Chapter 3: Discontent

Trigger warning: Misogynistic character and his shitty thoughts in this chapter.

"But even without the raven, it's still insanity to do it!"

"He could be back any moment!"

"You fools!" the leader thundered. "That is why we must act now! We don't know how long he will stay free. She is seeking him even now to enslave him again, this time probably forever. If we do not strike her now, Maleficent will soon regain her full strength and we will never be able to destroy her."

The assembly was silent. The humans, perhaps thirty in number, all had their eyes fixed on the leader, their expressions ranging from greedy to furious. The few faeries who had reluctantly joined their band, about eight of them-although the human leader, Creighton, suspected there were a few tiny ones hiding out in the shadows, the little shits-all stared around the room, at the wooden roof, the floor covered in rushes, the wavy glass-paned windows.

They were all gathered in the meeting room of the inn Creighton owned. He was taller and broader than most of the other men, although he had plenty of paunch around the middle. With brown hair pulled back in a short horsetail and light blue eyes, he liked to think of himself as handsome despite the red veins in his nose that the alcohol brought out. And while his teeth were neither white nor straight, his lips were full and his tongue was sharp. He had always had a louder voice than everyone around him, a fact he had used throughout his life to consistently get his way. He had bid more loudly for this building, had convinced more people to stay here when they traveled close to the dangerous Moors, and now he was satisfied again to be loud enough to sway the conversation toward what he really wanted.

Everyone in this room, even the shifty faeries, wanted Maleficent, and more to the point, this joke of a "queen," Aurora, gone. Who was this airheaded bitch anyway? She had literally fallen out of the trees, no one had ever heard of her, and now she was supposed to rule over them, over every creature in the two kingdoms?

Sure, she was supposedly King Stefan's long lost daughter, but any random girl could claim that. Knowing Stefan, he probably had more than one unrecognized daughter living in obscurity running around in the woods. And Creighton himself had believed that the real Princess Aurora had been dead for years. This poser knew nothing about her human subjects and probably less about the faeries. Creighton wasn't about to accept her as a ruler.

The two kingdoms were two kingdoms, not one monolithic mishmash like Maleficent was trying to create. Creighton hated even the magical scum that had shown up in his inn. The only reason he had broken his own rules to let them in was because they claimed they hated being part of the human kingdom just as much as Creighton hated being part of the Moors. That, and the fact that they hadn't run away when Creighton threatened to throttle any spies. There was no way this combination scheme was ever going to work. Humans hated faeries, faeries hated humans, and there was nothing anyone or anything could do about it, including Maleficent, who everyone knew was psychotic anyway, or her little pet pretend princess.

And even if she was somehow the real Princess Aurora, Creighton could only imagine the bloody chaos that would result from having a woman ruler. They would be the laughing stock of all the nations. They already were! A woman was weak and would never be able to negotiate like a real, strong leader needed to. Their enemies would start invading any day, if they weren't already, now that they were so vulnerable. This cute little queen needed a king to take over for her as soon as possible. Then she could pop out little princes as fast as she could, which was what she obviously must want anyway. Women were only meant to be pregnant and taking care of kids and their husbands. Heh, Creighton could help her with that. Maybe next time he was near enough he'd pull her into the bushes and get between those plump young thighs. His cock stirred at just the thought and he smirked, imagining the girl naked, writhing and screaming below him.

"So what do you propose?" Anvil, Creighton's servant, interrupted his thoughts. His real name was Andrew, but he was always fucking up, so Creighton had renamed him something more fitting for his thick skull.

"Strike," Creighton answered, and felt the whole room tense. "Tonight. Otherwise Maleficent is going to retrieve her lackey before we have the chance and we'll never be able to touch her. I'll tell you who's supposed to do what. Just be ready. At midnight, be ready."

"Yes, I found this delicious carcass this afternoon. I'll show it to you tomorrow. A big old dead elk, gigantic antlers like you wouldn't believe. I had to perch on them and call out for a while before a coyote came and opened its gut…."

"Oh, Harmolia's chick fell so badly in his first flight yesterday that he may never fly again, poor little thing…."

"Did you hear? Issara and Nortanal are mated for life now, just announced it to the flock this morning…."

Diaval raised his head from where he was perched on an upper branch of the massive oak tree in which his new flock was roosting for the night. He sent a frigid glare at the nearest young gossiping birds that went completely unnoticed. These ravens had accepted Diaval without much questioning; his presence, powerful and intimidating at the advanced age of twenty, had convinced them quickly it was better to accept his simple request to join them rather than fight him.

Before he had become bound to Maleficent, he had harbored dreams of mating for life with some beautiful young female like any young male would. He had only just passed into adulthood from silly, reckless adolescence, without even a chance to find a new flock since he had left the one of his birth, before that one day that changed his life. Fate had decreed that he would be bound, not to a sweet young bird, but to a faerie huge and dark and terrible. Surely she had the wits of a raven, and Diaval appreciated the black garb she favored. He had never realized until now how comfortable her black robes had made him all those years. Had he been bound to someone all in yellow and blue and red, he would have felt even more out of place.

They had even raised a chick together, of a sort. Diaval was grateful for his own powers of observation, for without them, he never would have known how to care for the baby princess. His spending a year occasionally filching food from a human farming family had eventually meant that he-with Maleficent's indirect help, of course-could save the child's life. Watching Aurora learn and grow had been one of the most fulfilling things Diaval had ever done. Even now that she was queen of all the humans and faeries alike, he felt like a father when he looked at her. Maybe especially now. But he would never see her face again.

Diaval's chance for innocent love had died long ago of old age. A twenty-year-old geezer like himself, no matter how wise and powerful, would never be able to attract the notice of a young female. When he conjured the faded image of his fantasy love, as he used to before he was old enough to mate, and imagined her flying toward him even now, he recoiled from the thought. His own innocence was lost too. Even if this fantasy were to materialize right now and snuggle at his side, he could feel no connection to her. The young Diaval was dead, and the old one was not far behind.

He looked now around the flock, picking out all the older ravens. There were several advanced in age, but most were still paired, and those handful widowed were still quite a few years younger than he. He would have no mate, no chick. He pushed the images of Maleficent and Aurora from his mind. They were of the past now. His mistress now had no need of him. And although yes, perhaps he could have continued to help Aurora as she grew into her new role as ruler, he would never be able to stand knowing that close by, in the shadows, the dark faerie would be waiting, watching as always. All he could do now was fly along with his flock and forget he was ever anything but a bird.

The frustration grew in him, making his feathers puff and ruffle, until the energy burst forth and he sprang from the branch into the air, needing movement, needing direction, needing solitude. He just barely caught a glimpse, out of the corner of his eye, a stripe of yellow magic rippling out in the wake of his left wing. Then he was speeding south, determined to fly ahead of the flock again. They would catch up with him eventually. If he allowed it. As he rose above the treetops, seeking that thin, cold air of altitude, he considered leaving them behind as well. Leaving them all behind and living out what remained of his years in solitude. The thought pleased him at first, but the pleasure froze to ice in his mind once he realized that he liked the idea because such solitude would hasten his death.

Angry at himself, he drove himself ever higher, climbing almost straight up, the air continuing to chill and thin. Finally he was so high the treetops blended together like sand dunes on a beach, undulating with the rolls of the land, and the wisps of cloud seemed within the touch of his feathers. The world looked deceptively perfect from up here. The only sound was the rushing wind and his wingbeats against it. The stars were beginning to reveal themselves one by one, and the sky ranged from dark blue in the east to pink in the west.

Hovering in the cold, breathing the freezing air, Diaval began to feel peace. His mind emptied as he gazed at the world.

Suddenly, from the north, he spotted a golden streak skimming the treetops. It was the shape of a fish underwater, long and streamlined and fast. He had never seen such a thing before, yet it somehow seemed familiar. As soon as that occurred to him the golden shape changed direction, now shooting straight at him at incredible speed. Alarmed, he dove away, racing for the canopy. Something that big would have trouble navigating through trees. But the thing was coming at him, and gaining. Faster he pushed himself toward cover, but the distance between him and this predator was closing, and a part of Diaval's mind to which he refused to pay attention began to panic. Just as he felt the thing brush his tailfeathers it actually swooped past him, getting in front of him so quickly he flapped hard to stop short, executing two backflips before he was able to slow down enough to regain control.

What was staring at him was a huge, golden raven. It glowed so bright its eyes were like tiny suns, and Diaval could still see the trees, much nearer now, through its translucent body. They hovered across from each other. It stared at him without expression, saying nothing.

"Hello?" Diaval cawed.

"FOUND," the apparition cawed back simply, and shot back away toward the north without touching him.

It wasn't until it had almost gone out of sight that Diaval recognized Maleficent's magic. He had never before witnessed her manifest something so powerful, expect the streaming column of fury she had thrown into the air when she vowed revenge on Stefan. This magic was not only powerful, it was controlled.

"FOUND," it had said.

She was looking for him.

Terror gripped him and he bolted for the trees, huddling in the first hollow tree he found. If she found him, she would be furious. She would torture him. She would mutilate him. She would permanently transform him into a mealy worm. She would-

-She was looking for him. She had used her most powerful magic to find him.

Although he could not sleep that night, Diaval felt warm.

A long day passed.

Maleficent spent the majority of it scouring the Moors for Diaval. Perhaps he was trapped somewhere, caught or injured or even-

-she could not think it.

Maleficent had asked Balthazar to stand guard at the castle ruins in case Diaval returned there. Aurora was sitting on her floral throne. Maleficent had enchanted the throne to bloom continuously, so although the trees were beginning to turn bright colors and drop their leaves, even in the icy days of winter, Aurora would be enthroned in spring. The queen was hearing concerns from her subjects, passing rulings to solve disputes in graceful ways of which Maleficent had never been able to conceive when she sat there. Before each creature left her presence, the queen asked if they had news of Diaval, and charged them to search for him. No one had yet volunteered anything useful.

By noon, Maleficent began to push a tiny fragment of her magic into every tree she passed, turning each into a beacon that would flare if a raven should alight there. Although this was done with just a brush of her fingers, it consumed much time and magic. She would have liked to have her alerts ring only if it were actually Diaval landing, but a spell keyed to someone specific, repeated thousands of times, would have been even more exhausting.

Having canvassed half the trees in the Moors, she rested now by a pond fed by a creek that ran in one side and out the other, feeling her reserves of magic slowly returning. She gazed into the water compulsively, seeking a raven form even in the water and dreading to find it.

Why had he left now, at the height of their triumph? Her body was finally whole again, the threat of Stefan was dead, and Maleficent had no doubt that Aurora would, in time, be able to unite the fey folk and the human folk under one banner. They should have been reveling together, and preparing for the challenges to come. Instead they were fractured, anxious and stressed.

This could never have been Diaval's will. Maleficent lifted her head and stared through the trees toward the human castle. The brush was too thick and the castle too distant for her to see from here, but in her mind's eye she glared into their fortress. This had to be the doing of the humans. One-or some-of them had kidnapped Diaval. Her doubt that he was being held prisoner by those disgusting mortals had been shrinking every minute.

Tonight she would raid them, at midnight. Although she would have dearly loved Diaval to be with her for such a mission, with her wings back and with her increased power, even alone she was willing to take the risk. For him.

Maleficent stood, plans of bloody revenge coalescing in her mind, her whole body humming hot with magic. Tonight she would once again take back what was hers.

A wave of golden magic-her own magic-suddenly flowed directly in front of her, not inches from where she stood. The alarms, she thought immediately, flicking a glance to the treetops to see where Diaval had landed. But this flare was much bigger than a simple alert, molding itself into a huge raven larger than she. It was the spell she had sent out last night.

"FOUND," it intoned simply.

"Where?" Maleficent demanded. "You did not bring him back with you?"

"FOUND," it repeated.

Disgusted with herself that she had not thought to instruct the spell to actually retrieve Diaval, she dismissed it with a wave of her hand. Its avian form collapsed into shapelessness and flowed back into her through her hands. The flush of magic rushing back into her body replenished much of what she had lost today, and with it came images the spell had gathered-a flight south, a glimpse of a distant raven flock, and her own Diaval, flying much higher than he should have been before he sped away to avoid the spell.

For a moment, through the spell's memory, she saw Diaval staring back at her. It was true that his raven face was not nearly as expressive as his human one, but she could sense his trepidation at facing this unusual apparition. Not panic, though, but rather caution, calculation. There was no doubt it was him.

So, Maleficent thought. The humans will be spared tonight. Diaval had in fact left her deliberately. Well. She would find out why.

Using the reabsorbed magic, Maleficent tried something she had never attempted before. She willed herself smaller, lighter, drawing her arms to vanish into her body and her face to shrink it horns, then point outwards into a sharp bill.

Finally she stood on the forest floor, transformed into a raven. She flexed her wings and clacked her beak experimentally. All seemed in order, but she noticed that, instead of inky black, all her feathers had retained their natural brown color. Who had ever seen a brown raven?

No matter. Now she was ready.

She took off, leaving her staff where it lay by the pond. With the spell's memory burning in her mind, she headed south.

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