A/N: Heeeere we go! Surprise, it's a long chapter! If you're anything like me, this probably feels like it's been a long time coming, but I know I get impatient, so I took great pains to make sure I wasn't sidestepping too many things. Also I feel like I might have spelled Hilda's name differently in different places, but she's mentioned so sporadically and I am so poorly organized that there's no easy way to check. Maybe you'll vaguely remember her from Rose's destruction of the Big Book of Spells, and from Maleficent's battle with the Mountainland Fairies. (God, this story is long.)

THANK YOU so much for reading and for your feedback, especially for your kind words in reviews! And good lord, thank you for sticking around this long! I hope you will continue to share your thoughts!

Chapter 21 - The Apocalypse

They arrived in the dead of night, with a cry so raucous that it awoke all four members of the makeshift household (some of whom were far more easily startled than others) in varying degrees of panic.

Briar Rose screamed. Maleficent shot up to full attention. Zenovia opened her eyes wide, hands subconsciously poised to defend herself. Kinsale started, but when she realized what the mysterious voices were yelling, she buried her face in her pillow and groaned.

"KINSALE! KINSALE!"

Briar Rose was so overcome by panic that she had completely lost her grip on herself. She clutched Maleficent's arm without a second thought to what might befall her. "What's happening? Who's after Kinsale? Is the war beginning? What do we do?"

Maleficent lightly shook Rose's hands off of her arm with a small, tingly gust of magic. "No, no," she murmured, slowly crawling to the edge of the bed. "That is the cry of the apocalypse. No cause for alarm."

This did nothing to ease Rose's anxieties. "What?" she wailed, clutching her blanket to her chest.

"Kinsale's brothers," Maleficent clarified, leaning on the end of the bed to support herself.

"Oh," she uttered as part of an enormous sigh of relief. It occurred to Rose that Maleficent still sometimes seemed weak, as though she hadn't even nearly finished healing. This struck her as strange, considering how quickly she seemed to heal from her near-fatal injuries when they had first met. She rested her head against the wall as her body calmed itself. "Are your legs very much better?" she dared to wonder.

Maleficent stood up straight by way of response and headed to the door. "They will be," she replied crisply. "Come. We must greet our new guests."

Rose decided not to push the topic any further at the moment, and instead scrambled somewhat groggily to the edge of her own bed and followed Maleficent into the main room of the house.

"Mallie!"

Rose had previously believed that she had seen Maleficent looking perfectly capable of murder, but she realized now that she had been mistaken. The look she gave the four strange, green-skinned men standing around Kinsale was enough to frighten Rose nearly out of her skin, and she took a few steps away from Maleficent so as to avoid becoming collateral damage.

"Now, now," said Kinsale, "let's not antagonize Public Enemy Number One, shall we?"

"Come on, sis! Mallie always loved a good fight!"

"If you wish to keep your tongue," said Maleficent, voice low and venomous, "I suggest you bite it."

The man held up his hands in surrender, but his face remained jovial. "Whatever you say, Mallie!"

Rose glanced around the room at the first four male wicked fairies she had ever seen. They each had surpassingly handsome features and dark, curly hair. The one who had approached Maleficent favoured Kinsale far more than the others did. He was the tallest among them, and he was about Rose's height.

"I believe introductions are in order!" said Kinsale, a slight edge to her voice. "Mistress Briar Rose, these are my brothers. Nicodemus," she gestured to the tallest man who had approached Maleficent, "Velan," to a man with large eyes and wild, curly hair, "Inopius," to one of the two men significantly smaller in build than Nicodemus and Velan, who, when he smiled, was missing one of his front teeth, "and Merick," to the smallest among them with the grimmest expression. "Brothers, her Excellency Mistress Briar Rose of the East."

While Rose was attempting to wrap her mind around such a bizarre title being bestowed upon herself, each man in turn turned his gaze upon her as though he hadn't noticed her before, and each reacted with surprise, followed by extreme and mildly unnerving interest.

"A pleasure, I'm sure," said Nicodemus, and each of Kinsale's brothers bowed to her in turn. Nicodemus approached her and she backed away instinctively. "I've never had the good fortune to contend with a human sorceress," he said as Rose's hands hit the wall behind her. "Would you do me the honour of being my first victory?"

Rose's mind flew into a fresh panic and she struggled to think of some way to react that would get him away from her. She knew she could best him—he was about her height, and she'd been told a thousand times over that male wicked fairies weren't usually good duelers—and yet he still seemed to loom over her, to block all means of escape with his presence before her.

Memories of the last man who had prevented her escape from his presence flooded her consciousness and she bit the inside of her mouth to hold back her tears. This man was not Philip. She did not know him. She did not trust him. She had never fancied herself in love with or indebted to him. Her magic was stronger than his. She could get the best of him if she didn't panic.

They will try to get close to you, not only because they believe they can overpower you, but because they believe they can frighten you.

Maleficent. Maleficent had spoken these words to her just before she, herself, had tried to frighten Rose away. Rose had felt few emotions other than fear during that time, and yet something about those terrifying days had shown her the promise of a life that she could choose for herself. She had seen in Maleficent, far more than a deeply troubled and extremely dangerous enigma, a woman who did with her days as she pleased, a woman who would gladly annihilate anyone who stood in the way of her freedom, and a woman who had the means to do so.

They believe they can overpower you. They believe they can frighten you.

That was the reason she had agreed to learn magic. That was the reason she had skillfully ignored the signs of her descent into the same cold-heartedness which allowed Maleficent to cause harm to those who threatened her. Briar Rose, who had never known very much freedom at all, longed for the kind of freedom Maleficent possessed, whatever the cost.

They believe they can overpower you. They believe they can frighten you.

They are incorrect.

Rose took a deep, calming breath and steadied herself. She removed her hands from their place against the wall and flicked her wrists, throwing Nicodemus back several feet. "If you think you can frighten me," she said quietly, to hide the wavering uncertainty in her voice, "you're wrong."

"I wouldn't pick a fight with her, either, if I were you," said Kinsale. Rose realized with a start that the conversation had not lulled at all. She had not taken as long as she usually did to come up with a way out of a bad situation. "She's been training with Zenovia for months," Kinsale added.

Rose noted with no small amount of resentment that Kinsale's voice was tinged with amusement. She wasn't discouraging a fight at all. She would relish the entertainment.

Nicodemus had long since recovered from his surprise at Rose's response, and had returned his efforts to gazing ominously at her. "No kidding?" he said with a smile more suited for showing teeth than for showing mirth. "Just like my darling, darling Mallie."

"Call me Mallie one more time."

But Nicodemus ignored her. His eyes never left Rose. "Come on, Rosie," he said, holding out his arms in a show of mock-deference. "Show me what you've got."

Though Rose's stomach twisted uncomfortably, she ignored it in favour of keeping her power, her freedom. She wanted him and his brothers to leave her alone. If she demonstrated her superior skill, he wouldn't challenge her like this again. He was the oldest, and probably the strongest among them, so if he left her alone, the others would follow suit. This wasn't like hurting Philip, or her aunts, or Kinsale. This was why she had spent the past year of her life on the verge of madness: so she could make people leave her alone when she wanted them to.

She didn't remember when gathering her energies into concentrated magic had become second nature to her. With her right hand, Rose scooped up what seemed to be empty air and blew lightly upon it so that it caught fire. She glanced up at Nicodemus and quirked one eyebrow.

Nicodemus raised both of his eyebrows in response. "Go on, Rosie. I'll let you have the first shot."

To Rose's surprise, a disbelieving laugh escaped her lungs. "No," she said, shaking her head and tossing her fireball away into nothingness. "No. You're going to whine about how you'd have won on equal footing, and I won't listen to it." The room was suddenly dead silent but for Kinsale, who very unsuccessfully stifled a laugh. "We count off."

Zenovia, whom Rose had not noticed sitting in an armchair looking very much like she'd prefer to be sleeping, added firmly, "Outside, if you please."

Rose raised her chin, turned on her bare-footed heel, and marched outside, turning her back upon Nicodemus in a show of exactly how little she thought of him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kinsale rush excitedly over to Maleficent, grabbing her by the arm to follow them out. Maleficent didn't shake her off.

"Count off when you're ready," said Rose, folding her arms.

She had just begun to wonder whether perhaps she was feeling overconfident for no good reason when Nicodemus began to count. He sounded even more amused than Kinsale, even more condescending than everyone Rose had ever encountered. The mere sound of his voice mocked her, and that mockery pushed Rose over the edge of reason into blood-boiling rage.

"One...two...three!"

Rose's first fireball hit him right in the gut, her magic infused with the full force of her fury at being so flippantly underestimated after months of maddeningly hard work. She could have cast the binding spell and been done with the battle just like that, but with a kind of cruel self-satisfaction which would later horrify her, Rose waited for Nicodemus to put out her fire, dust himself off, scramble to his feet, and take the defensive position before she hit him with another attack that packed just as much punch as the first.

This time, he tried to fire an attack of his own at her from the ground, but Rose flicked it away like an annoying insect, waited for Nicodemus to ready himself once more, then stomped her foot on the ground, sending a wave of vibrations through the ground that knocked Nicodemus onto his back once more.

"Have you had enough?" Rose barely heard the words she had spoken. They felt like they came from somewhere else, certainly not from her own lips.

Apparently her taunting spurred Nicodemus to action, for he leapt to his feet and took the defensive position in less than a second, and his spell followed so quickly that Rose didn't have time to block it. She thought fast, though, and before her knees had hit the ground, she had fired a counterattack which threw Nicodemus into the air.

He landed flat on his back once more, and by that time, Rose had already recovered from her minor stumble. Just as he began to get to his feet, Rose lazily cast the final binding charm. Since she didn't have her staff, she merely folded her arms and looked down at him expectantly.

"Fine, Rosie, for Hell's sake!" he said, shaking his head. "I concede to your superior skill, now let me go!"

But Rose did not come back to her senses for another minute or so. Aided by the vaguest suggestion of daylight, the harsh lightening of the sky which came just after those darkest hours on the night, she looked down upon her victim with an immensely satisfying feeling of vindication. Her hard work had finally paid off. She finally had what she wanted. She could defend herself and her freedom. She could do as she pleased, and she could defend her right to do so. No man would ever touch her again. No man would ever frighten her or overpower her or talk to her in the woods when she wasn't supposed to speak to strangers.

She came back to herself gradually, and the feeling manifested itself in a churning sensation in her stomach. With a mixture of unease and disgust, both for Nicodemus and for herself, Rose removed the binding spell, then turned and headed back inside. She suddenly realized that her feet and nose were very cold and she had missed a scratch from her training with Zenovia the previous day which was now burning fiendishly.

"Very impressive," said Zenovia quietly. "Be forewarned: Nicodemus will not take such embarrassment lightly. He won't underestimate you next time."

Rose sat to tend to the wound she had just noticed. "Does the fighting ever end?" she wondered with a sigh. "Is it always just...fighting to see how long you can last?"

Zenovia considered this for a moment with her eyes closed. "Perhaps," she said at last. "Then again, such is life. Day in and day out, we are beaten down. We spend our lives struggling to hold our ground even when we know it is impossible." She opened her eyes and looked over at Rose. "Even when we know that one day, we shall be beaten down for the last time. A battle is merely a more immediate concentration of that which we must learn to do constantly."

Rose averted her eyes, made uncomfortable by the strange intensity that surrounded Zenovia. "Thank you for training me," she said. "I know I'm not an ideal student."

Zenovia raised her eyebrows. "What more ideal student is there than one who desires nothing more than to learn?"

"But as compared to—"

"You mustn't compare yourself to others," said Zenovia. "Particularly in the realm of magic, and particularly to Maleficent. Even the magic of blood sisters varies widely, as evidenced by the fact that Maleficent and I both lost our sisters many, many years ago."

Rose's stomach lurched painfully. "But Maleficent's sisters were murdered."

"And mine went to their graves on a whim?" Zenovia wondered with a tilt of her head. "You'll find that wicked fairies seldom die of old age, Briar Rose."

"I'm sorry...I didn't mean..."

"I know you didn't," said Zenovia.

"What..." Rose wrung her hands and bit her lip. "If I may ask...what happened to your sisters?"

"Executed for their crimes against humanity." The way she said the words was strange, like she was quoting someone else.

"How many did you have?" Rose asked, daring to look up from her hands.

"Two."

"Were they both..were they...at the same time?"

"Yes."

"What were their crimes?"

Zenovia held Rose's gaze for an uncomfortable moment, then abruptly returned her attention to the opposing wall. "Being my sisters."

"What?" Rose shook her head. "What does that mean?"

"Did Maleficent tell you why we parted ways?" Zenovia asked her. "The second time?"

Rose struggled to remember, but she'd learned so much about so many people that it was difficult to keep it all straight. Zenovia had written a book...something controversial. "Something about a book that you wrote?" she guessed.

Zenovia nodded. "Demystifying Good Fairy Magic. Perhaps you'd like to take a look at it while you're here. There aren't very many copies left."

Good fairy magic. Maleficent had told Rose that good fairy magic was meant to be difficult for wicked fairies to understand. "Maleficent said that good fairies...something like that they marched wicked fairies out of their houses..."

"And demanded that they burn the book immediately, or else be burnt at the stake, themselves," said Zenovia with a nod. Her demeanour had grown somehow even more stern than usual. "Those who were smart did as they were told. I told Maleficent to make herself scarce and to deny all connection to me, and lo, she survived. The world lost many foolish idealists in those years."

Rose considered this with a frown. "You mean to say that people defied the good fairies? They refused to burn your book? Isn't that..." she refocused her attention on wringing her hands. "I mean, I think that's very brave."

"It was idiotic," Zenovia replied evenly. "The information wasn't lost with the books that were burned. Fairies had already read it. Many would have remembered and passed it along."

"Well, yes," said Rose, looking up, "but it's the principle of the thing. That good fairies wanted their magic to be kept a secret from everyone."

"Your Highness, there is little use in fighting for the principle of the thing if you're burnt at the stake before you've made any progress."

"Oh," said Rose quietly. Her voice had suddenly caught in her throat, and she took a moment to collect her thoughts before she spoke again. "I'm sorry... What happened to you? What happened to your sisters?"

"My sisters..." Zenovia began, then stopped abruptly. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet and harsh. "My sisters were foolish."

Rose's stomach twisted again. "They stood up for you."

"They shouldn't have," Zenovia snapped. "I talked my way out of a death sentence. They talked their way into it."

Rose made to reach out, but she stopped herself. It was possible that Zenovia had led a life not unlike Maleficent's. A comforting touch to Rose might be the opposite to Zenovia. Her hand lingered awkwardly in the air, and she said, "I'm so sorry."

Zenovia looked up at her, surprised, then her eyes darted down to Rose's outstretched hand. Without hesitation, she took Rose's hand and patted it. "It's all right," she said. "It was a long time ago."

But Rose had already been told the same thing several times, by both Maleficent and Kinsale. This time, she decided to respond. "That doesn't change anything," she said.

Zenovia tilted her head and considered Rose for a moment, then reached out and lightly touched her cheek. "I was going to tell you that you'll learn when you're older," she said with a strange, sad smile that did not quite make it to her eyes, "but you're right. It doesn't change anything. Now," she stood and wrapped her blanket around her shoulders. "Get some rest. There are still a few hours before dawn."

Fauna and Leah traveled in relative silence for over a week. They did not stop to rest until one or the other (or, more frequently, the horse) nearly dropped to her knees in exhaustion, and sometimes even then they tried to soldier on.

Their attempts at conversation invariably ended in tense silence. Fauna continually tried to remind Leah that the person she thought of as her daughter was not only very different from Leah's idea of her, but might well be completely different from the girl Fauna had known for sixteen years.

Leah tried to understand, for there was a quiet part of her that knew all too well how very much a person could change in a short amount of time. Still, another part of her insisted that Aurora was her daughter, and that she loved her daughter. Surely their estrangement should not be this difficult to overcome.

Another part of her, far quieter and yet far more insidious than any other, coolly reminded her that she had handed her daughter over to this woman seventeen years ago. Had it truly been the only choice she had? It had certainly felt that way, and yet this particular voice did not heed Leah's arguments. There is always a choice, the voice reminded her.

The longer the days dragged on, the louder this voice became. And as it grew louder, it brought with it a dull, churning, twisting, aching sensation that made its permanent home in the pit of Leah's stomach.

There is always a choice.

Had that been the correct one?

On this particular night, Leah lay beneath a canopy of leaves fashioned by Fauna and wondered whether she might die of sheer exhaustion. Every muscle in her body ached. Her heart ached, her stomach ached, her head ached, and she had no idea where she would find the strength to journey on when morning came.

Leah remembered the last time she had felt this way. She remembered a midwife firmly pulling her newborn baby away from her. She wept senselessly, muttered horribly cruel things she would do if her child was not returned to her at once, but the words came out as little more than deranged wailing, and Leah's arms were too heavy to lift.

I am going to die, she wailed. I am going to die and you won't even let me hold my baby!

Leah awoke nearly three full days later, and she was so stunned to be alive that she immediately began weeping once more from sheer gratitude to all that was kind and merciful in the universe, and even to all that was not. Thank you, she murmured to God, thank you, to her father for finding this new life for her, thank you to Stefan for being such a kind-hearted man, even before she had loved him so very, very much.

Thank you, she whispered, though the words were lost in a wracking sob, to the wicked fairy Maleficent, who had given her broken body the strength to bear a child and to live, when it was so clear that said body could have done neither of those things on its own.

She learned later, when her servants, her husband, and his council had ascertained that Leah was alive and on the mend, that the announcement of the baby to the kingdom had been delayed in hopes that Leah might pull through. Stefan had sat by her side and Leah had suggested that they name their child Aurora, for the dawn, and for the sunlight she would bring into their lives. Not very long at all thereafter, preparations had begun for Aurora's christening.

As a demonstration of your gratitude, Maleficent had said, and her voice sent unpleasant chills through Leah's spine, you might cease treating me as a scourge upon your kingdom.

Excellency?

Perhaps consider inviting me to your child's christening. As a show of good faith.

Time and time again, Leah had reassured herself that there was nothing she could have done. Stefan wouldn't listen to her, and if she pressed too hard, he would uncover a plethora of shameful secrets Leah had been hoping to escape forever.

Now she plainly saw that this had been not only cowardice, but selfishness. What was Leah's shame to her daughter's very sanity? Suppose Stefan had been furious. Suppose he had cast Leah away. At least then Maleficent would have known that Leah had tried. What if that would have been enough to satisfy her?

A chill ran down Leah's spine at the memory of Maleficent. In Leah's two encounters with her, she had not been anything like what Leah had expected. She hadn't been a raving lunatic, or a hideous beast. She had, on the contrary, exuded a quiet elegance and eerie calmness of demeanour which only served to augment an undercurrent of imminent danger. Even more than that, there was a distinctive sanity about her, which only served to make her cold personality and her underlying cruelty more troubling. Maleficent was not a madwoman. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Was this what Aurora had seen in her? Had she mistaken Maleficent's sanity—that which convinced most people that she must truly embody Evil—for an indication of some small inner goodness?

Leah was overcome by a wave of nausea when she remembered the way Aurora had spoken of her captors. She adored them. Leah had been too afraid to tell Aurora that they were to receive a death sentence. She had feared—far more than the prospect of more misdirected anger—that Aurora would fall apart without the delusional hope of seeing them again.

The more she thought about the last time they had spoken, the more nauseated she became. She thought of the bitter edge to her daughter's beautiful voice, the cryptic questions she asked about the nature of love, and the way she laughed almost maniacally at the strangest things. Leah found it difficult to accept that Aurora might truly have been driven mad, and yet what other conclusion could she draw?

Leah heaved a long, shuddery sigh and shifted her position. Fauna was asleep a short distance away, but Leah could see the little fairy's eyebrows knitted in concern even as she slumbered.

There was still time. There must be. However it pained her to admit it, Fauna knew Aurora better than Leah did. Much better. Leah must somehow manage to swallow her pride and her anguish and do as Fauna said.

Hovering somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, Leah allowed a very disturbing and deeply upsetting stream of thoughts to come to the surface. She didn't mean to, not really. She was too tired to fight it off, as she had every day up until now.

The good fairies had awoken Stefan and Leah in the middle of the night. Stefan had been very groggy, but Leah had still been very much awake. She had failed to keep her promise to a woman everyone with any sense in his head feared above all else, and unless she thought of something in the meantime, her failure would cost her her daughter's life.

"We have a plan," Mistress Flora had explained.

"You're not going to like it," Mistress Merryweather amended.

"But we really...we really think it's the only way," said Mistress Fauna gravely.

Their brilliant master plan had at first sounded utterly ludicrous to Leah. The good fairies had already said that their magic combined was no match for Maleficent—how could they expect to hide anything from her?

"Maleficent knows many things," Fauna explained.

"She sure thinks she does..." Merryweather muttered.

"But what she thinks she knows is her weakness!" said Flora. "Maleficent would never believe that we, who have lived with magic all our lives, would live without it. She would never believe that anyone would want to raise someone else's child."

Leah turned away in horror. She would lose the chance to raise her child.

"Please, Your Majesty," cried Flora. "There is no other way to keep Aurora safe!"

It had been Stefan who agreed. Leah had stood facing the wall, clutching her child to her chest and weeping, until she felt Stefan's hands on her shoulders, turning her around to face what must be done.

"It's the only way?" she echoed quietly. It's the only way.

Here, in the sanctity of her memory, a memory Leah could never change, no matter how many times she tried, Leah said the word she hadn't said then.

No.

There must be another way.

She wrapped her arms around herself, clutched her imaginary baby to her chest, and whispered the word over and over again until the sun Rose.

No.

No.

No.

The next day, Rose trained with Zenovia once more, which meant that she ended her day in unspeakable pain, crawling on elbows and knees back to her room in a sort of delirium. If she had been under the impression that her dueling skills had improved, Zenovia would have put her rightly back in her place. Perhaps Rose could hold her own against a male fairy, and someone who underestimated her, but certainly not against a real dueler.

"Well, that is the beauty of being you," Maleficent said in response to Rose's senseless blubbering to that effect. "Many, many people will underestimate you."

Rose groaned by way of response and threw another gust of magic at her throbbing ankle, but she was too tired to sit up again.

"Come now," said Maleficent. "Nicodemus is older than Kinsale and you bested him like it was nothing. Most of the people you'll come across in this world are no better at dueling than he is."

"That would be of much more comfort to me if you weren't so concerned about being wiped off the face of the earth," Rose replied morosely.

"As Kinsale mentioned, the difficulty is in the numbers. I expect today was your last day of training only with Zenovia. You can best one fairy who's out of practice, one who's never been in practice, but how about two who've been recently retrained? What of four? A dozen?"

Rose groaned again and buried her face in her pillow. Maleficent chuckled quietly, but Rose's thoughts remained decidedly melancholy. So what if she could learn to best two, or four, or even a dozen? The difficulty was in the numbers. If what she had chanced to overhear was any indication, there were hundreds of thousands of good fairies who would fight in Mistress Sara's name.

"Maleficent?" she asked after several minutes of silence.

"Yes?"

"What was it like? Nearly dying?"

Maleficent was silent for several minutes. Not so long ago, Rose would have wondered whether she would answer at all.

"I don't remember," she said at last. "Every time I realized I was still alive, I was surprised."

Rose hadn't asked very much about what had become of Maleficent during her imprisonment. For one thing, the topic in general made her stomach lurch. She keenly remembered her misery when she had learned of Maleficent's fate, and she had been so unbelievably happy to see Maleficent alive that she hadn't been very keen on hearing the details, for fear that they would shatter the illusion. But now, now that she had more or less ascertained that this was not a very long and elaborate dream, she found herself wondering a great many things about it.

Another obstacle to consider was that Maleficent didn't seem to want to talk about it very much, but of course, she didn't seem to want to talk about many things, and yet she usually indulged Rose. The one question Rose had asked—how had Sara managed to capture her?—had been met with as vague an answer as Rose thought possible, and even the answer Maleficent had just provided had not offered very much in the way of real information.

Rose turned on her side and tossed another generic healing spell at her ankle, but she could not will her body to move any more. Every muscle she had was impossibly sore. "I still have this idea in my mind that Sara means...means certain death. When Fauna told me you..." she squeezed her eyes closed. One memory of the time she had spent in the Chains of Avasina brought back all the others, and even on their own, they were too much to bear. "But you escaped."

"Kinsale risked her life to save both of us that day," said Maleficent.

"What happened?"

"I don't remember much of it. Kinsale convinced the night guard that Sara would blame her for somehow helping me to survive her torture." Rose opened her eyes to see Maleficent gazing blankly at the wall. "I'm given to understand a hefty dose of hypnosis was involved in the convincing."

"So that isn't just a trick of yours?" Rose wondered, moments of hazy dreamlike memories flashing through her mind.

Maleficent let out a small half-chuckle. "That is a trick invented by Mistress Cordelia."

"Of the Sea Kingdom?"

"The very same. If you'll recall, she wanted the world to believe that she was born of the sea." After a moment's silence, Maleficent added, "But don't trouble yourself unnecessarily, Briar Rose. Very few wicked fairies have ever grasped the concept. Kinsale is very good at it—the best I've ever met. Unless Sara for some reason asked the guard too many questions, she'll be inclined to believe the story Kinsale gave her."

"What was that?"

"That I died, and that my body was already so rotted that the guard had to dispose of it to make the prison livable."

Rose's stomach lurched, and she clasped a hand to her mouth and groaned. Maleficent turned and looked down at her quizzically.

"That's dreadful," Rose muttered into her hand.

Something in Maleficent's expression darkened. "There are far more dreadful tales in this world than that one. At any rate, that and the fact that I am virtually unrecognizable without my signature headdress afford me a small advantage over Sara's inner circle."

Rose struggled to fight down the urge to retch, and could think of nothing more to say.

"There's no need to be upset about it any longer. Is something else the matter?"

Rose struggled to breathe, and her words came out in short bursts. "I saw you," she said. "I saw you and you did look...you should have...but you survived, you're alive, and so I didn't ask too many...too many questions, because I was afraid..." Rose covered her mouth again, and squeezed her eyes closed for a moment. "But how? How did you survive? I saw you! And I see you now, and you've barely healed at all! And I just...I worry about you. I can't help it!"

Maleficent reached out slowly and smoothed Rose's hair, which was matted and stuck to her forehead with sweat, out of her face. Rose shivered, but the gesture was so surprising that it distracted her somewhat from the dread still churning in her stomach.

"There's an old saying," she said quietly. "Fire cannot kill a dragon."

"Is it true?" Rose wondered.

"Like most simplistic adages, it's a bit more complicated in practice."

Maleficent ran her fingers through Rose's hair once more, and Rose felt the faint tingling sensation that accompanied her magic. She realized vaguely that her muscles didn't hurt nearly as much anymore, and she covered her mouth once more, this time to stifle a yawn.

"Sometimes, for example, a dragon can choose to serve a sorceress. Suppose that sorceress were threatened with a fire that could cause death, and the dragon stood in the way. That could very well lead to the dragon's death."

Rose didn't fully understand what Maleficent was saying, nor was she alert enough to chide Maleficent for soothing her with magic.

"Suppose there were a dragon inside of a sorceress," Maleficent continued, even more quietly than before. "Suppose the sorceress was in unspeakable pain, such that she cried out for death. But suppose the dragon in her took the fall, instead, that she might live to see just one more day. And suppose it just so happened that that day was the day her saviour arrived."

The dragon in her took the fall... The words spun around and around in Rose's mind, and still they failed to make sense to her. Maleficent and dragons...Maleficent was a dragon. Maleficent could turn into a dragon. But the dragon in her took the fall.

"You're not a dragon any longer," Rose murmured at last.

"That is the hypothesis, yes."

Though there were innumerable questions Rose wanted to ask, the feeling of Maleficent's fingers in her hair had completely numbed her mind to anything that seemed more pressing than a full night of sleep.

"Mistress Hilda to see you."

Sara raised her head from her hands. "Send her in."

Mistress Hilda was best known for her overwhelming contributions to dumbing down good fairy magic to the lowest possible denominator. While she had employed many worthy fairies in the physical inscription of the Big Book of Spells series, she, herself, was almost entirely responsible for its construction.

Sara, who had absolutely no patience for simplification, found Hilda's patience for such an endeavour highly admirable. Shortly after the series had been completed, Sara had offered Hilda a place in her employ. Hilda had, at the time, graciously denied the offer in favour of furthering her own magical education as a member of the Mountainland Fairies, a colony of elite duelers who had just recently lost a member to retirement.

With a war upon them—albeit ever so slightly delayed—Sara now had the benefit of these women as her allies. Mistress Hilda's strengths were far less in the realm of battle and far more in the realm of information, tactics, and a knack for seeing the big picture. She had also tried her hand as a biographer a handful of times over the years, and as such, possessed a great deal more information on the lives of various influential fairies than did the average person.

"Good afternoon, Mistress Sara."

"What news, Mistress Hilda?"

Hilda produced and unrolled a copy of the letter Mistress Kinsale had sent to rally her troops, and a map not unlike the one Sara had spent the past three days scrutinizing. "Coordinates," she said.

"Coordinates?" Sara echoed derisively. She'd had far too little sleep to be dealing with anyone's idea of cryptic cleverness.

Hilda dropped the map on Sara's desk, conjured and adorned her reading glasses, then began reading from the note. "'As I'm certain you've noticed, Many things about the way our society is run have changed over the years. Indeed, it might seem that many of the obstacles which kept us as a species from coexisting peacefully are no longer Viable Factors. It is with these changes in mind that I—'"

Sara cut her off. "The point, if you please?"

"You know about wicked fairy magic, yes?" Hilda asked, unphased. "It's all lines and angles, equations, that sort of thing?"

Sara made a noncommittal noise. She had never understood very much about wicked fairy magic, nor did she care to try. Non-wicked fairies who dabbled too deeply in the stuff tended to end up stark-raving mad.

"Well, look here." Hilda held the note in front of Sara's face and pointed to an A, an M, a V, an F, and an ink splotch.

Sara shoved the note away from her face and stood, to emphasize the fact that she towered over Hilda. "Mistress Hilda, I am not an adolescent, and I do not anticipate ever requiring the skill set to decode a message written by Mistress Kinsale again." The Fairy Queen could try to tell her whatever she liked. Sara would not tolerate an attempt at tutelage from someone of half her age and ability.

"Right," said Hilda quietly. "My apologies, Excellency." She looked down at the note and began tracing some kind of nonsensical pattern or string of symbols in the air with her fingers. Sara returned to her seat and rested her head on her hand with a small sigh of exhaustion. Once she had apparently finished, Hilda turned her attention to the nonsense she had scribbled and began rearranging it. Sara allowed herself a shudder at the idea that Hilda had intended to subject her to a slower and simpler version of what seemed to be an interminable process.

"Aha!" Hilda cried. She stepped back and presented her work to Sara.

But the jumble of symbols still looked exactly the same—perhaps even more jumbled than before. Sara raised her eyebrows and Hilda's smile fell. She glanced back to her work, frowned at it for several seconds, then took out her wand and fired a spell.

The symbols exploded into nothingness, and in their place materialized a handful of equally nonsensical numbers. Sara was less than a second away from having Hilda arrested for wasting her valuable time at such a crucial moment when she remembered what Hilda had said when she first entered.

"Coordinates."

The next morning, Rose was awoken by a painful blow to her lower back. She shot up into a sitting position, muscles screaming in protest, just in time to see Kinsale's second-youngest brother hit the wall and fall into a heap upon the floor.

"If you ever awaken me in such a manner again," said Maleficent, who was still lying down with her eyes closed, "I will eviscerate you."

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am," muttered Inopius as he scrambled out of the room.

"What a mercy it is that I did not grow up with such insufferable siblings," said Maleficent.

Rose leaned her back against the wall, too startled to even think of going back to sleep. "A mercy for them, maybe."

As it turned out, fighting more than one person at a time was not only vastly different and ten times more difficult than fighting one, but it set Rose's nerves completely on edge. Though individually, Kinsale's brothers never attacked even a fraction as quickly as Zenovia, and the spells were not even nearly as fierce, they had had upwards of four hundred years' experience fighting with one another. The result was that they played off of one another, each anticipated the other's move, and they sometimes combined their magic (which was individually about as strong as Rose's) to create a force Rose couldn't possibly have anticipated.

The first day, she lost every battle she fought. Nicodemus and Velan, Inopius and Merick, or any other combination thereof; it mattered not. The second day, late in the afternoon, Rose won a battle against Velan and Merick because of a lucky shot, but she paid dearly for it. She spent the rest of the evening nursing a broken ankle and wrist, not to mention a slew of sickening memories that accompanied that particular fracture.

The time alone with her thoughts was not kind to her. Everyone else was busy practicing late into the night, and here Rose sat, far more incapacitated by her thoughts than by her body. She had learned to heal a fracture rather well. She still couldn't think of any way to appease the troublesome notion that she was slowly becoming someone she despised.

The third day felt like an enormous step backward. Downtrodden by her continued failure and her decidedly morose mindset, Rose lost many battles within seconds. After one such occasion, as she looked up at the smug faces of Kinsale's brothers and waited for them to release her from the customary binding spell, Rose caught sight of Maleficent.

She had no idea what to make of Maleficent's facial expression, but it was decidedly negative. She imagined Maleficent must be terribly disappointed in her. What a waste of time, Maleficent's time and the time of her powerful friends, teaching magic to a weak human girl when she clearly had no use for it. She'd serve no use at all when the war began. She'd be nothing but a body to dispose of.

Inopius released the binding spell, probably because Rose's expression had gone from deeply uncomfortable to the far less entertaining terribly depressed. She sank from her knees to the floor and stayed there for several minutes.

"Get up."

"What's the use?" she muttered into the cold stone floor.

"You're going to allow those snide little bastards to get the best of you? At least admit defeat to a worthy adversary."

Rose pushed herself up onto her elbows and pushed her hair out of her face. She glared at the bottom of Maleficent's dress. "I could beat them all if I tried," she said through gritted teeth.

Maleficent's reply was quick and cold. "In case it has escaped your notice, princess, you do not have the luxury of time on your hands."

How could she explain? How could she tell Maleficent, whose entire life had been one long fight for survival, that she must try to fight for something else?

Rose pushed herself up into a sitting position and looked up. Maleficent glowered down at her, arms folded across her body. "I'm frightened, Maleficent," she said, as steadily as she could manage.

Something in Maleficent's expression softened almost imperceptibly, but her voice remained cold. "It's about time."

Rose averted her eyes. "A part of me knows I could be better. At fighting. It's like a...like a fire...inside of me. But it..." She shook her head. "It's as though, when I'm fighting, really fighting...I'm a different person." She looked up at Maleficent with wide, searching eyes, hoping—perhaps against all reason—that she might have the answer to a question Rose didn't know how to ask. "I fear that if I...if I give into that feeling, that fire...I might truly lose myself in it."

Maleficent's expression remained neutral, but she dropped her defensive stance. After a moment's silence, she knelt and offered Rose her hand.

"If I had to guess," she said, in her usual clipped manner, "I'd say that it isn't a different person, but rather a part of yourself with which you're unfamiliar. A darker part, most probably. Perhaps even the darkest. But a part of you, nevertheless."

Rose took her hand hesitantly and stood on shaking legs. She didn't let go right away.

"It seems to me that this leaves you with two options," Maleficent continued. "You could spend the rest of your life denying it, wrestling with it in a vain attempt to subdue it. Or," she tilted her head and quirked one eyebrow, an expression which always made Rose feel like she was being studied, "you could accept it, embrace it, and, in the fast-approaching future, reap its benefits."

Rose frowned as she considered this. It certainly didn't feel connected to her, not at all. And yet, she could still only scarcely stand to identify the sickening anger which had overtaken her what seemed like forever ago when her life had begun its neverending spiral into the mess in which she now found herself.

Anyway, suppose she did accept it...embrace it, even? What would become of her then? She didn't feel as though she had any control over it. Whenever she felt that dreadful, wrenching anger she'd never been allowed to feel, it gave her a kind of strength she had never known. Instead of swallowing it and beating it into some sort of vague discontent or mild-mannered sadness, she fought back. She protected the power and the freedom she'd worked so hard to win for herself.

But if she surrendered to it? Never came back to herself, or what she thought of as herself, anyway... What would become of her then?

Rose gasped as a sudden realization hit her, and she shot Maleficent a skeptical look. "That's an awfully biased assessment," she said.

Maleficent raised her eyebrows. "What on earth were you expecting?"

A small half-chuckle caught Rose by surprise. She smiled sadly and shook her head. She found, as usual, that there were countless things she wanted to say, and yet she couldn't find the words for any of them.

"I'd better get back to practicing," she said at last.

Rose reluctantly withdrew her hand from Maleficent's, but Maleficent held on. Rose looked up in a silent question. Maleficent's brow was ever so slightly furrowed, and there was a small flicker of concern in her eyes. For more than a minute, she looked like she wanted to say something, but instead, she nodded curtly and let go of Rose's hand.

Rose's fighting didn't precisely improve after that, but she didn't collapse to the floor in listless despair again. Her mind was too preoccupied by thoughts of the tiny glimmer of goodness in the hearts of the evil, and the tiny glimmer of cruelty which, logically, must exist in the hearts of the good.

Mercifully, the sun set on this exhausting day, and it gave way to a moonless night. One after another, the small party grew weary of practicing by candlelight, and they retired to enjoy what they might of a brief and uneasy slumber.

"Mistress Fauna."

Startled from her restless sleep, Fauna jumped to full attention, wand drawn in an ineffectual threat to the owner of the strange voice.

"You've chosen an unfortunate location to make camp," said Mistress Zalia. Fauna found that the sight of her made her sick to her stomach. Fauna wasn't entirely certain whether the nausea was for Zalia or for herself. "Sara's troops will be flying through in an hour or so. You'd best wake your traveling companion and get out of harm's way."

"Right," Fauna swallowed. She hoped Zalia would leave. She didn't have high hopes that Queen Leah would go unrecognized. And yet, even if Zalia made a show of leaving, it wasn't likely that she would allow anyone to travel unidentified. "Well. Thank you. I, ah...wish you luck."

"You'll forgive me if I inquire after the nature of your business so far from the Eastern Kingdom." It was not a question.

Fauna's first instinct was to blurt out a horribly-crafted lie, but she restrained herself. She tried to think of what Flora would say, but that might not go over very well, either. Flora, not unlike Merryweather, tended to come off as stubborn and haughty, not the kind of thing that would allow Fauna to escape. Upon further contemplation, though, a wild sort of abandon seized her. What would Maleficent say? "You'll, ah...forgive me," she began, as firmly as she could manage, "if I'm not at liberty to disclose."

Zalia raised her eyebrows. "You're choosing a peculiar time to play human politics."

You're choosing a peculiar time to play fairy politics, Fauna wanted to reply, but she quickly swallowed this surprising and disturbing urge. She didn't want to take the Maleficent metaphor any farther than necessary. "I've chosen to stay out of the war," she responded, instead. "That means living by human rules."

"Arbitrary, fleeting."

"Well..." Fauna frowned. "Couldn't the same be said for fairy rules?"

"On the contrary," said Zalia. "Fairy rules are very simple. Respect your superiors, side with the winners."

"Mistress Zalia...there aren't going to be any winners," said Fauna, wringing her hands. "Some people will just...lose less than others."

Zalia's eyes flashed dangerously. "So you abandoned your sisters? Because you think you can exempt yourself from loss?"

Fauna averted her eyes. "My sisters have chosen their paths, and I've chosen mine. One of us has to serve as King's Counsel. I wouldn't be any use in a war, anyway."

"I'd advise against giving that speech to another good fairy," said Zalia. "It's an awful lot of individualistic talk."

"What?" Fauna's eyes shot back up to meet Zalia's. "You just said yourself you only want—"

"To side with the winners, yes. I don't personally buy into much of that Greater Good nonsense, but my personal philosophy doesn't matter very much to Sara as long as I'm willing to do her dirty work. So I'm warning you as a favour," she crossed her arms. "I suggest you wake your companion and gallop off to your delusion of safety."

Zalia's feet were firmly planted in the doorway. She would not leave until Fauna woke the Queen, and she would never accept Fauna's lack of information if she recognized Leah.

With trembling hands, Fauna reached down and shook Leah's shoulder. She never took her eyes off of Zalia. Leah was slow to wake, and murmured what sounded like "No, no, no" as she turned her head to look at Fauna. "What? What more do you want?" she asked, both miserable and exhausted.

"We have to leave, dear," said Fauna, patting her shoulder. She didn't know where this sudden outburst of misery had come from. Perhaps the queen had had a nightmare?

"We have to...?" Leah's expression became somehow even more desolate, and she mercifully turned away from the door to gather her things.

"Thank you kindly for your advice, Mistress Zalia," said Fauna with as much authority as she could muster.

Zalia inclined her head towards Leah, clearly attempting to examine her in the near-darkness, but after a long silence, she nodded slowly. "You're welcome," she said, then turned and walked, still with painstaking slowness, out of sight.

After a moment had passed and Leah had gathered her things, Fauna leaned in and whispered, "Hurry. Keep your face hidden." She dissolved their makeshift tent with a wave of her hand and summoned her own satchel while Leah mounted her horse.

"Who was that?" Leah wondered quietly. "What did she want?"

"Mistress Zalia. She-"

"Mistress Zalia?!"

"Shh!" Fauna wrung her hands nervously and glanced around for any sign of eavesdroppers, but of course the night was eerily still. "She is a favourite of...let's say one of the major players...in the coming war. The first shots may be fired before dawn."

"Dawn?" Leah echoed miserably. "But how far are we? We aren't going to make it! And if the war begins, that means Aurora will be..."

"Oh...oh, don't cry, Your Majesty," said Fauna, but she couldn't exactly make an argument. "We haven't lost yet, dear. It's very unlikely that Sara's women have found the fortress where Rose is already. We still have time."

"Do we?" Leah's voice was hoarse and tremulous. "Or were we too late before we began?"

Fauna tried to respond, but came up with only empty words that wouldn't mean very much of anything. Leah hadn't stopped her horse. They were still traveling in the general direction of the Western Woodlands. Leah wouldn't really give up on Rose. Perhaps not even when she knew it was hopeless.

"We've still got to try," said Fauna at last. They continued their journey, as seemed to be their fate, in tense silence.

Rose didn't know how she could possibly be unable to sleep. She couldn't remember the last time she hadn't been in pain, and pounding headaches hadn't kept her awake any other night in the past month or two...or three...or however long it had been.

"Maleficent?" she whispered. She half-hoped Maleficent was sound asleep and wouldn't answer. Maleficent got so little sleep, anyway, and she was such a light sleeper, Rose would feel dreadful for waking her.

But, true to form, Maleficent sat upright immediately. "What is it?"

"Oh..." Slowly and painstakingly, Rose pushed herself up to a sitting position. "I'm sorry to disturb you," she said uncomfortably. "I couldn't sleep. I was just...I don't know, wondering if you were awake."

Maleficent's shoulders relaxed slightly. "It's no trouble," she said. Her voice was tired, almost scratchy.

Rose wanted to curl up into a ball, but her legs hurt too much to move. "I feel so miserable," she whispered, the pitch of her voice a bit higher than she'd intended.

In the darkness, Maleficent's eyes had an eerie kind of glow about them. When she turned to look at Rose, Rose could clearly see them, forever shining with a thousand thoughts she knew she would never fully understand. "No one would think less of you, Rose."

Maleficent was referring to the solution she had offered. I could hide you away if you wished it. I could place you under a proper sleeping spell until the war is over.

The same impulse that had caused Rose to confess her misery wanted to speak up again. Would I feel any pain? she wanted to ask. The physical pain was bearable, but the mental anguish she experienced every moment of every day? She would go completely mad soon.

But Rose swallowed this impulse. She hadn't come this far just to go back to where she was most comfortable, where everyone wanted her to be, safe and mindlessly sleeping the years away.

"I would," she replied at last.

Maleficent turned away. "I suppose there's nothing I could say to change your mind."

"There are a lot of things you could say to change my mind," said Rose with a little chuckle.

"Then why not allow me to?" It was too dark to see, but in her mind, Rose imagined Maleficent giving Rose her signature studious expression: head tilted, eyebrow raised.

She smiled ruefully. "I do see it sometimes."

"What?"

"How you could easily convince someone to see things your way."

"It's not working very well at the moment."

"Only because you warned me," said Rose. "Repeatedly."

"I'm going soft in my old age," Maleficent replied coldly.

Rose's smile widened. Emboldened by the darkness and what was as close to a charitable mood as Maleficent ever exhibited, Rose moved over and leaned her head on Maleficent's shoulder. She felt Maleficent stiffen in surprise and anticipated a sharp remark and immediate banishment back to her side of the tiny room, but neither came.

She started to say something, or perhaps a thousand things all at once, but none of her thoughts translated easily into words. Instead, she linked her arm with Maleficent's and settled herself against Maleficent's side in silence, still half-expecting to be pushed away.

At last, Maleficent did break the silence, but her words were cryptic at best. "I lived half a dozen of your lifetimes before I knew your name," she said quietly.

Rose didn't know how to respond. She held onto Maleficent's arm tighter.

"Under different circumstances," Maleficent continued, "I would live thousands of years after you died."

After another long silence, Rose whispered, "I know that." Humans are forgetful in their transience, Kinsale wrote in Acacia's biography. She knew it in the way she knew most things about Maleficent: abstract things she had been told, had even read in the words of others, but couldn't really conceptualize. Maleficent could tell Rose that she had murdered and that she would do it again, that she felt no shame in telling a perfect lie, and that she would have killed Rose without a second thought if things had gone differently, and Rose would respond the same way. She knew.

"Yet you sit at my side," said Maleficent. There was some unidentifiable mixture of emotions in her voice...almost like amusement layered over melancholy layered over the faintest glimmer of hope.

Her first response was one she managed to swallow. Not even if they were both going to die at sunrise could she admit it. Rose wasn't certain exactly what the worst result would be. Maleficent casting her away? Looking upon her with disgust and loathing which she'd heretofore managed to conceal?

The worst might be the most likely to happen: Maleficent wouldn't believe her. Regardless of her personal feelings towards Rose, she would find it too unfathomable to consider any other reaction.

Rose squeezed her eyes shut, but that did nothing to stop a few tears from escaping her eyes. "Yes," she said at last. After another immeasurable silence, she felt Maleficent's head resting lightly atop her own, and Maleficent's fingers running through her hair.

The next moment, the world seemed to explode.

Everything was colour and light and rumbling, crashing, shattering. Rose was blinded by the abrupt brightness. It engulfed her, overloaded her senses, and her only coherent thought was to hold on, to keep her grip on whatever it was that tethered her to this world as it fell apart around her, just like every other world in which she had ever dared to imagine she belonged.

Maleficent held onto her without protest as the blurred vestiges of reality returned to her. They were still in their room, huddled together on one of the two small beds. Outside their window, the sky was splattered with violent colour in strange designs that seemed like they might mean something to someone, and the sound of the explosion had been replaced by deafening silence.

This time, Rose didn't need to ask what was happening.

"We only have a moment or two," Maleficent whispered into Rose's hair.

Rose didn't respond. She only faintly realized that she was trembling. Surely there were a thousand things she ought to say, but as seemed to be her curse, none of them would make their way past her throat.

"Rose."

"Yes?" Even this simple word was tremulous.

"Please reconsider."

Rose pulled away from Maleficent, still clutching the fabric of her sleeves, and took in the troubled expression upon her face. She noted the way her hair had begun to grow back in, the way her skin had regained its pine green hue. She noted that there were no longer any scars on her face, and the burn marks had faded into faint patches of rosy grey here and there. Her eyes traced the unique shape of Maleficent's face, the dramatic arch of her eyebrows, the subtle curves of her lips, and committed these things to memory, that they might give her the strength she needed to meet her chosen fate with dignity.

Hand still shaking, she reached out and touched Maleficent's cheek with the tips of her fingers. Maleficent did not flinch away. "I can't," she said.

Maleficent covered Rose's hand with her own. She looked like she wanted to say something, stopped, then averted her eyes and began again.

"Stay in the middle of the formation," said Maleficent, her voice even quieter than it had been. She spoke hurriedly, and even in the eerie stillness, Rose could barely understand her. "Save your strength for healing unless you're certain you see a window no one else sees. Stay close to me when possible. I can aid you and fight at the same time. Kinsale can't, but she will defend you at the risk of her own safety. The others won't help you. Do you understand?"

Rose nodded.

"People will underestimate you. Use that to your advantage. Let them think you are weak, and then turn around and take them down when the moment is right."

Rose nodded again.

"Rose," said Maleficent, her voice suddenly firm.

"Yes?"

Maleficent's free hand caught Rose's chin and willed her to meet her eyes. "Don't worry about anyone but yourself. Take care of yourself."

Rose swallowed. Yes, ma'am, a part of her wanted to snap, but of course that wasn't the best course of action. Another part of her was deeply touched, because she realized that Maleficent was only saying these words, which came off as an emotionless list of instructions, because she cared what became of Rose. Still another part—small and weak and buried as deep in her heart as she could manage, but nevertheless wild and reckless and full of a desperate passion that could never fully be contained—wanted to share just one of Rose's thoughts with Maleficent before she went charging to her death.

But what use would it be? she reminded herself coldly. "All right," she said, and Maleficent nodded curtly. Before she could withdraw, though, Rose caught her hands. "But Maleficent?"

"Yes?"

"You must promise me the same," said Rose, as firmly as she could manage. "That you'll take care of yourself, I mean."

Maleficent's brow furrowed subtly, and something strange glistened in her dark eyes, but again, she nodded curtly. "Very well," she said. She withdrew and climbed over the edge of the bed, then offered her hand to Rose to help her down. Rose leaned on Maleficent heavily for support, for she was still trembling, and they made their way into the main room, where Zenovia, Kinsale, and her brothers were assembling.

"From the look of the storm, they're not far," said Zenovia as Rose and Maleficent entered. "In formation, please."

The two elder of Kinsale's brothers took the front, the two younger the sides. Their attacks were vicious, but their form was horrible, and Zenovia was convinced they'd accidentally hit one of their comrades with their folly. Maleficent was the tallest and the best fighter, and therefore took the back, with Kinsale and Zenovia on either side, and Rose in the center of the formation, which was ideal both for healing and for hiding.

Not ten seconds after they had assembled came another explosion, louder, brighter, and more horrible than the first. It blew the entire roof off of the small fortress and knocked them all to their knees. Before most of them had even scrambled to their feet, Zenovia called, "GO!" and they charged ahead into the blinding light that surrounded them.