by Holly Black
Aurora wanted to say that she hadn’t been lonely—not with her aunties and Diaval and her godmother—but that wasn’t entirely true. She hadn’t had a playmate her own age. She hadn’t had anyone to engage in games with and confide her secrets to, at least not until—
She pushed that thought away. “I hope we will have fun,” she said as Lady Fiora walked up, clearly overhearing the conversation.
“Since you’re planning on dancing,” Lady Fiora said, “have you thought who you will have lead you out to open the festivities? Someone must bring you out onto the floor.”
Aurora hadn’t considered that.
Lady Sybil giggled. “Yes, everyone will want your hand, and everyone will be watching to see who you choose. That’s so terribly exciting.”
“You should dance with Prince Phillip,” said Lady Sabine. “He’s very handsome, don’t you think?”
“Oh, yes,” said her sister. “And a prince, so his rank is second only to yours. Perhaps Ulstead would even be offended if you didn’t give him the first dance. After all, no one else can claim quite so much consequence.”
Aurora thought of his resolution to wear heavy shoes so that she could tread on his feet as much as she liked, and smiled. If she could open the dancing with him, she could relax. He would guide her through the steps without judging her for not knowing them even half as well as any other girl from one of the noble houses would have.
“I suppose I could dance with him if it’s the polite thing to do,” she said, hoping it wasn’t obvious what a relief that would be.
But Lady Fiora looked uncertain. “It might seem as though you prefer him to your other suitors,” she said.
“Suitors?” Aurora echoed. “No, no, he’s leaving for Ulstead, as you yourself told me.”
For a moment, she couldn’t help thinking about the night before and his nervousness. He’d wanted to tell her something even after finding out she knew about his going back to Ulstead. And as he’d begun to speak, before her godmother arrived, she’d been afraid that maybe he was going to tell her about something awful. Something worse than leaving. What if he anticipated being busy with his studies and wanted to warn her that he would no longer have time for her? What if he no longer even wished to keep her as a distant friend?
Perhaps Maleficent was right to worry. If the thought of losing friendship was this painful, losing love must be terrible.
Lady Sybil looked as disappointed as Aurora felt. “I suppose you could choose an elder statesman. Dancing with someone like that could offend no one, but it does seem very dull.”
Opening the dancing with someone like the fusty Lord Ortolan would be awful.
“Perhaps I just shouldn’t dance at all,” Aurora said, but the girls immediately disabused her of that notion.
“Oh, you must dance!” Lady Sybil said. “If you don’t, it will be as though you’re saying you don’t approve of it. No one will dance if you don’t.”
“I think my brother could be helpful,” said Lady Fiora. “Surely no one would think it was exceptional if you walked out with someone from your own land, someone whose family has been loyal for so long. And you know he’s the height of elegance.”
Aurora thought of the cold iron necklace. “I don’t think—” At that moment, her aunts flew into the room in their colorful bright gowns.
“Aurora!” said Knotgrass. “We would like your thoughts on some garlands.”
“Yes,” said Thistlewit. “I prefer daisies, but—”
“Bluebells would be better,” said Flittle.
“Everyone likes peonies,” insisted Knotgrass.
“So you see, my dear,” said Thistlewit, “you must decide. We wish to drape your festival in flowers. Though it will be hard work to conjure so many petals, you know there’s nothing we won’t do for your happiness.”
“Well, very little,” said Flittle.
“Only a few things,” Knotgrass put in.
Aurora grinned at them as they bickered. They could be silly and sometimes selfish, but they were always also her own dear aunts. “All those flowers are lovely. Let’s have all of them!”
“Delightful!” said Knotgrass. “But are you sure you wouldn’t prefer just peonies?”
Lady Sabine and Lady Sybil stared at the pixies hovering in place by the buzzing of their bright wings. They appeared thrilled to meet Aurora’s aunts.
“We were just discussing my first partner for the dancing,” said Aurora to Flittle. “Who do you think it ought to be, Auntie?”
“As I was saying—” began Lady Fiora, frowning.
“A contest!” said Flittle. “Let someone win your hand.”
Lady Sybil and Lady Sabine began praising the little faerie’s ingenuity. Flittle appeared immensely flattered by the attention, while the other two pixies grew more and more annoyed.
“I might have said the same thing,” said Knotgrass.
“You didn’t, though, did you?” teased Thistlewit.
Lady Fiora looked speculative. “I suppose…no one could be offended if we have a contest among your people for the honor of leading you onto the floor for the first dance. And you did say you wanted games, my queen.”
There really could be no objection to that, Aurora thought. It might even be fun.
“It’s brilliant,” she said, giving Flittle a hug, surprising the faerie. “Now we’ve only to think of what sort of contest we should have.”
“Not a game of chance,” said Lady Sybil. “Too chancy.”
“A riddle contest,” Aurora declared. A contest of cleverness would please the faeries—and if she had any other reason for choosing that particular skill, she never would have admitted it, even to herself.
The twins clapped their hands, delighted.
“Perfect,” said Lady Sabine. “Now it’s just a question of when to hold it!”
“Now, of course,” said Lady Fiora. “Why not? We can assemble all the likely gentlemen. It will be a good game to while away the afternoon.”
But the more Aurora considered that, the more she disliked the idea of the Fair Folk and the villagers being excluded. “The riddle contest should be part of the festival itself,” she said. “Peasant or noble, faerie or human, anyone with the will and the wit can open the dancing with me.”
Lady Fiora looked appalled. “B-but you could wind up standing up with someone loathsome. Or filthy. Or who reeks of onion and cabbages.” She held her pretty little nose.
“So long as they’re very good at riddles,” Aurora agreed, “and don’t mind my stepping on their toes.”
The night before the festival, Phillip set off for the Moors on horseback to dine with the faeries.
When Aurora had claimed she knew what he wanted to tell her, his heart had stuttered. Then she’d declared his news was that he was leaving Ulstead. He ought to have corrected her. But he hadn’t. He had let her believe that was the reason he had come to the Moors and had asked her to walk with him. It had seemed harmless. He had told himself he would be able to confess his love anyway, just a bit later. And the words were on the tip of his tongue as Maleficent had arrived.
This time, he knew he had to spit them out.
Through the woods he rode, the moon high in the sky. In time the foliage grew dense, the air became thick with the sweet scents of flowers, and the ground filled up with pools of water, reflecting the stars.
A few moments later, small glowing faeries descended on him, flitting around his head and giggling.
“This way,” they said. “Our mistress sent us to lead you.”
Phillip thought of the last time he had been led by some of the Fair Folk—led astray—and he checked the stars. He didn’t want to get lost and arrive late, especially not that night. He was well aware that this was a test, and not one he could afford to fail if he didn’t want Maleficent to continue to think ill of him. He hoped for her approval, but he would settle for her not threatening him anymore.
It seemed that the little faeries were leading
him in the right direction, however. Soon the shallow pools opened into a lake dotted with tiny islands, with lights blooming beneath the surface of the water. Glowing nymphs emerged, surfacing and then diving again, leading him to the largest and most central island, where he could see the outlines of Maleficent and Aurora. A green castle with spires reaching into the sky towered behind them. They stood under a tree hung with glowing lanterns that was beside a long table. Next to them was a collection of faeries, none of their shapes familiar.
Phillip blinked in surprise at the enormous leafy palace. He was absolutely certain it hadn’t been there before. But the Moors were changeable and he supposed magic meant the landscape could alter itself in accordance with the whims of the faeries.
As he got closer, his heart thudded faster. If any of the people he knew in Ulstead had seen him doing this, they would have thought he’d run mad. Half the nobles in Perceforest would agree. There were countless stories of faerie food and how even a single bite could bind you to them, trapping you in their clutches forever. Yet with Aurora’s shy smile coming into view, he could not regret coming.
If it meant being bound to her, it could not be so terrible a fate.
Aurora wore a flowing dress of pale ivory, which blew in the slight breeze. Her hair was loose and fell around her shoulders in a river of gold, with a garland of flowers at her brow in place of a crown. She looked so beautiful that for a moment he felt as though every other thought had been struck from his head.
“Hello, Phillip,” Aurora said, walking down the hill in her bare feet.
She petted his horse’s nose, laughing as it snuffled in her hand.
Watching her, he had a feeling of such intense love that it was not unlike agony.
“You look well tonight,” he said, and immediately felt like a fool. Surely he knew how to pay her a better compliment than that.
One of the hedgehog faeries came and took the reins of his horse. He jumped down, his polished boots immediately sinking in the mud. He looked down at them sadly.
He was wearing a doublet of the darkest blue velvet, with a bit of golden rope across the chest and at the shoulders. And muddy boots.
Maleficent walked to the edge of the isle, the feathers of her wings ruffling in the wind. Her hair was hidden under her black cap, and there were jet cuffs at the bases of her horns and a necklace of jet beads around her throat. Or at least he thought they were jet beads. Upon second look, they appeared to be shimmering black beetles. When she saw him, her lips stretched into a wide smile—perhaps slightly too wide for Phillip’s comfort.
Beside her were Diaval, the raven-man, and a host of other Fair Folk—wallerbogs, tree sentinels, mushroom faeries, pixies, hobs, and foxkin—some which loomed and others which scampered. They all stared at him with eyes that seemed more animal than human.
“You came,” Maleficent said, as though that was a surprise to her, and not necessarily a good one.
Phillip offered his arm to Aurora. She took it, her body a warm and steadying presence as he moved away from the embankment and toward Maleficent.
“Godmother,” Aurora said, “shall we sit?”
Phillip’s gaze went to the banquet table. Along the vast length of it, a scarlet cloth was draped. Plates of silver at various heights were piled with food, some of it familiar, but much of it not. There were heavy pitchers, black glass goblets, and clusters of fat candles, their wax running over their sides to clot in pearls and runnels.
“Yes, of course,” Maleficent said, her hand stretching toward the table in invitation. “I wouldn’t want either of you to go hungry.”
The faerie took her place in an ominous chair at the head of the table. It was tall and had what looked like horns that curved in and then out, carved from ebonized wood. She gestured to the other end of the table, where a matching chair rested. “As the guest of honor, you shall have that one, Phillip. And you, my dear,” she said to Aurora, “can be seated at my side.”
A possum faerie wearing a cape pulled out Aurora’s chair. It was carved in the shape of spread wings and gilded so that it shone almost as brightly as her locks.
Other faeries began to scamper to the table and find themselves places; some climbed up onto stools, others onto piles of pillows, and a few of the taller faeries sat on low seats made from hollow logs.
At the far end of the table, Phillip considered what Maleficent had in store for him. Even the tableware was alarming. He had what appeared to be a small silver pitchfork on one side of his pewter plate and a dagger on the other. He lifted the dagger experimentally and found it heavy in his hand, the way a real weapon would be.
A small hedgehog faerie poured elderflower water into a black glass goblet in front of him. It perfumed the air with a scent so pleasant that he allowed himself a sip.
It tasted like sweet, pure water, the kind that bubbled up from springs. He guzzled it all in what felt like a single swallow.
This won’t be so bad, he thought a moment before he noticed that one of the dishes was creeping toward him on crab legs. He startled, rocking back in his chair.
“Something the matter?” Maleficent called down the table.
“N-no!” Phillip said as another plate scuttled around on the table, veering toward what appeared to be a woman made entirely of roots and greenery. Fat globes of grapes bounced toward him, followed by a dish of mushrooms—chanterelles, chicken-of-the-woods, faerie ring champignon, wood ears, and honey fungus, all cooked with wild garlic leaves. Then marsh samphire, sautéed. A collection of hard-boiled eggs paraded before him next—snake eggs, starling eggs, quail eggs, white and brown, some speckled and some blue. A few plates were carried on the backs of beetles, while others rested on the backs of turtles. Others appeared enchanted to move on their own.
Then a pile of blackberries and damson plums wriggled forward, beside a pot of fresh cream.
Behind it was a plate of crispy fried spiders and a tray of oblong white snake eggs.
A large tureen on wheels was being pulled down the table by a tiny faerie. It contained a bright green potage of wild leek and nettle. The faerie waved around a ladle in a slightly threatening manner and then dumped some of the soup unceremoniously in a bowl in front of Prince Phillip.
“We hope you don’t mind simple fare,” Maleficent said with a wide, malicious smile.
Beside her, Aurora had an uneasy expression. She was looking at Phillip as though she fully expected him to flee the table. And he had to admit that he was tempted. In the air overhead, what he at first had taken for oil lamps suspended in the trees turned out to be more tiny faeries, glowing with pale yellow light and peering down at him.
He thought of a story he’d heard from his nurse when he was a child, about a girl who was sent by her wicked stepmother out into the cold to die. In the snow, the girl stumbled on a witch sitting by a fire. The girl was so polite that the witch gave her a warm fur coat so that she passed the night cozily. When the girl returned home, she discovered her pockets were laden with treasure. Jealous, the stepmother sent her own daughter out into the cold the following night. But her daughter was rude to the witch, so the witch put out the fire and let that girl freeze to death.
He knew that faeries hated many things, but above all, even more than iron, they hated uncivility.
“This all looks delicious,” Phillip said, somewhat unconvincingly, even to his own ears.
“Try something,” Maleficent said, bringing a black grape to her mouth and biting into it. The moonlight caught on her fangs, making them unmistakable. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so we cooked up a little of everything.”
“Yes, I can see that,” Phillip said, looking at the vast number of mysterious dishes in front of him.
Aurora had a blue egg on her plate, along with some berries and a cake dusted with herbs and honey. The cakes hadn’t scampered over to Phillip yet. She smiled at him and raised one of the menacing black glass goblets to her mouth.
Aurora hoped that humans and faeri
es could get along. Phillip needed to try. Maleficent might want to frighten him, but she was hardly going to poison him right in front of everyone.
Probably.
He put a spoonful of the soup into his mouth.
It was surprisingly pleasant. He took another spoonful. And another. Then he speared a few mushrooms.
By the time the honey cakes finally came, he was happy to take three.
A raven circled overhead, then swooped down to drop a rodent onto an empty plate. Prince Phillip could not help startling in horror at the mouse’s open mouth and the blood matting its gray fur.
The raven landed beside the plate and began to take apart the dead mouse.
“My apologies,” Maleficent said, looking down the table. “Prince Phillip, would you like some meat?”
Phillip felt a little queasy seeing the mouse’s blood running over the plate and the raven’s beak pulling strips of red flesh from within the fur.
“There is little enough for Diaval. He shouldn’t have to share,” Phillip managed to say.
“But he left you the eyes,” Maleficent said. “They’re the best part. A real delicacy for a raven. They pop like fish eggs in your mouth.”
The table had gone quiet. The faeries stared at him eagerly, waiting.
“I prefer the heart,” Phillip said.
“Phillip—” Aurora began.
But Maleficent rose from her chair. “Do you really? Diaval, you heard the man.”
Diaval hopped over and dropped a small piece of flesh on Prince Phillip’s plate. It was the color of a garnet and half the size of a grape.
He had made an extravagant promise to Maleficent—told her he would do whatever she asked to win her approval. He’d been willing to swear on his life that he meant Aurora no harm.
This was nothing.
He picked up the heart and put it on his tongue. Gagging once, he got it down.
“Delicacy,” he said, choking a little on the word.
