Heart of the Moors

Chapter 19

The day of the festival dawned early. Aurora awoke, kicking off her blankets. She flung open her windows, letting in a rush of sweet air that carried the scents of blooming flowers and baking bread.

None of it made her feel any better.

Every time she thought of Phillip, she had a curious sensation in her chest, as though she were wearing a too-tight corset. And it seemed she couldn’t put thoughts of him aside.

The night before, she’d found herself gazing down at the fountain at the edge of the royal gardens, hoping that she would see Phillip waiting for her there. If he had been, she would have gone down and tried to explain—although she wasn’t sure exactly what she would have said.

Marjory came in, smiling. “Are you eager for the festival to begin?”

“Yes,” Aurora said, trying to focus on that. “Today the humans and the faeries will dance together and eat together. Surely they will see that we’re not so different.”

Aurora thought of what Nanny Stoat had told her: We want enough food in our bellies to be strong, enough warmth in the winter to be hale, and enough leisure to have joy.

But the thought of food and leisure and joy made her mind wander to the monstrous banquet of the night before. Phillip had been such a good guest that everyone had liked him. And she’d been so happy.

Until the end.

Being in love had nearly destroyed Maleficent. Denying love had destroyed King Stefan. And King Stefan’s inability to love Queen Leila had probably ruined her life, too.

Love was terrifying in its power.

Love was just plain terrifying.

Marjory smiled at her, looking a little skeptical. “I hope so, Your Majesty.”

For a moment, Aurora couldn’t recall what they’d been talking about. Then she remembered. Humans and faeries, getting along.

“They will,” she insisted. “They must.” She had to get something right.

For now, Aurora insisted on wearing a simple dress of gray wool that buttoned all the way from her neck to the floor, with pocket slits that showed the red lining.

“I will come back and put on my prettiest gown for the festival, but there’s so much still to do,” Aurora said, pulling it on.

“My lady, no one expects you to get dirty,” Marjory replied.

“But I mean to help out any way I can,” Aurora said, “and there’s no telling what that might entail. I promise to return.”

“See that you do,” Marjory chided. “Wouldn’t you be a shock to your people, dressed as you are.”

Moments later, Aurora was down the stairs and in the kitchens. Despite her head cook’s assurances that she wasn’t needed, she helped take pies out of the oven, climbed a ladder outside to stir enormous vats of soup, and even turned a spit to help cook a mess of fresh-caught fish. Feeding the whole village was an undertaking, and the kitchens were a buzzing hive of activity.

After a breakfast of a bowl of cream, which she shared with a castle cat, Aurora hastened out to the gardens, where servants were setting up long tables and benches for the hundreds of people expected to come. Soldiers were setting up stations to make sure no one brought weapons onto festival grounds. Ribbons and garlands of flowers were being strung from the trees.

Knotgrass, Flittle, and Thistlewit flew around, enchanting ever more ribbons and blooms. An abundance of flowers sprouted from the tops of poles. Ribbons wrapped themselves all the way around the supports of tents and the backs of chairs and occasionally the hilt of a guard’s sword, to his surprise and consternation.

“Isn’t it glorious?” asked Knotgrass. With a wave of her hand, more peonies rained down around a maypole, carpeting the grass in pink. “I do hope everyone behaves themselves.”

Aurora hoped so, too, although she saw Thistlewit turn several bouquets of peonies into daisies. Flittle, for her part, was sneaking off to add bluebells everywhere she could, but at least she wasn’t changing either of her sisters’ flowers. It did seem to Aurora that there were a lot of flowers and a lot of ribbons—and more all the time. The maypole was starting to look a little bit top-heavy, and the tents were sagging under the weight of the many flowers tied to their supports.

“Aunties,” Aurora said, “perhaps you’ve done enough decorating.”

The three pixies buzzed around, frowning. “Oh, no, my dear. There’s so much still to be done,” said Flittle.

“Though it does take a lot of our magic,” Knotgrass said. “Not that we begrudge it to you.”

“Oh, no,” said Thistlewit. “We would work our fingers to the bone to be the least help.”

“As we always have,” Flittle put in, not to be outdone. “The sacrifices that we’ve made—”

“I have an idea,” Aurora said, interrupting them before they got too far along with their protestations of abnegation. “The riddle contest will be the first event of the festival. Perhaps you three can be in charge of that.”

“Yes, of course!” Thistlewit said, drawing herself up with great self-importance. “It’s our pleasure to be helpful.”

Aurora watched them fly off with a heavy heart.

She’d once hoped Phillip would win the riddle contest—in fact, she’d chosen riddles as the sport because of him. But now her thoughts were tangled. She didn’t know what she wanted.

Marjory waved to get her attention, drawing her from her thoughts. Aurora was surprised to see her marching across the lawns of the castle. “The kitchen staff said that I would find you here,” the girl said sternly, putting her hands on her hips. “You must hasten! The first guests will be here soon, and you’re still in that old thing.”

Aurora glanced at the sun, which had dipped lower in the sky than she’d thought. Musicians and jugglers were setting up on the grass. Her stomach growled from a lack of food, and she recalled that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

“Very well,” Aurora said. “I’m hastening.”

In her rooms, her dress was spread out on her coverlet, along with smallclothes and dressings for her hair.

Marjory insisted that Aurora take a bath and be perfumed before being laced into a gown of deep blue with a tight bodice, puffed sleeves that narrowed at her upper arms and ran to her wrists, and a low neckline that revealed her finely woven white chemise. Down her arms ran embroidery of leaf-covered vines blooming with white and pink flowers. When she moved, her full skirt swirled around her.

As Aurora drank a cup of tea and ate a slice of bread with cheese, Marjory braided her hair loosely down her back with blue ribbon, then tucked sprays of white flowers into it.

“You look like you stepped out of a story,” said Marjory, pinching Aurora’s cheeks to bring up the color in them.

“Now you sit down,” Aurora said, rising, “and let me tie ribbons in your hair.”

Marjory blushed. “Your Majesty, that wouldn’t be proper.”

“Oh, it won’t take a moment,” Aurora said, “and we have so many that would go well with your dress.”

Marjory allowed herself to be convinced to sit and let Aurora weave ribbons through her hair. When they were done, Marjory looked into the queen’s mirror with a shy smile, turning her head back and forth.

“Do you have plans for the festival?” Aurora asked.

“My sisters are coming up from the mill,” Marjory said delightedly, “and we’re going to play all the games and listen to the musicians. I hear there’s a wonderful storyteller that has a tale of being turned into a magical cat!”

Aurora supposed it was a good sign that the man hadn’t fled the kingdom. Maybe her godmother was right, and the experience had taught him a lesson and not harmed him any.

She hoped that was the case, at least.

And yet it was with some trepidation about the day ahead that she lifted the golden flower-and-leaf crown that signaled her as queen of Perceforest and the Moors and placed it on her head. With one last smile at Marjory, she headed for the palace grounds.

Musicians were playing, and jugglers were tossing shining balls into the air. Guests had arrived. Courtiers walked along the grounds in groups, with pages and maids by their sides. Villagers wandered on the grass, giggling and pointing. Children ran in packs, getting their best clothes dirty. And she saw groups of faeries, too. Faeries made of moss and bark. Pixies and hobs. Foxkin and wallerbogs and hedgehog faeries. The humans gave them a wide berth, but they were there. All of them together, receiving pennies and cakes and cups of cider from palace servants.

The cooks had begun to set out the first course of entremets. These divertissements—like castles of spun sugar, and pies that released live doves into the sky, and swans that seemed to breathe real fire—caused spectators to gasp in surprise. The children, especially, many of whom had not so much as tasted sugar before and had never seen such things, were in transports of delight.

Lady Fiora walked up to Aurora, along with Lady Sybil. Lady Fiora’s black hair was braided up on her head, and she wore a gown of the palest pink. Lady Sybil wore yellow with matching ribbons and a hair caul of gold net.

“You look splendid, Your Majesty,” exclaimed Lady Sybil.

“As do you,” said Aurora, grinning. “Both of you.”

“But you’re not wearing the necklace,” said Lady Fiora. “The one my brother had made for you. Didn’t you like it?”

“I thought the iron was inappropriate for today,” said Aurora stiffly.

“Ah,” Lady Fiora said, changing the subject with a nervous laugh. “Are you ready for the contest?”

Lady Sybil took Aurora’s hand. “Oh, you must come. Everyone’s so eager.”

Aurora looked toward the crowd gathered around a stage and saw Knotgrass flying over them. “Are there many contestants?”

Lady Sybil giggled. “You’ll see!”

As they drew Aurora closer, she spotted Lord Ortolan waiting for her by the stage. Her aunties were there, too. The crowd gave a cry when Aurora stepped up. She grinned and waved, and the shouting got louder.

Knotgrass buzzed up to her. “Oh, Aurora, your friends had so many good ideas for riddles!”

“Ah, good,” she said, realizing that though she’d asked her aunties to arrange things and hoped it would keep them from burying the festival in flowers, she had no idea just what they’d arranged for the contest.

“My queen!” Lord Ortolan said, pitching his voice loudly so that the audience heard him. “Your subjects await the opening contest of the festival—a contest to win your hand for a single dance, the first of today!”

At that pause, Aurora jumped in, turning to the crowd. “Thank you for coming. I hope that all of you—my dear subjects—will drink and eat and laugh together.”

Another cheer went up at her words.

Flittle, Knotgrass, and Thistlewit began explaining the contest. Many villagers and courtiers and faeries alike waited in an area separated from the rest of the crowd by ribbons, having signaled their intention to vie for a dance with the queen. From young boys to elderly men with canes, to several people Aurora suspected of being ladies with their hair tucked up in hats, to Fair Folk, at least two dozen contestants were ready to answer riddles. Count Alain was among them, leaning against the stage and whispering with three young noblemen Aurora recognized from court. Robin, too, had come, probably to represent the Moors. Possibly to confound Count Alain.

“I see that Prince Phillip won’t be taking part,” Lord Ortolan observed to Aurora in an undertone. “I heard a rumor that—”

“Yes. He is taking his leave of us soon,” she whispered back, trying not to let him see that it bothered her.

“For our first round,” said Flittle, “I shall ask a riddle and each of you will come and tell me the answer. Answer incorrectly and you leave the stage. Answer right and you remain a player.”

She intoned the first of the riddles:

I saw a being

Of shining beauty.

She came over the roof

And through my window.

Then west she went,

Hurrying home.

With her gone,

Night departed.

Each contestant came forward to whisper an answer to Flittle. Some she nodded at. Others she sent away. The first round eliminated a little under half the contestants.

“The answer is the moon,” said Thistlewit triumphantly. There were murmurs in the audience—perhaps from people who’d guessed correctly, perhaps from those who were sorry to see someone they knew lose. “I shall be the one to speak the next riddle.”

She did so:

Bent over as I am,

Yet I am meant for fighting.

Loosen my string and I stand up taller.

But unstring me and I serve no one.

To do your bidding, I must be cleverly tied,

And never will I work alone.

More muttering followed from the audience. Aurora supposed that they were whispering guesses to one another and hoped they would not be so loud that the contestants would overhear.

The words of this riddle stuck in her head. Perceforest had been on the brink of war with the Moors throughout most of her childhood—and though she had been well out of it, plenty of these folks had not. And before that, things had been worse.

“The answer is a bow, you clever dears!” Thistlewit continued.

The initial group had been cut down quite a bit. Remaining were Count Alain and one of the other nobles, a Baron Nicholas; three men from the town, who gave their names as John, Jack, and Mark; and Robin, from the Moors.

Aurora felt a strange hollowness.

“What a good idea this is,” Lady Sybil said, clapping her hands together. “I know an excellent riddle. May I ask one?”

“Of course.” Thistlewit smiled at the girl, then addressed the crowd. “Now that we’ve narrowed down our contestants, we will ask each one a riddle. They must answer it correctly in front of everyone or be eliminated. Fail and the same riddle will pass to the contestant at your left.”

Robin was up first.

“Go ahead, Lady Sybil,” Thistlewit said encouragingly.

With a giggle, she began:

She is sharply defended

Yet dies because of her beauty

And her mysterious perfume.

She will live on in poetry,

Decorating my mantel with her grave.

“That’s quite grim,” Lord Ortolan said, startled.

But the crowd seemed to enjoy it, cheering for her as she said the words.

Robin bowed with a flourish as he stepped forward to answer. “We faeries love a good riddle. And we particularly love one as pretty as this. The answer is a rose.” He waved his hand in the air, calling forth three roses. They were light blue and larger than any Aurora had seen away from the Moors, including the ones Maleficent had caused to grow at the borders.

The crowd cheered as he gave one to Thistlewit, one to Aurora, and the last to the blushing Lady Sybil.

Count Alain was the next contestant to be tested as Robin walked to one side of the stage.

Lady Fiora touched Thistlewit’s shoulder. “May I ask one next?”

“Indeed, dearie,” said the pixie.

Aurora felt curiously listless. And she kept scanning the crowd without being quite sure what she was looking for. It was only when Lady Fiora began speaking that Aurora realized that it was probably unfair that her riddle was for her own brother.

A weaver with a deadly cloth

She will never wear.

Her larder is a living feast

Of the mute victims of her art.

She is blessed with eyes and hands

But cursed to live always inside armor.

Count Alain seemed to think for only a moment before he gave his answer. “A spider.”

Aurora gave Lady Fiora a sidelong glance, but the girl didn’t seem to notice. And what did it matter who Aurora stood up with first? If it was Alain, then so be it. If it made the other nobles think he had more influence with her or he was more in her favor, they would soon learn otherwise.

It’s just a game, Aurora reminded herself. A silly game.

But as Knotgrass began giving a contestant another riddle, Lady Sabine walked onto the stage, dragging Prince Phillip along behind her. Aurora’s stomach lurched and her heart raced.

“What is he doing here?” Lord Ortolan whispered to her.

Aurora shook her head at him and turned to listen to Knotgrass.

I am a trickster who conceals the truth

To the delight of the young and old.

I am the father of puzzles and the daughter of poems.

Solve me by speaking the name of what confounds you.

Baron Nicholas, whose turn it was, stared at Knotgrass in confusion. As the seconds passed, the crowd began to jeer. The skin of his neck got red and he looked mulish. Then he strode angrily from the stage.

John’s turn came next. He guessed a jester, but that wasn’t the answer, so he got jeered at in turn. Then came Jack and Mark, neither of whom had any guesses at all.

For a moment there was silence.

Then Phillip spoke. “A riddle.”

He was met with cheers even before Knotgrass confirmed that he was correct.

But Phillip didn’t appear pleased that he’d given the answer. And he didn’t meet Aurora’s gaze. In fact, he didn’t resemble his usual kind and affable self at all. He seemed like a stranger to her.

“I didn’t know you were engaged in this game,” Count Alain said to him, not quite quietly enough that they wouldn’t be overheard.

Phillip made a nonchalant shrug. “Nor did I. But Lady Sabine insisted on my not missing it.”

Lady Sabine seemed to be extremely pleased with herself. No doubt she thought she had done her queen a good turn.

Aurora wasn’t sure what to feel. There was a part of her that wanted to run from the stage, go off by herself, and weep, but she wasn’t sure what she had to be sad about.

Who cried because a handsome prince she cared about told her that he loved her?

But she’d been afraid. And she’d hurt him because she was afraid.

And now her best friend was angry with her and it was entirely her fault.

At three contestants, the elimination process slowed down. Riddle after riddle was asked and answered.

On and on they went. Round after round.

I was before the world began

And will remain when it is gone.

You may make much of me

Or squander me,

But you will not call me back

Once I am lost.

Time.

What force and strength cannot get through,

I with a gentle touch can do;

And many in the streets would stand

Were I not, as friend, at hand.

A key.

I am a nimble creature

Who skips from tree to tree.

My tail is my glory.

Like the ant, I store for winter

In the knot of my treasury.

A squirrel.

Robin dropped out first, with a grin at Aurora that suggested he knew the answer but was going to cede the field to Phillip. She suspected he’d only entered the contest to keep Count Alain from dancing with her. Shooting an arrow into the Moors had really turned the faeries against him.

“This could be the final riddle,” Flittle said, to the cheers of the audience. They’d enjoying watching the game thus far, and now that they had the promise of seeing at least one more of the nobility made a fool of, their enjoyment kicked up a notch.

“I have one,” Lady Fiora said.

“No,” Aurora told her firmly. “Since it’s the final riddle, I ought to be the one to ask it.”

Lady Fiora and Count Alain exchanged glances. Aurora took a steadying breath. She didn’t like the idea of opening the dancing with Count Alain, since he could not be relied upon to be welcoming to the faeries.

Yet dancing with him would certainly be less fraught than dancing with Prince Phillip.

But Phillip had been dragged onstage by Lady Sabine; it wasn’t like he was demanding anything of Aurora after his confession. And he was her friend. Maybe if she signaled to him that they were still friends, she could apologize for how she’d behaved after the banquet and they could forget about everything that had been said. Friendship was safe. If they could get back to that, they would be safe again, too.

“The answer I give is no, but it means yes. Now what is the question?” Aurora asked Prince Phillip.

He looked her directly in the eye.

“I do not know, Your Majesty,” he said.

The crowd was shouting and Count Alain was eagerly answering, but all the noise seemed to come from very far away. She couldn’t focus on any of it. All she could see was Phillip turning away from her and walking off the stage.