“You are the last of her descendants.” His gaze moved to the phoenix’s bones. “Her blood is your own. I’m asking you to take all of your fury, all of your pain—and not use it. Peace will be the Dark Fey’s final transformation.”
Suddenly, the sound of flapping wings echoed through the chamber. Dragging her eyes from Conall, Maleficent watched as Borra landed nearby. As usual, he was frowning, his eyes full of unleashed rage. She couldn’t tell if it was directed at her or the world. She guessed it was a bit of both.
Giving Borra only the briefest acknowledgement, Conall continued. Maleficent wasn’t sure why he was so determined to get her on his side, but she listened. “The Moors are our last true nature on earth. And yet you named a human as queen. A daughter you cared for—”
“I have no daughter!” Maleficent shrieked.
The words were out of her mouth before Maleficent could stop them. Hearing them out loud made her heart ache, and she reflexively put a hand to the still healing wound on her stomach. Up until that very moment, she had not allowed herself to admit that what she believed was true: Aurora was no longer a part of her life. Now it felt real—and raw.
Seeing the pain on her face, Borra smiled cruelly. “We’ve just heard there’s going to be a wedding at the castle in three days,” he said, giving the reason for his arrival. “Humans will come from all over.” Borra stalked closer. He looked thrilled by the news, which confused Maleficent until he added, “We will kill the king and queen of Ulstead—and the young prince.”
Borra’s words echoed off the walls until they faded, leaving nothing but silence. Maleficent stood motionless while her mind reeled. She wanted the king and queen of Ulstead to suffer for what they had done. And Phillip, too. In a flash, she remembered Aurora’s feelings. If he were to come to harm, what would that do to Aurora?
A small bitter thought crept into her mind. Aurora would get her heart broken. Would that be so wrong? Should Maleficent even care? Her fingers traced the outline of her wound. A few days earlier, the idea of Aurora’s feeling pain would have filled Maleficent with fury. Now she just felt numb.
Shrugging, she turned to stare at the phoenix. Let Borra plan his war. She would see what rose from the ashes.
INGRITH WAS GROWING BORED. WHEN SHE HAD ANNOUNCED THE WEDDING, SHE KNEW THERE WOULD BE COUNTLESS DETAILS TO OVERSEE. BUT SHE HAD FAILED TO CONSIDER JUST HOW EXHAUSTING FEIGNING HAPPINESS COULD BE—OR HOW MANY HOURS WOULD BE REQUIRED. For the past two days she had pretended to delight over wedding cake options and fawn over floral arrangements. She had listened to countless musicians vie for the chance to play the wedding march. She had flattered Phillip and Aurora and applauded with joy when they chose their first song.
She was tired of it.
Now Ingrith stood in Aurora’s chambers, waiting for the girl to come out from behind the large dressing screen that stood along the far wall. She heard the girl giggling with the handmaidens as she dressed, and then…silence. A moment later, Aurora emerged.
If Ingrith had had a warm bone in her body, she would have done something motherly, like gasp or clutch her hands to her heart, as she watched her future daughter-in-law glide closer. The girl was breathtaking. Even in the simple cream gown without embellishments, not even a single gem, she glowed. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips, which she now bit nervously, were a perfect shade of pink. Flowing out from her long hair was a lace veil, the pattern simple and delicate, like a spider’s web.
But Ingrith was cold. So she said simply and without feeling, “You look stunning, Aurora.”
Aurora smiled happily, not picking up on the flat tone of Ingrith’s voice. “I’m so glad you like it, Your Majesty,” she said.
As Ingrith moved closer, she gasped and brought a hand to her throat. She immediately stopped walking. “Oh, my,” she struggled to say. “I can hardly breathe.”
“Is something wrong?” Aurora asked, concern spreading across her face.
Ingrith bowed her head, giving her enough time to compose her features. Then she looked up with a frown on her face. “My allergies,” she said by way of explanation. “I can detect the slightest bit of dirt and dust—and that dress comes straight from the Moors, does it not?” She eyed the gown as though it were alive.
“Yes,” Aurora said, touching the lace gingerly with the tip of her finger. “I’m so sorry. What can I do?”
“Perhaps,” Ingrith said as though she had a sudden and wholly new idea, “you could try this on?” She motioned to two servants, who had been waiting for her signal. Quickly, they ushered over a wedding gown that required both of them to carry it.
The dress was everything Aurora’s was not. While hers was plain, allowing the simplicity of the design to make it beautiful, this gown was elaborate. Every inch was studded with jewels, and the lace was complex; the lines created a pattern that seemed hard and rigid, whereas the lace on Aurora’s was gentle and soft. And while Aurora’s train had been pieced together from material found in the Moors, the train on this dress was nearly ten feet long. Everything about it was heavy; it was more like armor than a wedding gown.
“I wore it when I married the king,” Ingrith said, eyeing the dress proudly. She turned and saw Aurora composing her face as she, too, looked upon the gown.
“I’m sure it’s perfect,” Aurora said after a moment. Her voice was tender and the words were polite, but Aurora would wear the gown only because she was too nice to say no.
“So am I,” Ingrith replied. She instructed the handmaidens on where to put Aurora’s dress from the Moors. Then she said her good-byes. The queen was done with this nonsense for now. She had other, more important matters to attend to.
Ingrith stepped out of the room and made her way down the hall to her chambers. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching and then slipped inside. While it was not unusual for her to be entering her own chambers, Ingrith preferred the sense of security that came with a stealth entrance. Moments later she was descending toward the laboratory.
As she entered, she saw Lickspittle standing in front of a beaker filled with charcoal-colored sand. He held a small pair of tweezers, which contained a single flake of glowing gold powder. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the pixie’s protective clothing. Is that really necessary? she wondered. Lickspittle was fond of the theatrical, but the homemade gas mask seemed a bit much.
Sighing, she moved closer. At the same time, Lickspittle painstakingly added the flake of powder to the sand. There was a puff—and the sand turned from dark gray to shimmering red. In the surrounding jars, faeries were making faces at Lickspittle, unconcerned by the experiment happening in front of them.
Then Ingrith stepped out of the shadows.
As fear flashed across the faeries’ faces, Lickspittle held up a hand. “Don’t distract me!” he yelled at them.
“Lickspittle…”
Hearing the queen’s voice, Lickspittle paled behind his gas mask. As he ripped it off his head, his eyes filled with fright. “Eep!” he squeaked. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he said, backpedaling as fast as his little pixie feet allowed.
Lucky for Lickspittle, Ingrith didn’t have the time to punish him for insubordination. “Gerda says you’ve got something,” she said instead. “Does it work?”
Lickspittle’s large eyes grew a little larger, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he gulped anxiously. He had told Gerda about the experiment in confidence. It was still in the trial stages. Saying he had something that “worked” was a bit of a stretch. But he couldn’t just come out and say no. Not to Ingrith.
“I only had a handful of faerie specimens to work with, and the extraction process is painstaking,” he said.
Ingrith pointed to the glowing flower. It had been carefully placed in a thin glass vase. “Extraction from what?” she asked. She was getting annoyed. She had come down expecting something concrete, yet Lickspittle was clearly stalling.
Lickspittle took a skittish step closer to her. “Tomb Bloo
m flowers,” he explained. “They grow from a faerie’s grave and contain their very essence.” He gingerly touched a petal, his face turning solemn for a moment before his eyes flashed with renewed energy. “The ratio of flower extract to iron powder has to be just right—”
“Show me!” Ingrith said. She didn’t want to hear long explanations; she wanted to see results. And honestly, her interest was piqued.
Quickly, Lickspittle turned to the jars. Inside, faeries pushed against the glass. But they had nowhere to go. “Now who will try my faerie dust?” he asked gleefully. He spotted the mushroom faerie, then opened the jar and reached in. But just as he started to pick the specimen up, the mushroom faerie bit down—hard. “Ow!” Lickspittle screeched. Dropping the faerie, Lickspittle turned to another jar. Inside was a meek-looking dandelion faerie. His pale hair floated around him as Lickspittle grabbed him and placed him on the table nearby.
Ingrith leaned forward in anticipation. Lickspittle took a pinch of the fine red dust he had just created and sprinkled it over the dandelion faerie. As the dust settled onto the creature’s skin, the faerie’s eyes widened and his mouth opened. A moment later, he became still and transformed into a silent dandelion. The faerie, it seemed, was gone.
A smile spread across Ingrith’s face. “No more faeries,” she said, picking up the dandelion. She lifted it to her lips and blew. The seeds drifted across the room.
“Your Majesty,” Lickspittle said, relieved when he saw the pleasure on the queen’s face, “I have plenty of iron powder for my formula, but I’ll need Tomb Blooms from the Moors. Lots of them.”
Ingrith nodded, her eyes still fixed on the dandelion stalk in her hand. “You’ll have all that you need.”
She didn’t care what it took. Lickspittle would have his supplies. Because now, after all these years of planning, she finally had it: the key to destroying all faerie kind.
And soon she would be able to use it.
MALEFICENT FELT TERRIBLE.
DAYS HAD PASSED AND HER WOUND CONTINUED TO FESTER. SHE HAD THOUGHT THAT BEING SURROUNDED BY OTHERS OF HER KIND WOULD HELP, THAT THEY MIGHT KNOW A WAY TO TREAT HER INFECTION. But the iron was too powerful. Too human.
Standing in the infirmary, she tried to be patient as one of the healing fey pressed and prodded at her wound. Pain radiated through her body to the tips of her fingers. Reflexively, she bared her fangs. The fey treating her was unbothered.
“How are you feeling?”
At Conall’s voice, Maleficent turned. Slowly, she lifted her wings, stretching them so that they nearly touched the far walls. “Strong enough to fight,” she answered, forcing her voice to sound firm even though that simple effort had been enough to nearly send her to her knees. She didn’t want Conall to think her weak.
The past few days had been spent discussing and planning for the wedding—though not in the way she had imagined when Aurora first told her about the engagement. Then Maleficent had actually hoped to spend no time discussing it. She had hoped simply to tell Aurora no and be over with the whole mess. But Aurora had said yes to that ridiculous proposal. And now Maleficent wasn’t speaking to Aurora at all, let alone about a wedding.
With Borra, the talks were not about whether the marriage should happen; instead, they spoke of battle strategy. And with Conall, it was always about hope and the possibility of reconciliation. But it didn’t matter whom Maleficent spoke to or listened to. Seeing the young fey—stuck inside the Nest due to fear of the humans outside—watching them learn to fly…it had been a turning point. She was going to fight, no matter the cost.
Conall was silent for a moment after Maleficent’s declaration. She felt his eyes heavy on her. Finally, he nodded. “But when you get inside the castle?” he asked. “When you see her? Will you be strong enough then?”
As he spoke, he moved closer. Maleficent reached out and grabbed his arm, about to tell him to leave her alone. But she hesitated when she felt the ridged flesh beneath her fingers. She looked down. Conall’s arms were riddled with burn marks. “Were you a warrior?” she asked. She had assumed he was, despite his opposition to Borra’s warlike attitude.
He nodded, his eyes darkening. “For a long time,” he answered. “But no more.”
“What changed?” Maleficent asked.
“You,” he answered.
This surprised Maleficent, and she cocked her head in confusion. He smiled slightly before going on. “And Aurora. You showed me a different way.”
Maleficent dropped his arm. That again. Conall’s fascination with her relationship with Aurora was getting old. That was in the past. “I told you that was a mistake.”
He shook his head. “It wasn’t a mistake,” he said. “It was a choice. Your choice.”
She exhaled deeply. Conall was infuriating. Time and again, he told Maleficent that she should not fight. When Borra had said destroy, Conall had said forgive. He made it clear that she should stay out of the fight and repair her relationship with Aurora. Still, he insisted Maleficent get better. Raising an arm, she gestured around the infirmary and then pointed at her wound. “Why do you want me strong if you don’t want me to fight?” she asked.
Conall didn’t answer right away. The room became quiet as he gazed at Maleficent. Finally, he gave her the smallest of smiles. “Maybe I’m preparing you for a bigger fight,” he answered. Then he left the room.
Maleficent watched him go, her mind racing. Just when she had begun to believe there was nothing left to feel, she had an annoying itch growing in her heart. And it was all Conall’s fault.
• • •
Aurora felt ridiculous. She had been dancing—or rather, attempting to dance—for hours around Castle Ulstead’s ballroom while Ingrith looked on and Gerda, the queen’s aid, played a wedding waltz. Her feet felt like rocks, and her stomach was roaring. She just wanted to sit down and have a snack.
But every time she and Phillip slowed their steps, or Aurora tripped, Ingrith would clap her hands and call, “Again.” Aurora felt as though the torture would never end. She had a brief flicker of hope when she made it through an entire waltz without a mistake. But the hope vanished when she saw Ingrith hold up a pair of high heels. “Again,” Ingrith called out. So again Aurora and Phillip started to sway—only this time, Aurora wore the most painful footwear she had ever encountered.
Finally, though, it seemed Ingrith was satisfied. Nodding to Gerda, the queen allowed the music to stop. Aurora’s shoulders sagged and she looked longingly at one of the chairs. But before she could sit, Ingrith was whisking her back to her dressing chamber to be primped and pampered for afternoon tea.
As Aurora followed her, she tried to stay positive. She had known that agreeing to a wedding in three days would mean things would be rather rushed. But she had never imagined how busy she would be—nor how much she would miss Maleficent and the Moors. Every minute of the past two days had been filled with fittings and teas and consultations and dance lessons. The only time she had seen Phillip was when they were practicing their waltz, and even then Ingrith had always been present. The couple hadn’t been able to talk, and she desperately needed a confidant. Despite her knowing Maleficent was gone, there was still a piece of Aurora that hoped she was wrong—and that her godmother would appear and fix everything, sending it all back to normal.
But she was no longer a child. She knew most dreams did not come true.
Now Aurora found herself sitting with the queen and a collection of noblewomen. Ingrith had told her they were the ladies to impress. If they gave their stamp of approval, all of Ulstead would follow. Shifting on her chair, Aurora kept a smile plastered on her face as the women around her spoke. Her hair was done up in an elaborate coif that mirrored Ingrith’s, and the dress she wore was conservative, tight, and gray, a hand-me-down from the queen herself. If Maleficent did come back, Aurora thought, she probably wouldn’t even recognize me.
Noticing that one of the noblewomen needed more tea, Aurora smoothly stood and filled the cup. Ev
eryone watched, as if hoping she might spill. But when the tea was poured neatly, they all nodded.
“Your Majesty,” one of them said, “she’s absolutely lovely.”
“And to think of how she was raised,” another said, as though Aurora were not right next to her. “By the same evil witch who cursed her.”
Aurora felt her face flush. How dare they? They had no idea what her childhood was like. She had enjoyed a wonderful childhood because of, not in spite of, Maleficent. Taking a deep breath, she held up a tray of sweets, hoping to change the subject. “Tarts?” she asked, making her voice as sickly sweet as the desserts themselves.
As the women continued to chat, absently taking the treats from Aurora as though she were invisible, Aurora sighed. When she was sure that no one was paying her any mind, she slipped away.
Racing down the long, soulless hallways, she kept the tears back until she finally reached her room. She pushed open the doors, tore off her uncomfortable shoes, and rushed onto the balcony. She needed air. And silence.
But a moment later, the door opened. Fearing it was Ingrith coming to take her back, she turned. To her relief, it was Phillip. Spotting her on the balcony, he moved to join her.
“Aurora,” he said as he took in her watery eyes and sad face, “tell me, what’s troubling you?”
She didn’t answer immediately. She wasn’t sure if she could tell him the truth. But then she found her courage. After all, she was going to marry him—in a day. If she couldn’t talk to him now, what was the point?
“I’m not sure I belong here,” she finally said, her voice barely a whisper.
Phillip shook his head. “You belong with me,” he said.
She smiled. She knew he was trying to reassure her, but his words didn’t help. “Everyone’s been so kind,” she said, taking his hand to show him he was a part of that. “But I’ve only been here two days and I feel like another person.” She stopped and looked deep into Phillip’s eyes.
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