Heart of the Moors

Chapter 5

Aurora spent the later part of the morning and the early part of the afternoon writing letters and sending pages running to deliver them. She wrote to her castellan, commanding him to send men-at-arms and watchmen to look for the missing groom. She sent another note to her stable master, asking him to provide a description of the boy—and to verify that a horse was missing. And she got a footman to check on the silver dish.

Then she wrote to her godmother.

The other notes could be carried by messengers, but that one could not. Aurora took it up to the dovecote and found a bird she had brought from the Moors. Its wings were white, its head black. Aurora had named it Burr.

“Here you are,” she whispered to the bird as she bound the note to its leg with a gently tied loop of twine. Then she took the bird out, holding the fragile body in her hands. Beneath soft feather, she could feel the rapid beat of its heart. “Take my message straight to Maleficent.”

When she threw the bird into the air, she thought of other wings. Wings trapped by her father, King Stefan. Wings beating their way home.

By the time she was supposed to go out riding with Count Alain and the rest of the court, she was eager to be in the woods, surrounded by the comforting scents of damp earth and fallen leaves. Yet she wondered if she should cancel the outing. Somewhere in her lands, a boy was missing, and while it was entirely possible that he was riding a stolen horse to another town, she couldn’t stop thinking of his family’s pleas for her to believe better of him.

But she reminded herself that being a ruler meant not becoming distracted by every problem in her kingdom. She needed to go on the ride, because if she could show her court the beauty of the Moors, they might yield on the treaty.

It wasn’t easy to focus on the bigger picture, but she had to try.

Marjory talked her into changing her kirtle, and she put on a heavier one of deepest green with an embroidery of vines around the throat. With it, Aurora pulled on warm stockings, riding boots, and a woolen cloak trimmed in wide ribbons.

Marjory also rebraided her hair into a series of plaits that crisscrossed in the back, like the ribbons of a corset. Then, finally, Aurora was racing down to the stables, cloak flying behind her.

But just as she arrived at the stall where her dappled gray horse, Nettle, waited, she heard a familiar buzzing behind her.

Knotgrass, Thistlewit, and Flittle flew into the stables, obviously out of breath. Although the pixies had worn human guises for most of her childhood, they didn’t bother with those now and went almost everywhere carried on their small colorful wings.

“Oh, good, we caught you in time,” said Flittle, tugging on her bluebell-shaped hat.

“What’s the matter, Aunties?” Aurora asked, alarmed.

“You shouldn’t run like that,” scolded Knotgrass, wheezing a little. “Elegant ladies do not hurtle through their castles!”

“Nor do they scowl,” said Flittle at Aurora’s expression.

“And must you ride such a fierce-looking animal?” asked Thistlewit. “It just doesn’t seem safe. Isn’t there a nice rabbit that could carry you? A silky, gentle rabbit. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“She’s too big for a rabbit,” said Flittle.

“I could make one larger,” said Thistlewit, “or shrink Aurora. Wouldn’t you like to be a bit smaller, my darling?”

Aurora, knowing their magic was erratic at the best of times, shook her head vehemently. “I like myself just the size I am. And I like rabbits just the size they are, too. Now, what is it that you’ve come to talk to me about?”

“Oh, just a very little thing,” said Flittle. “Sometimes your subjects come to us to ask about your preferences. Because of our closeness to you. Why, we think of ourselves as your most trusted counselors, and I am sure you would agree.”

Aurora knew them well enough to be sure that nothing would make them think otherwise, so she held her tongue.

Knotgrass broke in. “Just the other day, we told the cook all about your favorite dishes. Of course, I told her you love trifle, especially the kind with raspberries….”

Flittle put her hands on her hips. “And I informed Knotgrass that raspberries give you a rash.”

“Tripe,” said Thistlewit.

“Rude!” exclaimed Flittle.

“No,” said Thistlewit. “Aurora loved it. I am almost certain. I have a distinct memory—”

“My favorite food is most definitely not tripe,” said Aurora. “And I haven’t gotten a rash from raspberries since I was very small—which I no longer am, although no one seems to realize it.”

With that, she swung herself onto her horse’s back. And without another word, she rode out to join the courtiers waiting for her in the courtyard.

By the time she got there, she felt guilty. She knew the pixies meant well. She was just tired. And cranky. And overwhelmed.

“My queen!” Count Alain called at her approach. He wore a velvet jerkin. His horse was black, its coat brushed to a high shine. A bow was strapped to the side of his saddle.

Beside him was Lady Fiora, his younger sister, dressed in blush pink. She waved eagerly to Aurora as she approached, and then she turned to say something to Prince Phillip. He was astride a white horse, with a sword at his side. When he looked at Aurora with a half smile on his face, she felt lighter than she had all day.

But before she could ride to him and pour out her troubles, Lord Ortolan drew his horse beside hers.

“What a fine idea of Count Alain’s,” he told Aurora.

Ahead, Prince Phillip said something to Lady Fiora. Her laugh rang out, and Aurora wanted nothing more than to tell Lord Ortolan to go away. It was only her memory of her rudeness to her aunties that made her bite the inside of her mouth and nod. “Yes. Indeed, I ought to go and thank—”

“You know,” Lord Ortolan said in his usual ponderous tones, “I was there when your father took his throne.”

King Stefan had done that by slicing the wings from Maleficent’s back and presenting them to Aurora’s grandfather. Aurora hated to think of it, and she hated the way Lord Ortolan’s tone made it sound as though, to him, this was a good memory.

“I was the one,” Lord Ortolan went on, “who showed him how to behave like a ruler. You know he grew up very poor, a shepherd’s son. Thanks to my tutelage, no one remarked on his humble beginnings. He presented himself as a king, and a king was all anyone saw. I can teach you the same things.”

“I am not like my father,” said Aurora, and the hardness in her tone surprised her.

“No, but you’re clever for a girl,” said Lord Ortolan. “You’ll learn quickly.”

One other thing Aurora hadn’t grown up with in the woods: men. She hadn’t gotten used to being dismissed by them, and she hadn’t had to figure out what to do in response.

Oblivious to Aurora’s vexation, Lord Ortolan went on. “Things are different for you, of course, being a young lady. The dangers are greater. That is why my advice is invaluable. For example, you may have noticed that Prince Phillip has been dangling after you. I believe he is here to win your land for Ulstead through marriage. Be wary of him.”

“Marriage?” Aurora echoed, startled out of her growing anger. “You think Phillip wants to marry me? You don’t understand—”

“There are some very eligible young men among your own people,” Lord Ortolan said. “And once you wed, you will no longer have the burden of ruling. When your father was king, Queen Leila had no matters of state to concern herself with. There are a few nobles that I could recommend….”

For a moment, Aurora understood the temptation Maleficent faced, with all the magic she possessed. If Aurora could have turned Lord Ortolan into a cat, she couldn’t swear that she wouldn’t have.

“Let me make this clear. I am the queen of Perceforest and the Moors, and I do not consider ruling them a burden.” She squeezed her legs more tightly against Nettle’s sides. The horse sped up, leaving Lord Ortolan and his annoying advice behind.