But first she had other work to do. Spotting Udo trapped in a kite line, she swooped over to him. The sharp talons on her wings flashed as she sliced through the line, freeing him. Then she scanned the castle for any sign of Queen Ingrith. Her eyes were wild, blazing with fury and determination. Not spotting her prey, Maleficent flew lower. She picked up and flung aside soldiers who got in her way.
All she wanted was Ingrith.
To destroy her.
But where was she?
Arriving directly above the castle, Maleficent saw plumes of red dust emanating from the chapel. The smoke lifted into the sky, where it mingled with the clouds before fading from view. Maleficent also spotted dozens of faerie folk fleeing for their lives out the doors of the chapel. She saw Knotgrass attacking Gerda, Ingrith’s head engineer. Knotgrass was pushing her away from an organ, from which the red dust blew. But Maleficent didn’t see Thistlewit or Flittle. Her eyes narrowed as she flew down for a closer look and spotted what she knew immediately were the remains of faerie folk. Were the pixies part of the remains? How many faerie lives had been lost because of Ingrith? Her rage grew.
Maleficent turned from the chapel. In the sky behind her she saw the warrior fey—what was left of them—coming toward her. She nodded. She would need their help if she was going to defeat Ingrith. She saw that now. The red dust was too powerful a weapon—even for her.
Phillip couldn’t believe it had come to this. His wedding was a massacre. His mother was waging war on all the faeries. She had cursed his father. And now he was plummeting to the ground, clinging helplessly to a kite while one of his oldest and dearest friends clung to his feet.
The men thudded on the hard ground as they landed and rolled free of the kite. Phillip was on his feet in an instant. He could see the chapel on the other side of the lawn. He had to get there—to Aurora and to the faerie folk. He ran.
But a moment later, Percival slammed into his back, knocking him to the ground once more. They rolled over the grass, pushing and shoving. Percival’s arm pulled back and he moved to hit Phillip, but the prince slipped out of the way just in time. Jumping to his feet, he put his fists out in front of him. The two men shuffled back and forth, facing each other. If Phillip hadn’t been so angry, he might have laughed. It reminded him so much of when they were boys, learning to wrestle while his father cheered them on. Then it had been for fun. Now it was for life.
“Yield!” Percival shouted, jumping forward and causing Phillip to take a quick step back.
Phillip kept moving as he shook his head. “My mother put the curse on the king so she could destroy the creatures of the Moors,” Phillip said, trying to get through to his old friend. “Your men are paying heavily for it.” As he spoke, another soldier shrieked as he fell from a Dark Fey’s grasp. Percival’s steps slowed and doubt crept into his eyes. Phillip opened his mouth to say more when suddenly there was a loud roar. Percival was knocked off his feet by a blur of wings and weathered tan skin.
All of a sudden, Phillip was staring at a Dark Fey. The first thing that flashed through his mind was Maleficent. The creature looked a lot like Aurora’s godmother. He had the same wide wings and horns, but while Maleficent’s were dark and her skin was pale and smooth, this fey had wings the color of sand and skin that was rough and worn.
It was Borra. The fey had fury in his eyes and rage in his heart. And his target was Phillip.
As Phillip watched, the fey’s eyes narrowed. With a mighty flap of his wings, he swooped toward Phillip.
But just as the Dark Fey’s hands were about to close around Phillip’s throat, there was a shot and Borra fell to the ground. He lay there for a moment, a wound in his shoulder sizzling.
Looking over, Phillip saw Percival sitting up, a crossbow in his shaking hands. Thank you, Phillip mouthed, relief flooding over him.
But the feeling was short-lived. As Phillip watched in horror, Borra pushed himself to his feet. Stalking toward Percival, who scrambled backward in an attempt to get away, the Dark Fey leaned down and grabbed the crossbow from the human. He lifted it, then threw it to the ground, smashing it to pieces. Turning his attention once more to the human, Borra snarled and reached out a hand, ready to do the same thing to Percival that he had done to the crossbow.
Phillip’s breathing was tense as he stood there, frozen. He couldn’t wrap his head around any of it. His mother’s betrayal. Her utter indifference to all the lives—human and faerie—that were ending.
His mother’s insane desire was to destroy the Moors and every creature in them. No, he thought once more. His mother no longer made sense to him. Nor was she his family any longer, he realized. Family didn’t hurt and destroy one another. Family didn’t lie and betray. Ingrith had stopped being his mother the moment she chose her vendetta over him and his father. His family was Aurora. Her happiness was his happiness. Her future was his future. And he would fight to his last breath to save both.
Percival’s screams snapped Phillip back to the moment. Slowly, Phillip lifted his sword high above his head and stepped forward. He knew what he had to do. It was what he should have done long before. Distracted, Borra didn’t notice Phillip as he walked over. He didn’t notice him until Phillip pressed the tip of his sword to the Dark Fey’s neck. Instantly, his flesh began to burn.
“Step away,” Phillip ordered.
“Do it,” Borra said, pressing his neck into the blade, impervious to the pain.
Percival looked up, surprise written all over his face. “Phillip,” he started, “we’re under attack!”
But Phillip shook his head. “This is not my fight,” he said. “The queen wanted this war and you are giving it to her.”
On the ground, Percival looked up at him, as if seeing Phillip for the first time. Phillip nodded at his friend. For too long he had been a silent witness to his mother’s cruelty. He was done letting her ruin all that he found good. Once more, he turned and addressed Borra. “I will not allow her hate to ruin my kingdom or yours. I will have no fey blood on my hands.” His words spoken, Phillip dropped the sword. It landed on the ground, bounced once, and then was still. In the fading light, the blade sparkled.
For a long, tense moment, the two men and one Dark Fey were still. Phillip kept his gaze locked on Borra as behind them a blast of magic shook the air. Finally, the fey gave the slightest of nods. He had come to kill Phillip, but now, begrudgingly, he found he could not. But that didn’t mean others couldn’t. With a flap of his mighty wings, he lifted into the air and flew toward the other Dark Fey.
Phillip sank to his knees. The breath he had been holding rushed out of him. He knelt there, his head down as he tried to regain his composure. Suddenly, a shadow fell over him. Looking up, he saw Percival standing, his hand outstretched.
“My prince,” Percival said.
Taking his hand, Phillip got to his feet. Percival didn’t need to say more. His eyes said enough. The doubt he had had was gone. In its place were faith and trust. Percival, like Phillip, now knew the truth about Ingrith. And together, they were going to stop her. Once and for all.
MALEFICENT HEARD THE SCREAMS OF TERROR FROM THE SOLDIERS BELOW. SHE FELT THEIR FEAR AS SHE SENT WAVE AFTER WAVE OF MAGIC TO THE GROUND. SHE SMELLED THE FIRES THAT HAD BEGUN TO BURN THE GROUNDS OF CASTLE ULSTEAD. And it made her feel strong.
But there was another part of her, smaller and not as loud, that protested her reckless destruction. It sounded a lot like Conall, begging her to stop and think of what she was doing and who she was hurting.
She pushed that part down. It would do her no good when she finally found Ingrith. She needed rage to defeat the queen. Spotting a soldier out in the open, Maleficent dove and lifted him to her. As they hung in the air, the human’s legs flailing helplessly, she glared at him. “Where is she?” she snarled.
Shaking, the soldier pointed toward one of the two huge towers that dominated Castle Ulstead. The queen’s tower. Of course. Maleficent should have known the queen would be there, high above
it all, watching everything unfold from where she thought she was safe.
But she wasn’t safe. Not any longer.
Dropping the soldier, Maleficent flew straight up the side of the tower. Fury burned in her eyes as she arrived at the top and spotted Queen Ingrith. The woman was standing in the center of the tower, arms at her sides, her face a mask of cold calm despite the chaos below. Soldiers guarded her, lining the edges, their weapons at the ready. Two huge catapults—armed with barrels of red dust—were aimed directly at Maleficent.
Maleficent wasn’t afraid of the red dust or the death it would bring—so long as she could get to Ingrith first. Hovering in the air, she stared down the vile queen. Wind whipped at her dress and her hair, which had come loose, giving her a wilder, more evil look. What had filled the woman with such hate? Maleficent wondered. It occurred to her, in a rather unappealing way, that she and the queen had that in common, at least. The hate. And the need for revenge. The only difference was Maleficent hadn’t started this war. Ingrith had.
Dropping down to the opposite side of the tower, Maleficent kept her gaze locked on the queen. Two soldiers stepped between them. But with a swipe of her finger, Maleficent blew them aside. Now it was just the two of them.
Maleficent had had plenty of time in the Nest to think about the dinner and all that had transpired since then. She knew that Ingrith had used Maleficent’s temper and reputation against her. The part that irked Maleficent was that she had let her vulnerability show. Her love for Aurora had weakened her. The thought made her anger stronger, and she lifted a hand, ready to strike Ingrith down with a wave of magic.
But the queen’s words stopped her. “Killing me would be so easy,” she said, gesturing to Maleficent’s raised arm. “A wave of your hand and you get your revenge. Your kind is more predictable than humans.”
In response, Maleficent’s fangs flashed and her hand rose up. But a voice stopped her.
“Maleficent! No!”
Turning, Maleficent saw Aurora race out onto the tower. Her face was covered in dirt, her dress torn, but her eyes were as strong—and kind—as ever. Watching the pair, Ingrith smiled cruelly. “Well, almost as predictable.”
Ignoring the cold woman, Aurora rushed over and put herself firmly between Maleficent and Ingrith. “I tried to make you be something you are not,” she said softly, her eyes locked on Maleficent’s.
Up close, Maleficent could now see pain in Aurora’s eyes, too, as she begged for forgiveness.
“I’m forever sorry for that. But I know who you are and I know there is another way,” Aurora said.
Maleficent raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. “You do not know me,” she said. You doubted me. You trusted her over me, she almost added. But she bit back the bitter words. Conall’s calm, kind voice echoed in her head, fighting with her own anger, weakening it. Hope, Conall had told her. She and Aurora had given him hope. He had believed in the power of Maleficent’s love for Aurora over all things and he had ultimately sacrificed himself so they could be reunited. Could she let him die in vain?
Aurora, seeing the hesitation in Maleficent’s eyes, slowly reached out her hand. “I do know you,” she said. “You’re my mother.”
Maleficent’s head snapped up. Her eyes locked on Aurora. Mother. The word echoed in her head, bouncing off moments and memories of Aurora as a baby, a young girl, and a young woman, happy and smiling. Aurora, reaching out and gently holding Maleficent’s horn in her chubby hand. And then the word shifted, transformed, bouncing off newer memories. Memories of seeing the young fey learning to fly. She had spent so long believing she was a monster that she had almost failed to understand why Conall had put his faith in her. She wasn’t the beast Ingrith said she was. She was a mother. A friend. A companion.
And, Maleficent thought, her mind made up, she was, and always would be, a protector.
Sensing the change in Maleficent, Ingrith reacted instantly. She lifted a huge crossbow in front of her. With her finger on the trigger, she smiled one more time, and then…she fired.
In a flash, a huge cloud of red dust hit Maleficent square in the chest. As the air exploded in red, Aurora screamed in anguish.
A moment later, the world in front of Maleficent vanished as she turned from fey to dust.
Aurora wept, her chest heaving as she watched the place where Maleficent had been. Now there was nothing but a cloud of dark dust that slowly began to dissipate in the wind.
Hearing the sound of footsteps above her, Aurora looked up. The simplest of movements was painful in light of what had just happened. Ingrith was peering down at her, a look of triumph on her face.
“Do you know what makes a great leader, Aurora?” Ingrith asked, unmoved by the tears that poured down Aurora’s cheeks and onto the stones. “The ability to instill fear in your subjects—and then use that fear against your enemies.” As she spoke, she waved her hand in the air, as though she could wave away the red dust that lingered. Aurora stared up at her, unable to find her voice or the strength to move.
Ingrith went on. “So, I told them the story about the evil witch, the princess she cursed, and how my son saved the beauty with True Love’s Kiss.”
Aurora’s eyes widened. The woman was madder than she had thought. That wasn’t the story. That was only part of the story. A twisted version that painted Maleficent a villain. Of course the people had hated the Dark Fey. They had trusted their queen to tell them the truth…and she had taken their trust and used it against them. She was, Aurora realized, pure evil. She was the witch, not Maleficent.
As if reading her thoughts, Ingrith nodded. “I know you think I’m a monster,” she continued. “But what I did to the king, to Maleficent, to my son…I did it for Ulstead.” As she spoke, she took a step closer. Now her toes were nearly on top of Aurora’s fingers. She stopped, inches away. “This,” she finished, gesturing to the dust that had once been Maleficent, and then out at the devastation wrought by her war, “is your doing. You are a traitor to your kind—and you will pay for it.”
Reaching down, Ingrith grabbed Aurora’s wrist and yanked her painfully to her feet. Ignoring Aurora’s protests, the queen dragged her closer to the edge of the tower. Aurora’s feet scrambled on the stone. For such a fragile-looking woman, the queen was remarkably strong. Hate fueled her strength and clouded her mind. What else could explain what she was about to do? It was clear that Ingrith planned to send Aurora hurtling to her death while soldiers, fey, and even Phillip (who Aurora spotted on a neighboring parapet) watched.
The wind began to pick up as Aurora was dragged closer to the edge. The dust that had scattered all over the tower’s stones lifted into the air and began to swirl. Ingrith didn’t notice. She was focused on the crowd that had gathered below.
“Maleficent is dead!” she shouted.
From the human soldiers came muffled shouts of joy while the remaining fey gasped. Ingrith reveled in both reactions, her smile growing broader. “We will never again have to live in fear.”
“Let go of me,” Aurora said. Ingrith’s words were making her sick. How could the woman be so happy in the face of such devastation? Aurora wrenched her arm back but Ingrith’s grip was iron tight.
“Ulstead is free at last,” Ingrith said triumphantly. But as her words drifted down and over the crowd, so, too, did more dust. It swirled in the air, shifting and transforming in front of her very eyes, slowly at first, then faster and faster as it grew and thickened.
“What’s happening?” Aurora heard Ingrith ask. But she didn’t look at the queen. Her eyes were glued to the dust.
Then the dust began to take shape. It wasn’t clear at first. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the way it shifted and moved. But as Aurora watched, the dust that had once been Maleficent began pulling together and stretching until at last it became a massive phoenix.
Aurora gasped.
Maleficent had been transformed. Her love and the power of her sacrifice had tapped into the ancient being within her, so
, like the mythical being of her ancestry, she was reborn.
Letting out a ferocious roar, the phoenix spread her wings. The bird turned, locking her eyes on Ingrith. The queen took an anxious step backward as she saw the look of death in the bird’s eyes. Behind her, the soldiers dropped their weapons and scrambled away from the phoenix as green magic began to swell, casting the tower and the ground below in an eerie shadow.
Aurora looked at Maleficent—the phoenix—and a single tear trickled down her cheek. The bird was beautiful. She was wild and powerful, and despite the anger in her eyes, Aurora knew the bird represented everything good that had been in Maleficent’s soul.
And then, before anything could be done to stop her, Ingrith shoved Aurora over the ledge. With a cry, Aurora began to fall.
The wind rushed in her ears and whipped painfully at her cheeks. She saw the stones of the tower flashing by her as she plummeted toward the ground. Faster and faster she fell, her dress billowing around her as the clouds wafted teasingly at her from above. The ground rose, ready to meet her.
Then she heard it: over the wind, the cry of a bird and the flapping of powerful wings. A moment later, she felt the wings wrap around her, and then, with a thunderous crash, she—and Maleficent—slammed into the hard ground.
Aurora groaned. Her eyes, shut tightly, suddenly sprang open. There was precisely one thing on her mind: Maleficent!
Whipping her head around, Aurora saw that she was lying on the ground, cradled in the wings of the phoenix. As the majestic creature’s wings opened, Aurora scrambled to her feet and moved a few steps away. Her eyes never left the phoenix. But the bird now lay motionless. The colorful wings did not move again. The eyes were closed.
Then, as she watched, the phoenix’s eyes opened and she, too, rose. For a moment, the creature hovered in the air, an image from legend brought to beautiful life. Nearby, the Dark Fey who had survived bowed their heads in respect. And then, once more, the phoenix transformed. The wings became arms. The feathers turned black. And standing there, once again whole, was Maleficent. She was the same, yet different. Her eyes were filled with new wisdom and peace. And where she had once only had wings, now she had a tail, too—like the phoenix from which she had gained such strength.
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