The Curse of Maleficent Page 7

  Her godmother didn’t respond for a moment and Aurora wondered if she had said something wrong. Finally, the faerie said, “Most do.”

  “Then why don’t you?” Aurora asked curiously.

  The faerie stopped and looked Aurora in the eye. “It’s not anything I wish to talk about,” she responded, her voice icy.

  Aurora hadn’t heard her godmother’s voice that cold since the night she had first met her, when the faerie had been desperately trying to stay hidden. Yet despite the bad feeling in her gut, something made Aurora plunge ahead. “I’m just curious because all the other faeries have wings and—”

  “Enough!”

  Her faerie godmother’s shout scared Aurora silent. Bowing her head, she began to walk on. For a long, awkward moment, neither spoke. Aurora could feel her godmother’s gaze. Looking up, she saw the hard look leave the faerie’s face. Her eyes softened and then, in a quiet voice, laced with pain, she said, “I had wings once.”

  Instantly, Aurora was no longer upset. Now she was excited. It was rare for her faerie godmother to open up about her past. Trying not to act overly eager, Aurora held her breath and waited for the faerie to go on.

  “They were stolen from me,” her faerie godmother said. Then she shot Aurora a look. “And that’s all I’ll say about it.”

  Aurora wanted more. Who had taken them? Why would someone do something to cause the faerie such great pain? But she knew better than to push it. So instead, she asked the safer questions. “What color were they?” she asked. “How big?”

  Turning her head, the faerie stared off into the distance. A small smile broke upon her face as if she was remembering a happier time long ago. “So big,” she said, “they dragged behind me when I walked. And they were strong. They could carry me above the clouds and straight into the headwinds. They never faltered. Not even once.” She swallowed, the memories clearly painful. “I could trust them.”

  As the faerie’s voice faded, Aurora felt a pang in her chest. She had never stopped to think what had made her godmother the way she was. She knew the faerie was not the warmest of creatures. It had taken Aurora months to get her to open up. And she had always sensed something bad must have happened to make her godmother keep others at a distance. But until now, she had never really seen the faerie upset. And she wasn’t just upset. Aurora saw a deep pain etched across the faerie’s face. A pain as fresh now as the day someone had taken her godmother’s wings.

  Slowly, Aurora reached out and took her godmother’s hand. She squeezed ever so gently. In that squeeze she hoped to say the words she could not say aloud: I love you, Faerie Godmother. And you can trust me, too. Always.

  there is something I need to tell you.”

  Several days had passed since her faerie godmother had told Aurora about her wings. During that time, neither of them mentioned the conversation. Aurora didn’t want to hurt her faerie godmother by bringing it up again. But she did continue to ask her faerie godmother questions about the Moors and her faerie godmother continued to answer them. Still, Aurora couldn’t help feeling as though there was something more the faerie wanted to tell her. Something important. Which was funny, because Aurora had something important to share with her faerie godmother, too. Something she couldn’t wait to tell her. But now it seemed her godmother was going to share what was on her mind first.

  “Yes?” she said.

  Her faerie godmother stopped, her breath visible in the cold night air. Snow had fallen, blanketing the hills in white and making every sound muted. Turning, she looked down at Aurora, her expression unreadable.

  Aurora wished, not for the first time, that she could know what the faerie was thinking when she looked at her. Did she see a pesky human? An outsider? Or did she see her for who she was? A girl who simply loved the Moors.

  The faerie seemed to struggle for her words. “There is evil in the world,” she finally said. “I cannot keep you safe from it.”

  Aurora smiled. This was what had her faerie godmother so upset? The idea that she couldn’t protect her? Did the faerie think that just because she had had her wings stolen, she couldn’t help Aurora? It was a silly thought. Her faerie godmother had watched over her for her entire life. And there was the little fact that she was no longer a child. “I’m almost sixteen, Godmother,” she said. “I can take care of myself.”

  The faerie shook her head. “But that’s not—”

  Aurora cut her off. She couldn’t wait any longer. She had to say what had been on her mind since she woke up that morning. She had lain there for hours, thinking as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky. Aurora had tried to remember every bit of the conversation she had had with her faerie godmother. She remembered the look of pain in the faerie’s eyes as she had spoken of her stolen wings. She remembered the longing in her godmother’s voice as she had spoken of trust. She remembered the feel of the faerie’s hand in hers and how it had squeezed hers ever so slightly before pulling away. And it was then that she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she had to move to the Moors.

  She had found a home in the Moors. A place she loved with all her heart. And she had found family in her faerie godmother. The decision had been an obvious one.

  Now, looking into her faerie godmother’s eyes, she smiled. “I have a plan,” she said. “When I’m older, I’m going to live here with you. And then we can look after each other.”

  For a moment, the faerie didn’t say a thing. Then a smile spread across her face. “You don’t have to wait until you’re older,” she said, her voice excited. “You could live here now.”

  Aurora raised a hand to her heart. Now? She hadn’t thought the move would happen so quickly. There were things she had to take care of first. And there was the small matter of the three women back at the cottage. “My aunts would never let me.”

  Her godmother raised an eyebrow. “I thought you could take care of yourself.”

  “I can,” Aurora protested. “But they would be sad without me.” Then she paused as an idea came to her. “Could they come and visit?”

  Her faerie godmother took a step back, as though shocked. She narrowed her eyes, and for a moment, Aurora was sure she would say no. It was a big request. Aurora knew that. Her faerie godmother was hesitant to let strangers into the Moors and her aunts were definitely strangers. But then, just when Aurora thought all hope was lost, the faerie nodded. “Yes,” she said.

  Aurora let out a delighted squeal. “Then I will!” she shouted. “I’ll sleep in a tree and eat berries and black nuts and all the Fair People will be my friends. I’ll be happy here for the rest of my life. I’m going to tell them first thing tomorrow.”

  Aurora was a bundle of nerves. She was going to tell her aunts the news that very afternoon, but first she wanted to practice her speech. She didn’t want them to have a chance to talk her out of it, so she needed to be persuasive and clear. With little privacy in the cottage, Aurora had headed into the woods as soon as she was done with all her chores.

  Now she walked along, talking under her breath. “It is what I want, Aunties. I have never asked you for anything in my entire life, but I am asking you now. I want to be in the Moors. I will be safe there. My faerie godmother will take of me…” Aurora shook her head. Maybe she shouldn’t mention her godmother. She could just see Knotgrass rolling her eyes and mumbling something about her overactive imagination. No, she would stay away from that topic.

  “Aunties,” she began again. “I’m almost sixteen and I need a life of my own. I love you very much but it’s time…”

  Her voice trailed off as she heard the sound of hoofbeats. Ducking behind a large tree, she pressed herself flat against the rough bark, her heart pounding. A moment later she heard the sound of bushes rustling and then a voice. A very masculine-sounding voice. “Is someone there?” the voice called out.

  Cautiously, Aurora peered around the t
ree. Immediately, she snapped back, her heart pounding. A young man was in the clearing. Curiosity getting the better of her, she once more peeked out. This time, the man saw her.

  “Hello,” he called out.

  Aurora gulped. She had never been this close to a man before, not even when those soldiers had called out to her near the Wall of Thorns so many months before. Her face felt flushed and her heart felt as though it were about to burst out of her chest. For a moment, she thought of bolting in the opposite direction and racing home to the cottage. But then the man called out again.

  Slowly, Aurora stepped away from the tree. Nervously wringing her hands, she took a closer look at the young man. He was walking toward her, holding the reins of a huge white horse in one hand. The other rested on the hilt of a sword. He had a long cloak on that looked to be made of rich fabric and his leather riding boots looked supple and polished.

  But it wasn’t his outfit that mesmerized Aurora; it was his face. She had never seen anyone so handsome, so comfortable and confident, in all her life. The young man had hair the color of nutmeg. His amber eyes were kind and his lips full. As she stared at him, he smiled and she noticed a little dimple in his right cheek.

  “Sorry to bother you,” he said, “but I’m on my way to the castle and I’ve become hopelessly lost. Can you help me?”

  As he came closer, Aurora’s heart beat faster. Why was she feeling this way? He was just a person. And yet she had this strange feeling in her stomach, as though it were full of butterflies. Flustered, Aurora stepped back. But her foot caught on a rock and she stumbled. With a yelp, she fell to the ground.

  Immediately, the young man raced over, leaving his grazing horse behind him. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “That was my doing. I frightened you. Forgive me.” He reached out his hand and offered it to Aurora.

  On the ground, Aurora tried to collect herself. She was being ridiculous. She had seen magical creatures and played in the Moors, for heaven’s sake. She had experienced many magical and unbelievable encounters in her young life. This was just a man—nothing more. Taking a deep breath, she put her hand in his and let him gently pull her to her feet.

  “It’s that way,” Aurora said when she was standing. The man nodded absently. He was staring at her and Aurora wondered if she had said the wrong thing. “The castle,” she clarified. Once again, the man just nodded. It seemed he was now the one who had lost the power of speech. Aurora was glad she wasn’t the only one who seemed to be having trouble forming a sentence. It was sort of sweet to see him so flustered. She smiled encouragingly. “What’s your name?”

  “Phillip,” he finally said, shaking his head as though to clear his vision.

  Aurora smiled more broadly. They were getting somewhere. “Hello, Phillip.”

  “What’s yours?” he asked, returning the smile.

  “Aurora.”

  Around them, the sounds of the forest seemed to fade. It was as though they were the only two people in the whole world. In that moment, she realized that she was feeling something altogether new—something that made her warm all over. She had read stories about this feeling, so she knew what it was in an instant: she was smitten. And judging from the dazed look in his eyes, Phillip was smitten as well.

  “Well, thank you for your help,” he said, breaking the moment. “And once again, my apologies for being a clumsy fool.”

  “You’re forgiven,” Aurora said softly.

  Phillip nodded. “Good. That’s good. I’d, uh, I’d best be off, then.” He let out a whistle, and his horse trotted over. Aurora watched as he patted his horse affectionately. Then, in one fluid motion, Phillip pulled himself into the saddle.

  Suddenly, Aurora felt panicked. She had only just met Phillip and now he was leaving. What if she never got to see him again? Nervously, she asked, “Will you be back this way?”

  A huge smile spread across Phillip’s face. “Nothing could stop me.”

  Aurora let out a relieved laugh. “Then I’ll see you soon.”

  “Very soon,” Phillip replied. Then he gripped the reins tightly, squeezed his horse’s sides, and galloped off.

  Behind him, Aurora waved good-bye. She kept waving until he had disappeared from view. Then she slowly lowered her hand. Well, she thought, that was interesting. Phillip. Handsome, kind, gentle Phillip. She couldn’t wait to see him again.

  And then she remembered. She was going to live in the Moors, forever. She would never see Phillip again. How could she? Maleficent would never let him over the Wall to visit, and Aurora was not planning on returning to this world.

  She let out a sigh. Well, it had been a lovely moment. But that was all it could be. She had a whole lifetime of amazing moments ahead of her, living where she belonged. Handsome men would have to be forgotten.

  morning before Aurora’s sixteenth birthday dawned bright and sunny. Sitting up, she stretched and took a long look around her loft bedroom. This was it: the last morning she would wake up in this bed. The last morning she would see the familiar dresser with its odds and ends piled on top. The last morning she would watch as the sun rose over the horizon, bathing the room in a beautiful glow.

  For a moment, she felt a pang of sadness at the thought of leaving. Then she smiled. Her faerie godmother was waiting in the woods just outside the clearing. In only a few hours, she would leave with her to go live in the Moors. Her new bedroom would be a magical glen and her new dresser would be the stump of an ancient tree. It was all she ever wanted.

  Aurora jumped out of bed and hurriedly threw on her dress. There was one more thing to do before she left for good. She still had to tell her aunts the news.

  When she had arrived home the evening before, the ladies had been engrossed in a game of checkers. After trying to get their attention for a while, Aurora gave up and went to her room. She’d decided it would be better to tell them in the morning, anyway. They could be a bit cranky and dramatic when they were tired.

  Knowing that her aunts were probably still sound asleep (they enjoyed sleeping in most mornings), Aurora decided to start breakfast. That way, she could tell them about her plan over a nice, warm meal. She raced down the stairs into the cottage’s main room. Much to her surprise, her aunts were already there. And judging by their moody glares, their hunched shoulders, and their clenched fists, they were already in the midst of a gigantic argument. Knotgrass’s face even had a distinct blue tinge for some reason.

  Aurora hesitated. The tension in the room couldn’t be about something as silly as a game of checkers, could it? But then she shrugged. Her aunts could be strange sometimes. And now that she saw all three of them standing there, she couldn’t wait to tell them her news. Aurora stepped forward. Knotgrass, Thistlewit, and Flittle all froze and turned to look at her. “I need to talk to you about something,” she announced.

  “Anything, lovie,” Flittle said distractedly. “What is it?”

  Aurora looked at her aunts. Knotgrass, with her forehead always wrinkled in worry. Thistlewit, with her kind eyes, and Flittle, with her sweet temperament. She loved them all so much. This was going to be one of the hardest things she had ever done.

  Taking a deep breath, she began. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, and please don’t be sad, but I’ll be sixteen tomorrow and so…” Her voice faltered. “And so…”

  “Yes?” Thistlewit prompted.

  “I’m leaving home,” Aurora said in a rush.

  Silence filled the small cottage. The seconds dragged on, turning into minutes. And then, just when Aurora thought no one would say anything ever again, Knotgrass erupted.

  “The hell you are!” she screamed, her face turning bright red beneath the blue. “I didn’t suffer all these years in this miserable hovel with those two imbeciles so you could ruin it on the last day! We are taking you back to your father—” Knotgrass slapped a hand across her mouth. Her eyes bulged
. She had clearly said too much.

  “My father?” Aurora said softly. “You told me my parents were dead.”

  Flittle walked over and put a gentle hand on Aurora’s back. “You’d better sit down,” she said, ushering her into a chair. “There’s something you should know.…”

  As Aurora sat in stunned silence, her aunts—if she could even call them that anymore—told her the whole story. She was a princess. Her parents were King Stefan and Queen Leila, and they lived in the big castle at the end of the road.

  They told her what a beautiful couple the king and queen were, and how the whole kingdom had rejoiced the day she had been born. There had been a celebration in her honor and all the finest people in the land had come bearing gifts.

  “And your father asked us to give you the most special gifts of all,” Knotgrass explained.

  “Yes, the most special,” Flittle agreed. “We were each to give you one gift. I gave you the gift of happiness.” She smiled proudly. “And you have been happy, haven’t you?”

  Aurora nodded absently. Right now, all she felt was numb.

  “I gave you the gift of beauty,” Knotgrass went on. “And I must say, you are the most beautiful girl in all the land.”

  “So you see, it was such a wonderful day,” Flittle said.

  “But what about you, Thistlewit?” Aurora asked. “What gift did you give me?”

  The three pixies exchanged nervous glances.

  “Well,” Aurora pressed. “What was it?”

  Thistlewit sighed. “I didn’t have the chance to give you my gift,” she said sadly. “Maleficent gave you the final gift.”

  Aurora cocked her head. “Maleficent?” she repeated. She had never heard that name before.