Heart of the Moors

Chapter 11

That evening, Aurora presided over the banquet table in the great hall while dish after dish was presented. Sweet tarts, crèmes, fishes, and game dressed in savory sauces. She couldn’t eat. She thought of Hammond, the poacher, whose family might have starved while the entire palace feasted. And she thought of Simon, who had still not been found. She cut her gaze down the table to where Prince Phillip was talking to several courtiers, telling them a story that made them laugh.

“Is something the matter?” asked Lady Fiora, leaning across the table.

“No,” Aurora lied, pushing a bit of rhubarb around her plate.

“You must allow me to apologize,” Lady Fiora said. “My brother has always been overprotective. But it was my fault. I shouldn’t have insulted those—those—”

“Wallerbogs,” Aurora said.

“Yes.” Lady Fiora looked relieved. “Please forgive Alain. As fiercely as he defended me, he would defend you, were it your honor he felt was insulted.”

Horrified though she’d been by Alain’s behavior, Aurora couldn’t fault his love for his sister. He obviously cared for her a lot, to throw himself into danger the way he had. That was something she could sympathize with.

“I bear your brother no grudge,” Aurora said, “so long as he sees how wrong he was and never does anything like it again.” Looking down the table, she caught Count Alain’s eye. He raised his glass, and she raised hers in return.

If he’s actually sorry, then now is my chance, she thought. I am going to propose he sit down with the other nobles and explain that he jumped to conclusions and that the Moors are only dangerous to people intending to harm the creatures who live there. Maybe this will turn out to be what we need to finally finish the treaty.

When she rose from the table, Count Alain came to her side. She waited for him to apologize so that she could inform him of her request.

“I have a gift for you,” he said instead, drawing a carved wooden box from his side. “A small token, for the queen who saved my very life.”

A few courtiers had gathered close, clearly admiring him for his gallantry. Several ladies smiled at one another with vicarious enjoyment.

A gift was not an apology. But surely he would say something more once she’d accepted whatever it was he’d brought her. And he must feel very guilty to make a show of bringing her a present.

“This is very kind,” she began, “but—”

“Not kindness at all,” he said so smoothly that it almost seemed as though he hadn’t interrupted her. “Entirely appreciation. Please, look inside. I am eager to know if it pleases you.”

With few options that weren’t outright insulting to him, Aurora opened the box to indrawn breaths all around.

Resting inside was a huge sapphire the deep blue of her eyes. It hung from a heavy metal chain. Count Alain lifted the necklace and unclasped it. “If I may?”

If she refused, he would be offended. And the courtiers who already admired him would be upset on his behalf. But she wanted to let him know that she could not be bribed. “You may, but you and I must still have a conversation,” she said sternly, “about the Moors and the future of Perceforest.”

“With pleasure,” he told her, his fingers overly warm on her skin as he clasped the sapphire around her throat. The chain rested heavily on her collarbone, and as she lifted a hand to touch it, she recognized the metal.

To Aurora’s horror, she realized that he had given her a necklace forged of cold iron.

Late that night, Aurora stood on her balcony, surveying both her kingdoms. She could see the town below her, the Moorlands, and even a little of Ulstead in the distance. A chill breeze ruffled her hair.

As usual, she couldn’t sleep.

She hadn’t bothered to take off the iron necklace. It felt as heavy as her heart. She no longer believed Count Alain could be convinced to help. Yet she had to find a way forward for her two kingdoms. She had to discover the means to make the people of Perceforest see that the faeries in the Moors were helpful, kind, and clever—even if they were also sometimes hot-tempered or mischievous.

But they weren’t cruel in the way that humans were. No one on the Moorlands starved when another faerie had food to share. No one made war for gain or counted money as more important than friendship or love. If only the humans could see that, they would realize how fortunate Perceforest would be to have the Fair Folk as allies and friends.

Something fell by Aurora’s feet, startling her from her thoughts. She looked down and saw a folded note beside her shoe.

She lifted it and frowned at it. Then she unfolded the paper.

The message was written in an elegant hand and contained a message that sounded a little like a riddle: If I asked you to go for a walk tomorrow in the gardens, would your answer be the same as the answer to this question?

She looked up, but the balcony above hers was empty.

Aurora frowned. If Count Alain thought that just because he’d given her one horrifying necklace, she was going to agree to go for a walk with him, he was very much mistaken.

In fact, she meant to send him a message right back. She went inside for a quill and inkpot and was ready to write NO on the bottom of the note when she realized that she couldn’t.

Because if she said no to the gardens, then the answer to the second question would be no as well, which would mean they were the same answer—which meant yes. But she couldn’t write that, because if the answer was no to the first part and yes to the second, that meant the answers weren’t the same after all.

There was only one “correct” way to answer the note. Yes to the walk. Yes to the answers being the same. Yes.

Of course, there were other possible answers. Like setting the page on fire. Or ripping it into tiny pieces and throwing them off the side of her balcony like confetti. That would show Count Alain what she thought of him making his sister do his apologizing for him.

Or she could forget the note entirely. After all, she was the queen. She wasn’t obligated to answer every ridiculous piece of litter she came across, especially litter that wasn’t even formally addressed to her.

Then there was a sound above her. Prince Phillip looked over the edge, his hair falling around his face. He’d let it grow since he’d arrived in Perceforest, and it was already past his ears. He blinked at the paper in her hand and gave her a slightly embarrassed grin. “I thought you might still be awake.”

“Yes,” she blurted out. “The answer to the riddle, I mean. That’s the only possible answer, which is very rude.”

“Very,” he agreed cheerfully. “But I hoped it would still be the one you wanted to give.” His gaze went to her throat and she could tell the moment he saw Count Alain’s sapphire necklace, because his smile faded. “There’s something I must tell you. I ought to have said it when we were on the hill, but I waited and then there wasn’t time.”

Phillip was going to say that he was going back to Ulstead, of course. Suddenly, the air seemed colder than before. She shivered, not entirely from the wind.

“You could tell me now,” she said, steeling herself.

He grinned down at her. “I’m not sure you’d like me to shout it off the balcony, though the idea has a certain appeal. Tomorrow is soon enough. Will you walk with me? Just for a few minutes? Would you mind?”

“Let me ask you a riddle instead,” Aurora told him, although her heart was no longer in the game. “The answer I give is no, but it means yes. Now what is the question?”

“You’re answering a riddle with another riddle?” he demanded, mock-affronted.

She should have laughed, but the laugh died in her throat at the thought of the conversation that was coming. Leaving him to puzzle over her words, she went back to her rooms to try to get warm.

And to unclasp Count Alain’s necklace from her throat so she could throw it into the fire.