Maleficent

by Disney Book Group

Her large black horns sweeping back and forth as she shook her head, Maleficent curled her lips. “They don’t want me in Ulstead,” she pointed out. “Why would I agree?”

  “Because his mother wishes to meet mine.”

  The words hung heavy in the air. Maleficent did not say anything as Aurora stared up at her with eyes full of hope. Then Maleficent turned to go.

  Reflexively, Aurora took a step closer, her arm outstretched, as if she was going to try to stop her godmother. But then Aurora lowered her arm. She knew there was no point in forcing Maleficent to stay. “Just think about it,” she added. “For me.”

  Maleficent’s answer was a flap of her wings as she lifted into the sky. Aurora watched her until she was nothing but a black dot on the horizon. With a troubled heart, Aurora turned and headed into her castle. She would have to hope that somewhere, deep inside, Maleficent could find it in her to accept Phillip and his family. Because if she couldn’t…Aurora shook her head. She couldn’t think about that now. The pending dinner was worrisome enough.

  Phillip stood inside the royal chambers, deep within the walls of Castle Ulstead. As a boy, he had loved coming to the grand rooms, listening from the wings as his father negotiated with foreign dignitaries or met with his war council to plan attacks. The lavish oversized furnishings had seemed huge to him; the large animal heads mounted on the wall always seemed to follow him magically. He had always been simultaneously terrified and intrigued by the trophies his mother insisted King John keep in the chambers. This had been an exotic and foreign place. The lack of life—both literal and metaphorical—had always made him both excited and uncomfortable.

  As Phillip got older, however, the intrigue had faded. Now he found the lifeless eyes of the animals depressing. And while he still enjoyed spending time with his father, he often wished they could do it outside, away from the room that, despite its size and ever-present fire, seemed to suffocate him and make him feel cold to his core.

  Unaware of his son’s dark thoughts, King John strode across the room. He wore a huge grin, and in his hand he had a sword. “I want you to wear this tonight,” he said, holding it out.

  “The king’s sword?” Phillip gingerly reached out and took it. The weapon felt surprisingly light. He had seen it strapped to his father’s side hundreds of times, and in his head it had always been a heavy, unwieldy weapon. The significance of his father’s giving it to him now was not lost on Phillip. But the king seemed to feel the moment needed explanation.

  “Because of you,” he said, his voice full of pride, “Ulstead and the Moors will be united at last.”

  Phillip shook his head, trying to hand the sword back. “My love for Aurora has nothing to do with politics,” he protested.

  “Your love will ensure peace for generations,” King John said, changing the sentiment ever so slightly but enough to make it clear he understood. Then his eyes welled with tears. Phillip struggled not to smile. His father was nothing if not a romantic. He should have known that to King John, the marriage was a love match first and foremost. The king pushed the sword into Phillip’s hand once more and added, “I’ve never been more proud.”

  Phillip slowly holstered the sword, shifting on his feet as he got used to the weight of the object at his hip. Then he looked back at his father. He had come to the royal chambers for a reason and been distracted. He needed to talk about his mother. Before she had composed herself, Phillip had seen a flash of anger cross her face when she first heard his news, and it had been eating at him. Phillip had come to his father now because he had always done so when he was worried about something. “What about Mother?” he finally asked. “Is she upset?”

  “She’ll learn to love who you love,” the king answered without hesitation. Then, clapping a hand on Phillip’s back, he began to tell him a story about when his and Ingrith’s betrothal had been announced.

  Phillip only half listened. He hoped his father was right. But a piece of him wished that his mother didn’t have to learn to love Aurora. He didn’t expect her to love Aurora in the unconditional way he did. But why was it so hard for her to embrace Aurora when everyone else did with such joy and ease? Was Ingrith incapable—or simply unwilling?

  STANDING IN THE SHADOWS OF THE ROYAL CHAMBERS, QUEEN INGRITH HAD WATCHED AND LISTENED AS HER HUSBAND AND SON BLATHERED ON ABOUT LOVE AND UNITY. She had been glad that her face was hidden. At least the two men could not see her eyes as they rolled or the small grimace she bore when she heard she would grow to love Aurora in time. All the time in the world would not be enough. To her, Aurora was only a pawn in a game of chess she had been secretly playing for years.

  Having heard more than she had wished, Ingrith slipped through the shadows into the sanctity of her dressing room. The space was off-limits to John and, for the most part, any of the castle staff. Besides a few very trusted maids, she kept the room empty of visitors, which was how she liked it. Walking into the center of the room, she exhaled deeply. This place calmed her. On either side, the walls were lined with lavish gowns of gray, silver, white, and black. Not one for color, she found the monochrome effect settling. Diamonds and other precious gems sat upon the shelves, and dozens upon dozens of shoes were paired together on a wall of their own. Against the far wall were several dress forms made to her exact measurements. The most fragile and lovely of her gowns adorned them.

  Ingrith held out a hand as she walked toward them. But instead of gently running her fingers over the delicate lace on one, she pushed against it. The dress form tilted back until there was a quiet click. Behind the form, a door slid open, revealing stairs that led down into darkness.

  The queen allowed herself the smallest of smiles. This was the real reason she loved her dressing chambers and did not allow anyone in. Or rather, the door led to the reason she kept her private rooms private.

  Sliding by the dress form, Ingrith slipped through the door and began to descend the staircase. Her footfalls echoed off the stone walls as she went deeper and deeper. Every few feet, a sconce illuminated the stairway, revealing ancient stone that was always damp and cold. But Ingrith didn’t need the light to know where she was going. She had made this journey more times than she could possibly count.

  As she approached the bottom of the stairs, the space grew lighter and she could hear water bubbling. Every once in a while, a clink sounded, as though something was hitting against glass. Finally, she arrived at a landing. Ingrith stepped forward and into a huge cavernous space. The arched ceilings rose nearly fifteen feet, and several stone bridges dissected the room, revealing an even larger room below. Ingrith walked to it and peered down.

  Her reaction was the same as it always was when she looked upon her laboratory: a mixture of pleasure and pride. She had spent years making the space into what it was now. Every piece of gleaming equipment had been handpicked. Every specimen was there at her orders. Every experiment was done at her request. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the room for Lickspittle. Spotting the pixie hunched over a workbench, she made her way to him.

  He didn’t hear her at first. His big yellow eyes were focused on the microscope in front of him. Long, thin fingers were wrapped around the black tube that led to the lenses. As he gazed into the eyepiece, his fingers tightened and loosened, reminding Ingrith of a spider making a web. Lickspittle’s skin, which had once been smooth and the color of moonlight, had long since turned to a spongy yellow. It was mottled with spots and scars earned in various mishaps in the lab over the years. Even his clothes had taken on the same yellowish hue. The apron he wore over his chest was stained, and its large pocket was full of various equipment—none of which looked particularly clean. Ingrith hated how dirty Lickspittle appeared. But she tried to ignore it. After all, she needed him to work, not escort her to a ball.

  Lickspittle was the only other soul who knew of Ingrith’s lab. Captured years earlier by Ingrith, he had lost his wings—and his soul—and become her lead experimenter. He seemed to have forgotten over the years that he was e
ven a pixie at all. He often referred to himself as though he were a human, and Ingrith had stopped correcting him. It served her purposes better if the creature did not feel any connection to the faeries and pixies he worked on in the name of science. Or rather, in the name of Ingrith. Without an ounce of remorse, he spent his days and nights hidden in the bowels of Castle Ulstead, performing crude trials on his own kind.

  He lifted his head from the microscope, and donning a pair of safety glasses, he turned his big yellow eyes to a glowing red flower. He hummed as he continued to work, tapping the center of the flower over a dish, causing a gold powder to float down. The beautiful flower seemed out of place in the darkness of the room and in the spongy hands of Lickspittle. All around him were dozens of glass jars, and inside them were trapped faeries of every shape and size. This was where the Moors’ faeries had been disappearing to—all by Ingrith’s order.

  Hearing Ingrith’s footfalls, Lickspittle finally looked up. He blinked his eyes rapidly as he bowed. “Your Majesty,” he said.

  “You need to move faster, Lickspittle,” the queen replied, not bothering with pleasantries. She hesitated and quickly looked at the flower before moving toward a nook in the back of the lab.

  Inside, the floor was piled high with all manner of mythical relics. More items had been placed carefully and intentionally on shelves that stuck out from the walls. There were wooden bowls filled with dusty objects long since rotted to unrecognizable, jars labeled “unicorn tears” and “Pegasus teeth,” and even what appeared to be the skull of a dragon. It was like walking into a museum of mysterious objects from all over the world, all remnants of a long-ago time when people believed in myth and magic. In the heart of the nook, separated from the other pieces, was Ingrith’s most prized possession. She had tracked down the item nearly five years earlier and secreted it away to the lab. Even now, in the dark and dank laboratory, it appeared to shine with untapped magic. She stepped closer, her eyes locked on the spinning wheel.

  Behind her, Lickspittle appeared. Following her gaze, he shook his head. “I’ve never understood your search for a spinning wheel, Your Majesty,” he said.

  Ingrith didn’t turn her head, her eyes still focused on the wheel. “It’s the only treasure I’ll ever need,” she said. In time, Lickspittle would understand. In time, everyone would understand.

  Maleficent had spent a good part of the afternoon at the cottage that had once been Aurora’s home. When Aurora had become queen of the Moors, it was abandoned and taken over by weeds and wildflowers that grew up through the floor and wrapped around the decaying furniture. Dust covered what bare surfaces remained, and when beams of sunlight made it through the dirty windows, they caught and illuminated the specks that floated in the air.

  Despite the state of the cottage, it still felt comforting. A nod to Aurora’s time there, perhaps, and the love she had put into the house and everything she did. Standing beside the window to Aurora’s room, Maleficent looked at the small cradle that still sat in the far corner. Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered watching the little girl slumber, her tiny hands tightening and loosening on the soft piece of fabric she had carried with her everywhere. She remembered how Aurora’s nose twitched in her sleep, as though she were smelling something delightful. And how she always woke up smiling. Even as a child, Aurora had found the good in everything and everyone—including Maleficent.

  Maleficent couldn’t let the girl down—even if it meant going to Castle Ulstead and dining with the enemy.

  Maleficent flew away from the cottage and returned to Aurora’s castle. Summoning Diaval, she made her way to a small reflecting pond. For the past hour now, she had been practicing her smile.

  Pulling back her lips for the hundredth time, she turned to Diaval. In his human form, he stood a safe distance away. He had learned that when Maleficent asked for feedback, she rarely took it well. “And now with slightly less fang,” he suggested.

  “How’s this?” Maleficent asked, lifting her upper lip so that it perched awkwardly over her fangs.

  Diaval shook his head. “Mistress, I can smile nicer,” he said, “and I have a beak.” Maleficent raised her hand, her fingers twitching, to turn the infuriating man back into a silent bird. But before she could, Diaval stopped her. “Wait,” he cried, attempting to save himself. “Try the greeting again.”

  Maleficent sighed but lowered her finger. Diaval was right to push her. Although she had no desire to go to this dinner, she wasn’t doing it for herself—she was doing it for Aurora. And that meant playing the part, down to the smiles and forced hellos. Maleficent took a deep breath, then tried again as she nodded ever so slightly. “How kind of you to invite me this evening,” she said, her voice sounding grating even to her own ears.

  “Remember,” Diaval said, “not a threat.”

  Maleficent nodded and tried again. She thought of every sickly-sweet nice thing she had ever heard Aurora say. She thought of the way the young girl’s voice always became a bit higher when she was trying to reassure Maleficent she was okay. Channeling Aurora, Maleficent said, “How kind of you to invite me this evening,” her voice now creepily nice.

  “Better,” Diaval said. “And now the curtsy.”

  Maleficent was done. She didn’t even have to raise her finger to make Diaval step back. She had had enough. This was as polished as she would ever be. It was time for a break.

  Diaval sensed her frustration, and his face softened. “She loves that boy very much,” he said gently. “You’re doing her a great kindness.”

  Maleficent opened her mouth, a snide retort on the tip of her tongue, but she stopped herself when Aurora came into view. Wearing a simple gown of the lightest pink that brushed the ground, its neckline dipping ever so slightly and with no added adornment, she looked every inch the elegant queen. A few flowers were tucked into the top half of her hair, which was pulled back, accentuating her large eyes and blushing cheeks. The rest of her long blond locks hung free and swayed in the gentle breeze that blew through the clearing.

  “Lovely,” Diaval said when Maleficent remained silent.

  Aurora smiled at her old friend and then moved to stand in front of Maleficent. She was holding something. “I have something for you,” she said. Lifting her hands, Aurora revealed a long black scarf. The fabric was plain, but rich and heavy, the same fabric as Maleficent’s dress. “It’s…for your horns.” She paused, smiling nervously. “I just thought it might make Phillip’s family feel more comfortable.”

  That stung.

  Maleficent inhaled sharply. It was a natural reflex, honed by those years, long before, when she had thought her horns a source of shame. It had been a while since she had felt the need to hide who she was from others. The thought made her feel sick and angry at the same time. Her expression must have made her thoughts clear, because Aurora immediately looked contrite.

  “And you as well,” she said. “But maybe it’s a bad idea….”

  Diaval’s reminder of how much Aurora loved Phillip echoed back to Maleficent, and she saw, in a flash, the cradle in the cottage. Aurora had only ever asked for Maleficent’s love. It had taken Maleficent years to realize how much the girl meant to her and years more to grow comfortable with that love. If Aurora had taught her anything, it was that kindness could be found in the smallest of gestures. Slowly, she reached out and took the fabric from Aurora.

  “Thank you,” the girl said, relieved.

  Maleficent nodded. “Come on, then,” she said. “Let’s get this over with.”

  She turned and strode out of the clearing and into the heart of the Moors. She heard Aurora and Diaval follow her. While they walked, the sun sank beneath the horizon. Above them, firefly faeries took to the air, lighting a path for the trio as they made their way toward the border. The group was silent, each lost in their own thoughts of the evening ahead. As she walked, Maleficent wrapped the scarf around her horns. By the time they reached the river that separated the Moors from Ulstead, the hor
ns were hidden from view. At a glance, Maleficent almost appeared human. But her glowing green eyes and giant black wings kept the transformation from being complete.

  Reaching the river that connected the two kingdoms, Maleficent hesitated. This was the farthest she had been from the Moors in a long, long time. Looking out over the water, she saw the lights of the village come on one by one. From where she stood, they almost looked like the firefly faeries that twinkled above them. But Maleficent knew better. She knew that for every light that came on, there was a human. And where there were humans, there was distrust—and iron.

  Taking a deep breath, Maleficent pressed on. With a wave of her hand, a bridge made of flowers and vines appeared. She stepped forward, the others following. While every inch of Maleficent wanted to turn back or take to the skies and fly away, she knew she could not. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Aurora, whose face was aglow with the anticipation of seeing Phillip.

  No, Maleficent had to do this.

  It took only a few moments to reach the village that sat at the foot of Castle Ulstead. As they walked onto the main street, they heard shutters slamming. A few villagers lingered on the street, holding torches in front of them menacingly. But aside from them, the village appeared to be mostly deserted.

  “Such a warm welcome,” Maleficent said, raising an eyebrow as she looked around.

  “In fairness, you waged war on the last human kingdom you visited,” Diaval pointed out.

  Maleficent shrugged. She couldn’t argue with that. Continuing, they passed a group of young boys and girls. They were staring at the trio, mouths open and eyes wide. Flashing them a smile—complete with fangs—Maleficent bit back a laugh as they squealed and ran away. It was just too easy. Human children were such easily frightened creatures.

  Finally, the trio arrived at the main gate. As they passed through a soaring archway, Maleficent took note of the soldiers who stood at attention. For a kingdom at peace, they certainly seemed prepared for war. Shooting them a look, Maleficent strode forward. But she was forced to a halt when Castle Ulstead came into full view.