by Liz Braswell
Why couldn’t she be let in on the magical runnings of the castle? Why couldn’t she watch and maybe learn how Maleficent summoned the food, drink, and other luxuries they managed to consume despite the destruction of the world Outside?
And how long did they have to stay cooped up in the castle anyway? When would it be safe enough to go Outside—even for a short while?
There was a story a priest had told her once—the poor priest who somehow wound up Outside the castle when everything happened—about the first time the world was destroyed. By water, not monsters. After enduring the flood in a boat for weeks, the surviving humans had sent out a dove or a hedgehog or some other bird to see if there was dry land anywhere yet.
Couldn’t they do that?
Couldn’t they send out one of the inhuman guards? Couldn’t they leave to explore and come back—using some of Maleficent’s magic somehow to protect themselves?
Had the minstrel really made it all the way Outside and back?
The Exile, the only one ever forcibly sent out of the castle, had never returned…but he probably didn’t want to face the queen’s wrath. He had challenged her right to rule; he was a real king, he had said, not “some strumpet of a fairy too big for her britches.”
It was, upon reflection, lucky for him she didn’t just obliterate him on the spot. Maleficent had a streak of temper, though she tried to shield her niece from it.
Aurora grumpily spun over on her bed and put her pillow over her head. These were the thoughts she was most ashamed of. Ungrateful thoughts about the woman who had saved what was left of the world. Aurora had too much of her parents in her. She seemed to lack basic human gratitude for what she had.
She wished she had magic powers.
No, her mind quickly said, not like what her parents had received. Not even as much as Maleficent had. Just a little. Just to be able to see. Either what the world was like out there now, how it was changing or healing…or what it had been like before, back when there were animals and people and the books all worked properly. It was getting hard to remember, another effect of the evil, changed land.
She wished…
…and a book fell on her head.
PRINCESS AURORA SAT UP, surprised by the sudden cascade of parchment pages that fell to the floor. Not a book…a deck of cards. Brightly colored, intricately painted cards whose pictures were all still intact.
She picked them up with just the tips of her very careful fingers, as if at her touch they would disappear back into her imagination.
The first few were familiar. They were the kind used for games that people in the castle often played to pass their long hours of confinement. A three of swords, a nine of cups, a two of hearts, all in the bright and simple heraldic colors of the kingdom. An eight of chairs. A thirteen of dolls. A zero of castles.
The numbers were elegant, elongated, and golden, just like the ones she drew in the air when math was easy.
A strange ache throbbed where she had been hit in the head by the cards. What golden numbers? When was math easy? That never happened, except perhaps in a dream….
She shook herself and flipped to the next card.
A joker.
Aurora frowned at this one. The figure sported the usual impish grin of his kind—but his motley seemed ragged. His face was long and narrow, and instead of a scepter or wand he carried a lute. He looked, all things considered, a trifle too much like the minstrel.
And after him came even stranger cards of equally bizarre suits.
A one of suns: a shining yellow ball, golden rays streaking out sharply to the edges of the card. Aurora held it close to her face, wondering at the detail. She wished the artist had left some room for a hint of the blue sky she couldn’t remember anymore. The sun seemed so joyous at its own energy that its eyes were simple curves, squinted shut, its mouth almost nonexistent.
Did the real sun actually have a face?
Aurora wasn’t sure. She couldn’t remember.
In the picture below it, a naked child happily rode a pony over hills so green she was tempted to pick at the paint with her fingernail. His mount was dappled white and black and had a horn and a beard. None of the remaining horses in the castle looked anything like it.
The next card was of a girl who looked, at first glance, like Aurora herself, arms wrapped lovingly around the neck of a lion. The lion was tawny and orange and red, and the girl’s golden hair was so thick and manelike she could have been a version of the sun itself. Aurora knew lions because they were carved into decorations around the castle and inscribed upon heraldic shields.
On the card after that, a girl—who also looked like her—was touching a different beast on the nose. Aurora had no idea what animal it was. Tiny like a squirrel, but with overlong, soft ears that were as ridiculous as the horn on the pony. Its pink nose sprouted long whiskers that were so carefully painted Aurora felt her heart break. She wished she could touch such a creature, like the girl in the picture.
And finally, there was an animal by itself in an open green patch surrounded by trees. It looked a bit like a horse but for its shorter body and more slender legs. It had no mane, and its tail was short and fat. Its head was turned backward, cocked, as if listening for danger.
Aurora looked around quickly, suddenly nervous. No book in the castle had all of its pictures, and even the tapestries were blurry. It seemed like this strange deck was complete. Why these? Why now?
“Princess? Your Highness?” a voice called from outside her door.
Aurora quickly swept the cards into an ungainly pile and, looking around for someplace to stash them, shoved them into the pretty little velvet bag set out to go with her gown that night.
Without waiting for an answer, the owner of the voice swept in: tiny, round-faced, and as delicate as a dragonfly.
Aurora felt a burn of guilt heat up her face and breast. Lady Lianna was her handmaiden and closest friend. And the princess was her only friend; she had been part of a visiting envoy when the end of the world had come, destroying her homeland, her parents, and everyone she had ever loved.
Despite her completely appropriate dress and the very stylish, intricately braided buns of ebon that covered her ears, there was something unmistakably foreign about her large black eyes and grayish skin. Other members of royalty in the castle tended to shun her.
“You’re not even partially dressed yet,” Lianna scolded, but she didn’t click her tongue the way another might have. She flowed from one side of the room to the other, gathering things for a ballroom transformation: brush, ribbons, underskirts, golden tippet, golden shoes.
“Um,” Aurora said. Up until a moment ago, the ball had been arguably the most important—or at least interesting—thing in her life. The one and only event there was to look forward to every month.
But now all Aurora wanted was for Lianna to go away so she could go back to lying on her bed, looking through all the cards.
The handmaiden planted herself behind the princess and began to unlace the back of her day dress.
“Your second cousin, Mistress Laura, refuses to wear the gown you so generously gave her that bolt of cloth for.”
“Really?” Aurora asked, momentarily distracted. “I thought she would look nice in that dark aqua. It matches her eyes.”
“I think it was less the color than who chose it,” Lianna said crisply. Having finished with the laces, she firmly but politely turned Aurora around and started helping her out of the long, buttoned sleeves.
“Oh, bother. Well, she’s just a girl,” Aurora said, shaking her head—and her arms, to get the long sleeves off.
“She’s fifteen, Your Highness,” her friend said with a barely audible hiss. “I would keep an eye on her insolences. You have many years of close confinement with her—and her admirers—ahead.”
Aurora shook her head with a smile. “Lianna, this is not like the court where you’re from. There are no conspiracies. There are no plots. She is a girl who doesn’t want t
he future queen choosing a dress for her. I understand—I don’t like it when people tell me what to do, either.”
There was a moment of silence. Aurora realized that last bit had come out far more vehemently than she had meant.
Lianna’s large eyes were unreadable, as always.
“Oh, absolutely. And the Exile was just a friendly neighboring king.”
“That was different,” Aurora said, uncomfortable at the memory. “He wanted to take over the castle. He actually tried to organize a coup.”
“It started with talk, Your Highness. He told Queen Maleficent she had no place ruling. That he was better suited. It started with talk and ended with him being thrown Outside for all of our safety. If you truly like Mistress Laura, you will caution her to curb her tongue and to obey those above her without question.”
The princess was silent. All she remembered from that confusing time was a white-bearded, fat little blustery man, shouting and arguing like a storm against the cool, sharp figure of her aunt. The fury of his words had been split and dissipated by the calmness of her demeanor.
And then his cursing when the inhuman servants threw him Outside.
Lianna relented, seeing the troubled look on her mistress’s face.
“Come,” she said. “Get out of that, and we’ll put you in your dress.”
She turned to the wardrobe with the precision of an insect. Aurora shivered out of her dress, letting it fall to the floor. It was a fun, dramatic moment, but Aurora was a good girl and could not resist immediately stepping out of it, picking it up, and smoothing it out. The way she had been taught to take care of clothes.
No, wait…no one had taught her. She had been ignored and left to run wild with the servants and dogs for years.
She put a hand to her head.
“Here, now, look at this,” Lianna said quickly, bringing the new dress over. “This is a dress for a royal princess.”
It was indeed, and Aurora couldn’t help smiling. The skirt and bodice were as dark blue as she imagined the sea had been, dotted with golden shots of thread, the way she imagined the ocean had sparkled under a golden sun. The girdle matched her tippets, both made from the same golden cloth taken from one of the old queen’s dresses.
Palace seamstresses and ladies of the court had worked day and night on it—on all of the outfits for the ball.
“It is so nice for everyone to make this for me,” she murmured.
“It’s generous of you and the queen to give the ladies something to do,” Lianna almost snorted.
“What do you mean? This took weeks of work,” Aurora said, showing her the fine seams.
“Seamstresses must sew. Ladies must dance. Everyone does what they must do or we will all go mad here,” the handmaiden said, holding the skirts so Aurora could step into them properly. “I have seen them work, their needles flashing in and out, like they are driven by the devil. Even the peasants brush their donkeys and slop the pigs and try to grow little vegetable gardens despite the food our loving queen provides with her magic. They cannot stop themselves. Everyone must be what they must be.”
“And ladies in waiting?” Aurora said with a gentle, teasing smile.
“We wait,” Lianna said with no hint of humor.
“But you don’t have to,” the princess said gently. “It’s nice that you’re serving me, and I love you as a friend, but…do you want to do anything different?”
Lianna stared at her, wide black eyes unblinking.
“I am only here at all because of the grace of our loving queen,” she said flatly. “I am grateful for my continued existence.”
Aurora bit her lip. What she had mistaken for insensate following of orders was actually overwhelming gratitude. Lianna felt blessed that she was simply still alive; anything she did now was a joyful celebration of that.
“I’m sorry,” Aurora said softly, taking her hand. “I didn’t mean to insult what you do. I just wanted to say…if you wanted to do anything different…marry someone, maybe…I don’t know…I’d miss your constant presence, but I completely encourage it.”
Lianna finally blinked.
“Th-thank you, Princess,” she said.
Then the moment was over and the quick, knowing smile returned. “For now, the princess must have her hair brushed and arranged by an expert. Sit.”
Aurora let herself be gently pushed onto her pink-cushioned chair. She looked into the hazy silver mirror as Lianna took her locks and brushed down, down, long strokes, over and over again until they shone.
“Your hair is so beautiful,” the handmaiden sighed. “Like spun gold.”
Even though she always said this, she said it with feeling every time. Aurora looked into the mirror and smiled. She was pretty. She was a royal princess. There was about to be a ball. These were things she could, once in a while, allow herself to be happy about.
EVERYONE IN THE Thorn Castle attended the monthly balls. Well, the peasants were in the secondary hall, and the servants were, of course, serving, but no one was left out. Everyone got wine, cider, food, salt, and a chance to hear the musicians play.
Long silk swags in every shade of blue hung from the walls and billowed out over the ceiling to suggest what the sky used to look like. Magical bronze fountains bubbled water that was tinted slightly blue for effect. Artificial streams ran down troughs in the middle of the great tables like—like actual streams once did, perhaps. Although they didn’t quite tinkle properly, as they did in Aurora’s dreams. The tables had been draped with old blue and green tapestries. Their pictures were blurred and gone; blue dishes and golden plates were arranged to cover them up so no one would see and grow uneasy. There were always golden plates at the feasts. It was the only thing Maleficent ever insisted on. Golden plates and golden domes over the food to keep it warm. Seeing them always made the queen smile, though she never said why.
Chandeliers and great pillar candles and torches in the walls all flickered with dancing blue flames thanks to Queen Maleficent’s magic.
The musicians played in the space in front of the three great tables, long blue streamers tied to their horns and mandolins. They sat in what looked very much like a broad wooden washtub, but which people who remembered insisted was a boat.
Even the minstrel was there—albeit with discreet golden chains holding him to the closest pillar and a guard standing nearby. He had apparently been allowed a furlough from his forced recuperation just for tonight. And though his eyes were red, bloodshot, and watery, he was picking his lute with the speed and skill he was renowned for. And acting otherwise completely like his normal self.
Aurora found herself heaving a sigh of relief—and disappointment. Guilty disappointment. She genuinely liked the minstrel and didn’t really want anything bad to happen to him…but with him playing and everything back to normal, it really did seem like what he had said about the Outside was nothing but the raving of a drunk. Everything would go on as it had before….
She forced her attention away from him and back to the revelers.
The nobles of the castle were dressed in brilliant blues: Prussian velvet doublets, cerulean linen skirts, periwinkle bodices, sapphire roundlets, cobalt capes, all swirling and undulating as people talked or danced or made their way around the room.
Aurora watched the scene from her vantage point next to the throne with a satisfied smile. On the royal dais, looking down at the entire room, she imagined she was also on a boat, watching waves crash against each other in dance after dance.
Maybe it really was like a sea.
Maleficent wore all black as usual, but with a nod to the theme of the festivities, she had changed her horned headpiece to a slightly iridescent blue and wore matching iridescent wristlets.
Aurora shifted her legs in a slightly unprincessy manner; her decorative bag hung heavier than usual. It was only when she looked down that she saw the uneven corners of the cards sticking out the top of her velvet pouch.
“Something the matter, my dear?”
the queen drawled.
“No. It’s just…” Aurora fumbled with the bag and loosened its drawstrings. “I found these earlier. I was…I was going to ask you about them.”
As she handed the deck over, she wondered if that was strictly true. She had no hesitation in showing them now, but if she hadn’t been caught, would she have?
“Ahhhh.” Maleficent’s eyes widened for a moment, but the sound came out of her mouth long and quiet. Aurora had no idea how to interpret it. “This is how the world was before. Before your parents destroyed it. Behold: the sun. A unicorn. A lion. A rabbit. A deer…”
As the queen named each card, Aurora found herself mouthing the words she didn’t know after her, trying to remember.
“And so on. You shouldn’t look at these, dear. They will only make you sad. They are all gone from this world, never to return.”
Maleficent let the cards tumble from her fingers to the ground.
Aurora watched, tears springing to her eyes.
“Couldn’t you,” she whispered, “couldn’t you with your magic…?”
“There is no magic in the world powerful enough to bring back that which is truly dead and extinct. I’m so sorry, my dear. You should, sadly, put it completely out of your head. It can only cause you sorrow.”
Aurora nodded mutely, trying not to sniff.
Maleficent put a finger to her niece’s chin and gently forced her head up. “See? It is already ruining your fantastic party. It’s unfortunate you ever saw these.”
The princess took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. Through the blur of her unshed tears, the golden numbers on the cards gleamed and twinkled from the floor, refusing to be trash.
The queen also regarded the cards on the ground and began to tap on the edge of her throne with her long black fingernails.
“Where did you find these, anyway?” she asked casually.
Aurora shrugged. “They fell off my bookshelf. I never noticed them before. All of the other books are, you know, senseless or blank.”
“Of course they are,” the queen said, nodding, seeming relieved. “You must be careful, my Aurora. The Outside has ways of getting inside. My powers can stave off the physical attacks, the bigger monsters and obvious threats of invasion…but evil has a way of slipping in—through the cracks in your mind. Wishes are powerful and dangerous things. Do not wish for things that can never be.”
