His beak was sharp enough to wear through the cloth, so he started on that, rubbing it against the ground. It was slow work, but there was nothing else for it. He dared not move his wings to make sure they were unhurt, for fear one of the soldiers would see. He had to be patient.

Eventually, he wore a small tear in the fabric. Worming his beak through, he opened his mouth and tore the hole wider. Finally, he was able to get his head out. Then, with some ripping and wriggling, he was free. Diaval found himself in a covered cart with a back that was entirely open. Several soldiers sat on either side, their weapons pointed at two bodies on the floor. Bags were over both their heads, and Maleficent was wrapped in heavy chains.

He wanted to save her, but what could he do? If he tried to peck out their eyes, they would likely recapture him or kill him. And he couldn’t manage to blind more than two.

I expect you not to fail me.

Well, he didn’t intend to. He would go and find Aurora, and together they would save Maleficent.

With that in mind, he sprang up from the floor of the cart and hoped his wings weren’t damaged, hoped they could carry him into the air. And when they did, he gloried in the shouts of the soldiers below. They would see him again—and hopefully when they did, Maleficent would turn him into a dragon and they would know what it was like to run from his fire.

Flying back toward the castle, he thought of what it would be to lose her. He recalled his last sight of Maleficent, caught in the iron web of netting, her horns pulling against it, her eyes wide and bright with fury.

He would save her. He must save her.

For the first time, he would have traded away his raven-ness forever to be a man who could speak. Who could fight. Who could do something more than circle in the sky, searching for the gleam of a gold crown and hoping that somehow Aurora would be able to understand him.

Chapter 22

Aurora hurried after Count Alain as he led her toward the palace, changing directions abruptly halfway there. When he’d told her that one of his people had overheard Simon’s family arguing with a group of faeries, she’d followed him without question.

“You ought to have told me before the dancing began,” Aurora said. “Who knows what’s happened without us intervening!”

He accepted her criticism without comment. And then there was nothing to say, because she saw two groups shouting at each other. Humans stood face to face with Fair Folk, both groups appearing to be frothingly angry.