A/N: Thank you all so much for sticking with me through another huge gap in updates! I have been working on this crazy thing for a very long time, and the chapters keep taking longer not because I don't care, but because I care increasingly more about how they turn out, and about putting forth something I can feel proud of. I cannot tell you how incredible it is to hear your feedback, see your artwork, and to generally interact with so many awesome people who have been moved in some way by this story. I hope that you will continue to enjoy, and to share your thoughts!
Chapter 26 - The Wreckage
A tiny bluebird landed on the fountain in the castle's largest garden, not an arm's length away from where Rose had sat for at least an hour. It was the first time in what seemed like forever that a smile felt effortless.
"Hello there," she said to the bird.
The bird responded with tuneful whistles, and it hopped a bit closer to her. The animals of the forest had always taken to Rose in this way, and Rose had never questioned it. She had delighted in their company—the only company she ever had—and sometimes in her childhood loneliness, she'd even imagined that she could understand the animals when they spoke to her. Hello there, Briar Rose, she'd imagine the bird had whistled to her. How are you feeling today?
But perhaps this, like so many other things about her, was merely a trick of the magic gifted to her at her christening. Perhaps the animals flocked not to Briar Rose, but to the vestiges of Mistresses Flora and Fauna that had granted her the ability to ensnare passers-by with her beauty and her song.
Rose reached out to the bird, and it fluttered without so much as a moment's hesitation onto her outstretched fingers. "If you knew what these hands have wrought," she told it sadly.
The bird responded again with little whistles.
Rose sighed, and instead of saying anything else, hummed a little melody of her own. It was simple—she'd either made it up or heard something like it once and borrowed heavily from it. She couldn't remember exactly, only that she felt she'd heard it first in a dream.
The bird chirped happily along with her, even picked up on bits of her song, but then suddenly it grew quiet and still.
"What's the matter?" she wondered, but the bird took wing and flew away. Rose felt much sadder than seemed wholly appropriate for the loss of such agreeable company.
"Mistress Briar Rose."
The unfamiliar voice set Rose's nerves on edge. She stood, gripped her staff tightly and whirled around, only to find King Stefan standing some distance away from her.
"I didn't mean to startle you," said the King.
Rose had barely ever spoken to her father before. She had mostly heard his voice directed at others, and then it was in the way of a ruler. Now he was quiet and his voice was almost frail. "Did you want something?" she wondered.
"There is a matter of business, yes," said the King with a subtle frown. He had a long face and thick black hair, which extended to a thick black beard and thick black frowning eyebrows. Rose found it both curious and fitting that he looked nothing like her. "Mistress Sara of the Sea Kingdom wishes to arrange a meeting with you."
Rose could have sworn her heart stopped beating. "Mistress Sara?" she echoed stupidly. She felt like she might cry, or faint. "Why would she wish to meet with me?"
"I know very little of magical affairs," the King replied. "That is the business of the Good Fairies. However, they are otherwise occupied. Therefore, magical matters must fall into the hands of our resident human sorceress."
"Resident...?"
"Sorceress was the title you chose, was it not?" The King's frown deepened, and Rose began to feel slightly panicked. "The Queen and my counselors elected to make a public declaration in my absence."
"Public declaration?" Rose could not wrap her mind around the information quickly enough. All the words sounded foreign to her. The prominent thought in her mind drowned out all others: Sara meant certain death. "Why would they do that?"
The King's face softened somewhat, and his frown became far more troubled than stern. "You look frightened," he said, he voice even quieter than before. As he continued, Rose slowly realized that his sternness had been an act. "I am sorry, but I know little else about it," he said. "I have always done my best to avoid magic..." he averted his eyes briefly "...and all the trouble it brings."
Rose recalled those strange early days she'd spent in Maleficent's care...the way magic had frightened and fascinated her, the way she'd longed to rid herself of all the magic that acted upon her existence, and the way it had drawn her into its thrall in the end. She remembered what Kinsale had written in her first letter: that if Rose was to cease playing the victim to magic, she must capture its power for herself. An argument could be made that magic is a tragically unnecessary complication in our lives, she'd written. However, we cannot deny it from existence.
"Avoiding something that frightens you won't make it go away," said Rose to the King. "And choosing to remain ignorant to magical matters in a time like this will leave you nothing more than a victim in its wake."
The King gazed at Rose curiously. His eyes were bright blue, almost piercing, and Rose could not easily read any sort of underlying emotion in them. "I suppose you would know that better than I," he said after a moment.
Rose frowned and turned away. "No better than in this moment," she replied. She had been a fool to think she could escape the war so easily. And she couldn't very well deny Mistress Sara's request. But Rose couldn't imagine how a meeting with Mistress Sara would end well for her. What could she even want to discuss? No doubt Sara's interest had been drawn by the Eastern Kingdom's declaration of Rose as its resident human sorceress. Was it possible...
Again Rose was seized by the cold, clenching sensation of fear. She clutched a hand to her chest and bowed her head in sorrow. Was it possible that Rose, like Maleficent before her, had accidentally garnered a reputation more dangerously powerful than the truth of her existence?
"Mistress Sara frightens you," the King guessed. "It is my understanding that she is well-loved by her kingdom. Your fairy guardians, too, speak very highly of her."
Rose had never heard a positive word about Mistress Sara, and these words shocked her. "I find that hard to believe," she said. "But I've never met her. I don't..." she swallowed hard in a vain attempt to control the panic she felt rising in her chest. "I don't imagine our interests will align."
"Interests..." the King echoed quietly, thoughtfully. "I fear I know nothing of your interests now, my daughter."
Rose sighed. Neither do I, she thought, but did not say it aloud. Memories of her last sojourn in the Eastern Kingdom lurked forever in the corners of her mind, and she would not return to them. She would show no weakness to anyone here, not even her own father. No one here could be trusted.
Perhaps no one anywhere could be trusted.
"I'll meet with Mistress Sara," she said, in lieu of a reply. "I've no other choice. I cannot avoid her forever."
"On the subject of avoidance," said the King, "Prince Philip informs me that you've thus far refused to speak with him for any significant amount of time."
Rose almost laughed, and the feeling pained her, for there was no mirth in it. How far she had come from the days when she had longed for a moment of Philip's precious time! "Since when does a king play messenger to a prince?" she wondered, not without an edge to her voice.
The King let out a small sigh. "I seek only to understand something about your motives, Aurora. Why must you make it so difficult for your loved ones to have even a word with you?"
There it was. That condescension she knew so well in everyone else who inhabited this place lived also in her father, the King. As a small surge of anger coursed through her veins, Rose thought she was beginning to understand what could drive a person to cast horrific curses.
"I did not ask for conversation," she replied coldly. A part of her could not believe she had the nerve to speak so harshly to the King, or to the man who was her father, if only by blood. She imagined she would feel badly for it when this wave of anger passed.
"By coming here, I sought a sanctuary from the fairy war, but I was desperate, and it made me short-sighted." She turned away from the King and his piercing blue eyes, and focused instead on the lovely courtyard where she'd come to sit. "There is no sanctuary for me now."
She wondered whether the King would throw her out. It didn't matter. Sara would find her or Maleficent would find her—Rose honestly didn't know which would be worse. She'd seen the aftermath of the sort of torture Sara wrought, and yet even the thought of Maleficent's name caused Rose's heart to ache. Rose had betrayed her. And if Maleficent was as cruel and merciless as she was to her enemies, Rose could not even begin to imagine the fate that lay in store for her betrayers.
"That isn't true, Aurora. You are safe here."
Rose clenched her hands into fists. "Please don't call me Aurora," she said. "I've never known it as my name, and it pains me to hear it."
"I've never known my daughter by any other name."
"Stop!" Rose cried and turned on her heel to face the King. She felt flushed and dizzy with the force of her anger. "How can you speak this way?" she demanded. "You who cast me aside in the name of my safety, how can you now ask for that time back?"
A flash of pain crossed the King's unnervingly clear eyes. "We had no other option," he pled, still so quiet...almost meek.
Rose felt her throat tighten, and she furiously fought back an onslaught of angry tears. "There are always options!" she shot back. "Just because there are no good options doesn't mean you can just...just ignore the consequences of the path you choose!"
Perhaps Rose was partially yelling at herself. It felt a bit freeing to yell, really yell with abandon. It felt good to have this conversation outside of her own mind. It felt even better to finally get a rise out of King Stefan. His blue eyes flashed again, this time with rising anger of his own.
"And what path have you chosen? Briar Rose?" he almost sneered the name. "A path of magic, of war and violence? Abandoning your family, your country, your duty? In the name of what? Your own personal satisfaction? A selfish child those foolish sprites have raised!"
These accusations stung, but Rose was too outraged to yield now. "In the name of my friends!" she cried. "How was I supposed to accept my fate without so much as a friendly word here? One day I was simply told that I was another person, and everyone seemed surprised that I couldn't accept it!"
"And you blame me for this," the King almost growled in response. "When it was the good fairies who—"
"Blame!" Rose nearly wailed and shook her head furiously. "Is that all this is ever about? The good fairies did this, the wicked fairies did that, you did this, I did that, none of it matters anymore! I am going to die soon because I am a fool who got mixed up in fairy matters far above my head, and all you care about is who did what to whom years ago!"
The King began to argue, but Rose's world had already begun to twist and turn and she had already begun to disappear into that place between where she was and where she willed herself to be. All too soon, she knew, there would come a time when she could not simply run away from a fight.
"Merryweather!"
But the fairy who turned to face Fauna was nothing like the fairy Fauna had known all her life. Her face was ashen, her eyes were dead behind the sheen of unshed tears, and her lower lip visibly trembled. "Fauna?" she uttered, and her voice cracked with even this simple sound.
Fauna approached, but she was hesitant to embrace her sister after the way they'd last parted. "What's happened, Merryweather?"
Merryweather grasped Fauna's arms. "Oh, Fauna, it is you!" she said. "Fauna..." Merryweather looked down and shook her head, then looked up and met Fauna's eyes once more. "Flora...she's dead! She's died, Fauna, and I don't know what to do! I was afraid you'd died, too, and I'd never see you again!"
"Flora...?"
"I'm so sorry for the way we parted, Fauna! I was all upset for no good reason and then you were abandoning me and I..." Merryweather's tears began to spill from her eyes. "Oh, Fauna, this is awful!"
Fauna had yet to fully understand the words Merryweather had spoken. She felt cold all over, and numb, and as though she might fall to her knees at any moment. "Flora is...?" She couldn't say it...couldn't believe it...and yet, she had to know. "How? Why? When? How can this be?"
"I don't know, Fauna, I don't..."
They wept and clutched at each other's arms for what seemed like an eternity. Fauna felt as though her insides had been ripped out and scattered to the winds, and she was left nothing more than a hollow shell.
She'd foolishly believed there would always be time to reconcile with her sister. She'd believed nothing would ever change, even if the dissenter was she rather than Merryweather this time around. They would fight, they wouldn't speak for ages, and then something would happen and they'd be sisters again without another word on the matter of their disagreement.
What had happened this time was irreconcilable. Flora was gone. Forever.
Once Fauna had pulled herself together enough to form coherent sentences, she learned from various sources (Merryweather wouldn't speak of it) that what remained of Flora had been found alone in an open field, burnt down to her bones. The thought made Fauna physically ill, but she knew she must press onward.
The magic that had burnt her was wicked fairy magic, of course, but not a spell anyone in Merryweather's troop recognized. If Fauna wished it, she could bring Flora's remains to a specialist once the war had ended.
An athletic fairy of average height gave Fauna a small parcel, carefully sealed with a particular brand of magic which Fauna recognized, but had never personally seen.
Fauna thanked the fairy and excused herself from her sister. She flew outside into the forest and collapsed among the trees, where no one could see her.
How could she take her sister's place? How could mild and meek Fauna look out for Merryweather, for the Eastern Kingdom once all of this had ended? How did she even mean to survive, if Flora could not?
This was all Fauna's fault. If she hadn't gone off on some mad tear, wanting to be her own person and make her own decisions independent of her sisters, they would have stayed together. Fauna would have kept Flora and Merryweather from fighting too much, and Flora wouldn't have gone off on her own somewhere and gotten herself...
What was Fauna to do now?
The immediate answer was obvious, for she had no other option. She was sworn to the Good Fairy Army, and her troop planned to unite under Milla's leadership for the time being. If a wicked fairy had cast such a powerful spell on such a relatively harmless lone soldier as Flora, it stood to reason that other equally dangerous and reckless wicked fae might be lurking in the area, waiting to strike.
The dreadful thing, almost as dreadful at the tiny parcel in her hands, was that Fauna knew of only a few wicked fairies who possessed that kind of power.
Had the Queen gotten to Rose in time? Fauna had absolutely no way of knowing. Communication was all but nonexistent. Normally Fauna would have an advantage in that she was skilled with enchanting birds, but the only birds to be found in the wake of battlefields were crows and huge, terrifying ravens, and Fauna had no power over such creatures.
At the thought even of Rose's name, Fauna clutched the wretched parcel to her chest and began to weep anew. Was she held captive in body or in mind? Did she rot in a dungeon or had she been swayed to fight upon the battlefield, a weapon of the side who opposed all who loved her?
Even if she survived, even if the Queen had already rescued her and she was safe in the Eastern Kingdom, what sort of world lay in store for her? Must she spend as many years as she had lived already unlearning the wicked lies of her captors? Would she forever look upon Fauna and Merryweather and her own parents as betrayers, to be feared and mistrusted?
"Oh, no..." Fauna breathed aloud.
What would Briar Rose think when...oh, how was Fauna ever to tell her what had become of Flora?
Maleficent had never precisely known what it was to be lonely, for she had never possessed whatever loneliness lacked. Yet, in this moment, she wondered whether loneliness might be what she was experiencing. Kinsale did not depart from her company, but ostensibly only because of the war and Maleficent's inability to heal properly, for Kinsale would not speak to or even look at Maleficent. Briar Rose was not only gone from Maleficent's life, but must soon be removed from existence forever, lest she doom an entire species, intentionally or not.
When Maleficent caught sight of a stately figure on the approach, she decided that she must truly have been lonely for the first time in her life. The flood of relief she felt upon recognizing Zenovia was unlike anything she had ever known.
"What's the matter with you?" Zenovia frowned.
Maleficent realized she was smiling, and wondered what a twisted sight that must be. "Forgive me," she said. "It is good to see you."
Zenovia's frown deepened. "Did an explosion knock you on your head?"
Maleficent bowed her head and took a moment to restore neutrality to her facial expression. "That would certainly account for many things."
"Is anyone with you?"
Maleficent's good mood was instantly dampened. "Kinsale. According to her sources, Nicodemus and Velan were confirmed to be alive after the most recent explosion."
"And Briar Rose?"
The sound of the name physically pained Maleficent. Her posture hunched over subtly, as though she were nursing a real wound. "Alive," she said quietly. "But she'll have to be killed."
Zenovia sat next to Maleficent. "Why? What's happened?" Her tone was as brusque as ever, but the mere fact that she'd chosen to ask indicated that she could see Maleficent's distress. Maleficent found that she was touched by the gesture. Zenovia would not have even attempted any show of solidarity with anyone else.
"I don't know exactly. The Eastern Kingdom has declared her its resident sorceress, and Sara has taken an interest."
Zenovia was silent for a moment. "I see."
Maleficent closed her eyes. "I thank you for sitting with me, but there's no need. I know my options. The way forward is clear, and I accept what must be done."
In response Zenovia placed a hand lightly on Maleficent's shoulder. The contact was surprising, but not overwhelming or confining. Zenovia didn't say anything else. She sat at Maleficent's side in silence for another hour or more.
Kinsale appeared close to nightfall. Her eyes were full of untold sorrows, but she gave Zenovia a smile and a curt nod. "I'm glad you're well," she said. She continued speaking in no particular direction, and there was something distinctly stiff about her entire demeanour. "We'd best move first thing in the morning. I doubt my brothers will think to look here, and Sara works quickly."
She paused for a moment, nodded at the empty fields before them, and then went back inside.
"What's the matter with her?" Zenovia wondered.
Maleficent's response was to rest her head in her hands.
"She's upset with you?"
"Hmm."
"A fine time to have upset her," said Zenovia wryly.
Maleficent reappeared from behind her hands to award Zenovia a fearsome glare.
Zenovia was, of course, undeterred. "Not a lovers' spat, I hope."
Maleficent turned her gaze upon the fields. "I wish that were completely off the mark."
Zenovia sighed pointedly.
"There's no need for that," Maleficent snapped. "I didn't force this conversation upon you."
"Old habits die hard, Maleficent," Zenovia replied. She took a breath, hesitated, then seemed to decide to continue. "I fear you shall always seem a bit like a daughter to me."
Maleficent sneered. "Fortunately, I've no interest in the Mountainlands, so you may take your maternal instincts and—"
Zenovia chuckled quietly. "Perhaps daughter was the wrong word. Forgive me; my battle is much farther in the past than is yours. I meant that I shall always feel a bit protective of you."
Maleficent let out a huff of frustration and rested her head in her hands once more. "What a kind sentiment," she replied flatly. But she couldn't imagine why it was relevant now, of all times. "If you intend to start speaking of some deluded notion of love, I'd appreciate it if you'd set me on fire, instead."
"Perish the thought," said Zenovia, and despite the fact that Maleficent had unwittingly given Zenovia information she'd rather not have divulged, she could not help but feel immensely relieved at Zenovia's words.
"But," Zenovia stood and patted Maleficent's shoulder, "you really must do something about Kinsale. She was already insufferable before she was heartbroken."
"I'll get right on that."
The truth of the matter was that there was nothing Maleficent could do. What she'd said to Kinsale was true: it didn't matter whether wicked fairies could love or not. Love always brought about ruin in the end.
A prime example: Kinsale wouldn't be happy about killing Rose, no matter what Maleficent said. Nevermind that if Rose were left to whatever her own devices might be, she would betray them both to Sara within an hour. Rose had told Kinsale she loved her. Therefore she must not die. Nonsense.
Live, die, live, die...did it really matter in the end?
It wasn't as though Maleficent looked forward to killing Briar Rose. She did her best not to dwell upon the matter much, though of course various incarnations of the idea had been haunting her dreams for upwards of a week. Nevertheless, it must be done, and Maleficent must be the one to do it.
Tomorrow morning, Kinsale had said.
Maleficent closed her eyes, and once more rested her head in her hands.
I lived half a dozen of your lifetimes before I knew your name...
Under different circumstances, I would live thousands of years after you died.
A fool's words. Spoken in a moment of weakness. Maleficent had feared that she must watch Rose die at an enemy's hands before she, herself, fell. She'd felt an overwhelming desire in that moment to say something at which she could only scarcely grasp, to share the imbecilic thoughts which plagued her before all of her thoughts were wiped clean from this world forever.
What must she say now, instead, with so little time and such a dismal task ahead of her? Now that Briar Rose's death would be at Maleficent's hands once more, had all that transpired since Maleficent first wished death upon her truly come to nothing in the end?
"May I ask you something?"
Rose let out a small, wistful sigh as the little bird who'd been chattering at her flew away in fear of Queen Leah. Animals had been her friends for all the days of her life, and they'd loved her aunties nearly as well. It had never occurred to Rose until very recently that animals might run from most humans.
"All right," said Rose. She didn't turn to face the Queen.
"What is Zenovia like?"
Rose had no idea what sort of question she had expected, but it certainly wasn't that. In fact, this question was so surprising that it took Rose a moment to process what exactly the Queen had said, or if she had imagined the words. It didn't seem like a question with one correct answer, or something which required a lie. It was a genuine request for information. Rose turned and met the Queen's eyes.
"Stern," she began. "At first, I found her intimidating."
The Queen remained silent and attentive, and her silence encouraged Rose to speak on.
"She's very skilled and very hard-working," Rose continued cautiously, "and she demands the same of everyone around her. She doesn't care for much company. She doesn't like Kinsale, but I think it's mostly because she's so talkative. Zenovia is straightforward and blunt. I...liked that." Here, Rose paused, for she found that with these words, she missed Zenovia. Zenovia did not sugarcoat the truth. Zenovia answered the questions she was asked without pretense or hesitation.
"She taught you. Magic," said the Queen after a moment's silence.
Rose nodded. "Ma..." she swallowed. "Maleficent...asked her to." If Rose had thought that her days of longing for what could not be had come to an end, she was incredibly mistaken.
"I think it was Kinsale who told me that Zenovia's mother used to place curses on her and her sisters as punishment, and that they had to figure out how to break them."
"That's dreadful," the Queen breathed shakily.
"It's common," Rose replied, almost coldly.
Rose heard two soft footsteps, then a hesitant intake of breath. "What was it like? Learning...magic?"
"What was it..." Rose looked up at the Queen, stunned.
The Queen looked back at her, hands clasped, delicate shoulders squared.
"Difficult," said Rose. "Frightening. Painful..." she thought of the way her anger had overwhelmed her, caused her to lash out with power she didn't know she possessed, of all those half-remembered nights she thought she would die of the pain—indeed, she'd wished it!
She tried and failed not to think of her greatest offense, that which she could never undo, and for which she could never forgive herself. "Horrible," she breathed. "Shattering."
But even as these thoughts clouded her mind, other, more pleasant thoughts shone through, and a small smile crossed Rose's lips. "Beautiful. Exciting." The tiny, yellow rosebuds upon the rosebushes caught her attention. It must be very early in the spring.
Rose doubted she'd live to see the roses bloom. With a small frown, she waved her hand gently at them. "Liberating," she murmured.
The roses seemed to glisten in the morning sun, and they grew and bloomed under the influence of her magic. Rose closed her hand into a fist and drew it to her chest. "Magic can wreak misery and destruction, it's true...but it can also do wonderful things. And..." she turned to look at the Queen, who was still gazing at the yellow roses in awe. "And sometimes wonderful things come in ways you don't expect. Like...like knowing there's beauty in the world, even if you can't see it just now. Knowing you can...you could make something good...like making a rose bloom...even if all you seem to make is trouble."
Rose stood and took slow, deliberate steps towards the path that led through the magnificent garden. Perhaps if she simply allowed things to happen as they would, she wouldn't live to see the garden bloom. She would meet death one way or another...Mistress Sara or Maleficent...and really, all of this mess was her own doing.
But Rose had gained something invaluable: she knew she was capable of more. She'd always had this power inside her, this thing that frightened and horrified and fascinated her. The same power that drew birds to her side and enchanted men with her song now caused her loved ones to look upon her with fear and contempt. But she hadn't known it—indeed, might never have known it. She'd fought against the realization. Perhaps she was still fighting.
Perhaps, as Zenovia had suggested, the battle never truly ended.
Rose held out both her hands, experimentally. She could make a handful of flowers bloom, certainly. Could even make one or two sprout from a bedside table, indoors. She glanced around the Eastern Kingdom's expansive flower garden, now only the faintest shade of yellowish-green with little spots of other colours, the occasional early flower buds here and there that looked from where Rose stood not unlike water droplets.
Her aunties had gifted her with beauty and song, but in giving her bits of their magic, they had connected her intricately with the natural world. Birds and squirrels and rabbits flocked to her side and listened to her speak and sing as though they understood, even though she could not offer them the same understanding. Briar Rose always seemed to find the ripest berries and the loveliest flowers to bring home to her little cottage, no matter the weather or the frequency of her searches, or even the season.
She'd taken it all for granted. She hadn't realized it was unusual, and when it had come to her attention, she hadn't wanted to be unusual. She'd believed she wanted to be a normal, simple peasant girl who might live in her beloved woods with her beloved aunties forever.
What was it Briar Rose truly wished? Now that she had so little time and so few remaining resources, now that the life of freedom and adventure she'd so madly sought was at an end, now that she had wrought so much destruction that could never be undone, how might she hope to best live out the brief remainder of her days?
Rose squeezed her eyes closed and began to spin around. She felt the gentle breeze catching on the fabric of her skirt as it billowed out in a circle around her, and she felt the familiar, terrifying, wonderful tingling sensation of magic flowing straight from her heart through her fingertips and all the way down to her toes.
She tried in this moment to let go of her sadness and her anger, of her regrets and her losses, and to focus only on the feeling of the magic flowing through her. She began to feel dizzy and light-headed, but she did not stop spinning until she could hardly stand anymore. She doubled over, panting, and she felt tears streaming down her cheeks. She could hear a dozen different bird calls coming from every direction.
"Oh, Aurora..." Queen Leah breathed.
Briar Rose took a deep breath and opened her eyes. The garden was in full bloom. Every last flower was perfect.
Rose spun around slowly, for she was still very dizzy. A smile slowly spread across her face until she was grinning so widely that it hurt. She let out a harsh, choking sort of a laugh and looked back at the Queen.
Queen Leah stood completely still. Her eyes were brimming with happy tears, and her hands were clasped over her mouth. Rose felt even happier knowing she had finally, just this once, made her estranged mother so happy. She took a few stumbling steps down the path, overcome by the urge to do something...perhaps give her mother a hug, or maybe pick a few flowers for her...but then stopped in her tracks when the Queen's eyes darted up to the sky, and her expression abruptly changed from one of overwhelming joy to shock and horror. Rose whirled around and followed her gaze, and without thinking, she summoned her staff.
Shooting across the clear morning sky above the beautiful garden, silent and graceful, was an enormous, swirling mass of magical fire.