Maleficent

Chapter Eleven

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. Everyone 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.

“I know, it’s hard….”

She shook her head, the reaction surprising both of them. “No, it’s too easy. This jewelry, my hair.” She lifted a hand to her perfectly coifed head. “Even my smile has changed. I don’t feel like queen of the Moors anymore.” As she finished, a prickle of doubt formed in her heart. Had she been wrong to tell Phillip how she felt? But then he squeezed her hand, his warm, open face full of the kindness and light she had fallen in love with in the first place. The prickle began to fade.

“I want to marry the girl I met in the forest. And only her,” Phillip said softly. He reached out and brushed a hand over the sleeve of her elaborate dress. His fingers tugged gently at the fabric, pulling at one of the gems. Looking up, his eyes twinkled with love. “You don’t have to wear these ridiculous clothes.”

The last of the prickle faded completely away as she moved into Phillip’s arms and squeezed him tightly. Of course he would understand. Of course he would know that she was stronger than the foolish women downstairs. He knew her and loved her for all she was; he always had.

But as she turned to watch Phillip leave, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at her was a stranger. An image of Maleficent, her horns covered in fabric, flashed through her mind. Who had she been to ask the Dark Fey to hide who she was? To play dress-up to make others happy?

No wonder Maleficent had gone and never returned. It was terrible to try and be someone you weren’t.

The Moors were quiet. Thick clouds had covered the sky and sent the creatures scurrying off to their beds. But while the magical creatures slept, invaders approached.

Holding up his hand, Percival signaled to the forty or so soldiers waiting behind him. At Queen Ingrith’s orders, he had found the young man who had brought the Tomb Bloom to Lickspittle in the first place. Ben had been quick to offer his assistance — as soon as he saw the nice bag of gold Gerda held up. With the boy showing them the way, Percival had led his best men to infiltrate the Moors. Their objective was to gather as many of the Tomb Blooms as possible and return — without being caught. Gerda had stiffened at the orders. The last place she wanted to go, especially at night, was the Moors. Every noise sounded suspect; every scent was troubling. She much preferred the clean and orderly Ulstead.

But Ingrith’s orders were hers to obey.

Seeing no obvious sign of danger, Percival lowered his hand, and the soldiers moved out of the trees and into a wide-open field. It was full of Tomb Blooms. Hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of the brilliantly colored flowers reached their petals to the moon, which had only now slipped out from behind the clouds. The white light gave the flowers an iridescent sheen and made Percival shiver nervously.

He didn’t like the light. Darkness was their friend for this mission. Beside him, Ben anxiously swung his gaze back and forth between the dark night sky and the field of Tomb Blooms.

“What if the”—he hesitated, scared even to say the words—“winged one returns?”

Gerda shook her head. “She’s gone.”

“Are you certain?” the young man pressed.

Gerda didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The boy was there to help, not ask questions. But far as she was concerned, Maleficent would never bother them again.