once she’d accepted whatever it was he’d brought her. And he must feel very guilty to make a show of bringing her a present.
“This is very kind,” she began, “but—”
“Not kindness at all,” he said so smoothly that it almost seemed as though he hadn’t interrupted her. “Entirely appreciation. Please, look inside. I am eager to know if it pleases you.”
With few options that weren’t outright insulting to him, Aurora opened the box to indrawn breaths all around.
Resting inside was a huge sapphire the deep blue of her eyes. It hung from a heavy metal chain. Count Alain lifted the necklace and unclasped it. “If I may?”
If she refused, he would be offended. And the courtiers who already admired him would be upset on his behalf. But she wanted to let him know that she could not be bribed. “You may, but you and I must still have a conversation,” she said sternly, “about the Moors and the future of Perceforest.”
“With pleasure,” he told her, his fingers overly warm on her skin as he clasped the sapphire around her throat. The chain rested heavily on her collarbone, and as she lifted a hand to touch it, she recognized the metal.
To Aurora’s horror, she realized that he had given her a necklace forged of cold iron.
Late that night, Aurora stood on her balcony, surveying both her kingdoms. She could see the town below her, the Moorlands, and even a little of Ulstead in the distance. A chill breeze ruffled her hair.
As usual, she couldn’t sleep.
She hadn’t bothered to take off the iron necklace. It felt as heavy as her heart. She no longer believed Count Alain could be convinced to help. Yet she had to find a way forward for her two kingdoms. She had to discover the means to make the people of Perceforest see that the faeries in the Moors were helpful, kind, and clever—even if they were also sometimes hot-tempered or mischievous.
But they weren’t cruel in the way that humans were. No one on the Moorlands starved when another faerie had food to share. No one made war for gain or counted money as more important than friendship or love. If only the humans could see that, they would realize how fortunate Perceforest would be to have the Fair Folk as allies and friends.
Something fell by Aurora’s feet, startling her from her thoughts. She looked down and saw a folded note beside her shoe.
She lifted it and frowned at it. Then she unfolded the paper.
The message was written in an elegant hand and contained a message that sounded a little like a riddle: If I asked you to go for a walk tomorrow in the gardens, would your answer be the same as the answer to this question?
She looked up, but the balcony above hers was empty.
Aurora frowned. If Count Alain thought that just because he’d given her one horrifying necklace, she was going to agree to go for a walk with him, he was very much mistaken.
In fact, she meant to send him a message right back. She went inside for a quill and inkpot and was ready to write NO on the bottom of the note when she realized that she couldn’t.
Because if she said no to the gardens, then the answer to the second question would be no as well, which would mean they were the same answer—which meant yes. But she couldn’t write that, because if the answer was no to the first part and yes to the second, that meant the answers weren’t the same after all.
There was only one “correct” way to answer the note. Yes to the walk. Yes to the answers being the same. Yes.
Of course, there were other possible answers. Like setting the page on fire. Or ripping it into tiny pieces and throwing them off the side of her balcony like confetti. That would show Count Alain what she thought of him making his sister do his apologizing for him.
Or she could forget the note entir
ely. After all, she was the queen. She wasn’t obligated to answer every ridiculous piece of litter she came across, especially litter that wasn’t even formally addressed to her.
Then there was a sound above her. Prince Phillip looked over the edge, his hair falling around his face. He’d let it grow since he’d arrived in Perceforest, and it was already past his ears. He blinked at the paper in her hand and gave her a slightly embarrassed grin. “I thought you might still be awake.”
“Yes,” she blurted out. “The answer to the riddle, I mean. That’s the only possible answer, which is very rude.”
“Very,” he agreed cheerfully. “But I hoped it would still be the one you wanted to give.” His gaze went to her throat and she could tell the moment he saw Count Alain’s sapphire necklace, because his smile faded. “There’s something I must tell you. I ought to have said it when we were on the hill, but I waited and then there wasn’t time.”
Phillip was going to say that he was going back to Ulstead, of course. Suddenly, the air seemed colder than before. She shivered, not entirely from the wind.
“You could tell me now,” she said, steeling herself.
He grinned down at her. “I’m not sure you’d like me to shout it off the balcony, though the idea has a certain appeal. Tomorrow is soon enough. Will you walk with me? Just for a few minutes? Would you mind?”
“Let me ask you a riddle instead,” Aurora told him, although her heart was no longer in the game. “The answer I give is no, but it means yes. Now what is the question?”
“You’re answering a riddle with another riddle?” he demanded, mock-affronted.
She should have laughed, but the laugh died in her throat at the thought of the conversation that was coming. Leaving him to puzzle over her words, she went back to her rooms to try to get warm.
And to unclasp Count Alain’s necklace from her throat so she could throw it into the fire.
Prince Phillip had traveled to Perceforest at his father’s request. Go and meet our neighbor, King Stefan. See if you can interest him in trade. I understand that he needs soldiers for his army and that he possesses a large quantity of gold.
For his part, Phillip was pleased to be on an adventure. He had never before been in a place where no one knew him and where he was unburdened from all the expectations of being Ulstead’s future king. Of course, he had gotten instantly lost in the woods. He’d spent the first night sleeping under the stars and the whole second day wandering. The trees grew too thick for him to see the horizon and get his bearings. The ground was covered in shallow pools and patches of sucking mud that made the way treacherous for his horse.
And then he’d spotted Aurora in her blue gown, gesturing wildly at nothing as she rehearsed a speech she was intending to give her aunties.
Hopping down from his horse, he’d thought first of getting directions. He was a little worried about being laughed at and very relieved to see another person. But the closer he got, the more fascinated he became. Not just by the roses in her cheeks or the shy sweetness of her smile or the way she seemed to belong to the woods, like some sort of sprite. There was something in her face that spoke of mischief—and kindness.
In Phillip’s life, there had been precious little of either.
Aurora had been surprised by him, clearly not thinking there was anyone nearby. She’d startled and slipped. He’d caught her hand before she fell, and at her touch, he’d felt as though he’d been kicked in the chest.
For a moment, he’d been unable to breathe.
So he had remained in Perceforest, through the death of King Stefan. Through Aurora’s being crowned and the bright summer’s fading into autumn.
He’d remained even though he had been unable to wake her. He hadn’t loved her enough, he knew. They’d only just met.
He hadn’t loved her then like he loved her now.
Every few weeks he had gotten another letter from his mother and had sent back excuses. But when the latest one had come directly from the hand of a messenger, he knew he had run out of ways to prolong his visit. He took it from his pocket now, looking it over in the moonlight.
Dear Phillip,
You must return to Ulstead as soon as possible. We know nothing of this young queen except she is a great beauty—which we can readily believe, since we suspect she is the reason for your continued absence. But until you return home and your people are able to see you with their own eyes, wild speculation and strange rumors about your doings and safety will continue to abound. Finish your business—whatever it is—and return to us. You have a duty to your own country.
The letter was signed with his mother’s full title and her sigil.
He sighed, crumpled it up, and tossed it toward the fire. He would write back and give her a specific date when he would return. That would mollify her enough that he would be able to stay another week or two, at least.
But eventually he would have to return home.
And before that, he would have to do what he’d been too shy to since he’d been in Perceforest: he would have to speak. He must tell Aurora that he loved her.
Over and over, he thought about the words he planned to say, trying out new phrases and then discarding them, attempting to persuade himself that she wouldn’t prefer to be courted by some magical creature or one of the nobles who fell over himself to admire her beauty. He whispered words out loud to the cold sky, stopping halfway through each grandiose speech, hating how absurd he sounded.
“Aurora, if my heart were the moon, then you would be the sun, because the sun makes the moon glow, and I glow with, er, love…?
“My heart is an overfull bucket, waiting to pour itself on you…?
“When I think of you, I feel…”
She wouldn’t laugh at him. She was too kind for that. She would let him down gently and then he could return home, knowing he had no hope of her. When he saw her again, he would have had time to get used to the idea. And they would remain close, which was no small thing for the monarchs of neighboring kingdoms.
Despite those grim thoughts, he smiled, thinking of her parting words to him that night: The answer I give is no, but it means yes. Now what is the question?
A riddle for a riddle.
He puzzled over it, turning the words in his mind. When it struck him, he felt like a fool. It was the answer to the question he’d asked her immediately before it.
Would you mind?
Will you walk with me? Just for a few minutes? Would you mind?
No, she wouldn’t mind. She’d go for the walk with him.
Phillip was still smiling when a horned figure landed at the edge of his balcony.
Maleficent.
Her lips were carmine red, and the angles of her face were slightly too sharp. On her shoulder sat a raven, watching Phillip with black eyes. Behind her, lightning needled across the sky, although there had been no storm on the horizon earlier.
She raised a finger as though to curse him.
“Uh, hello,” he said, taking several involuntary steps back, his heart speeding. Despite his knowing that she was Aurora’s loving godmother—well, sort of her godmother—he still found her frightening. “I am sure you were looking for someone else, but—”
“I overheard you and your sickly love speeches. You did not ask for my permission to court Aurora,” Maleficent said, her eyes blazing with suspicion. “Like most faeries, I am a stickler for all the little courtesies. Not to mention easy to offend.”
Prince Phillip took a deep breath, trying to quash his fear. Squaring his shoulders, he began. “May I have your permis—”
“You may not,” she said, interrupting him.
“I thought you liked me,” he said with what he hoped was a friendly smile.
“I do not,” she told him, eyebrows lifting. “Although, most of the time I can barely tell you apart from the others. The only thing that is memorable about you is that you’ve overstayed your welcome in this kingdom.”
“We both love Aurora—�
�� he began.
Maleficent narrowed her eyes at him. “Do not speak to her of this foolishness. Do not declare yourself. And do not cross me, princeling. You would not want me for an enemy.”
“Of course not,” he said. “But I don’t understand what I’ve done to offend you.”
She inclined her head toward him in a way that made him wonder if she was considering spearing him on her horns. “You offend me by behaving as though your fleeting feelings are of some consequence. You intend to fling them at Aurora and leave her pining for you as you return home and forget about her.”
“I would never—”
“I know about fickle hearts. I know that a love like yours is weak when set against your ambition.”
“You’re wrong,” he said. “About me and about love.”
“Do not test me and I won’t test your claims.” With a sweep of her cape, she went to the edge of the balcony and hurled herself into the night. Her great wings carried her up toward the moon.
Prince Phillip stood still, drinking in gulps of night air until his heart quieted. Until his breathing became normal again.
Until he realized just what he had to say to Aurora, and it turned out to be nothing like what he had practiced.
The next morning, Aurora met with her castellan, a large dark-skinned man with cropped hair and a scar that ran across his cheek, pulling up one corner of his mouth. Everyone called him Smiling John, a name Aurora found sinister, since the allusion was to a badly healed wound. He entered the great hall with two men-at-arms. All three of the soldiers were heavily armored and grim-faced.
“We have some news of the boy, Simon,” Smiling John said. “Hugh, give her the report.”
A solid wall of a soldier, pale with straw-colored hair, spoke. “We believe he fell in with a band of brigands.”
“Brigands?” Aurora echoed, shocked. “But his father said—”
“It’s a sad state of affairs when one’s own family don’t know the lay of the land,” the man continued, “yet all too common. Seems that he liked a bit of dicing and that’s how he got into debt. From there, he turned to stealing to make the money. Only a matter of time before he stole from the palace.”
