The Forest Queen: Isles & Tribulations

Chapter 4

Orlaith whipped her head around when King Alistair spoke to her. “What is your name, child?” he asked. He spoke gently to her and looked at her attentively.

Until now, she had not realised how dry her mouth had become. “Or-Orlaith, Your Highness,” she croaked. “Orlaith Greene.”

The king took a sharp, deep breath. Queen Camille shot him a bewildered side-ways glance. “Do you know why you have been brought here?” His eyes were focussed upon nothing but Orlaith's face.

For a moment, she was unable to speak. Her lower lip began to tremble. “I do not know, Your Highness,” she confessed, sobbing. Dropping to her knees and clasping her hands, she pleaded, “Please, don't hurt me! I beg of you, Your Highness, don't kill me!”

Queen Camille made an 'ick' sound and looked as though she had smelled something foul. “Begging is not graceful, girl.” Her voice sounded as cold as she looked. “Get to your feet.”

Her husband silenced her with a vicious look. Facing Orlaith once more, his face softened and one corner of his mouth twitched in a near-imperceptible smile. “Fear not, Orlaith. No one wishes you harm.” I think the queen might, Orlaith thought, glancing at Her Elegance. “Where is your mother, Orlaith?” King Alistair asked. He didn’t sound curious; the question felt more obligatory than necessary.

She hadn’t realised it up until this point, but Orlaith was yet to say, out loud, that her mother had died. A lump began to rise in her throat, making it difficult to utter the words that would make it true. “She’s dead, Your Highness,” she whimpered. “The Forest Plague claimed her.”

The king released the breath that he had been holding; he appeared to deflate before their very eyes. With a shake of his head, he cleared his throat and continued. “We need your help, Orlaith,” he admitted.

“How could I possibly help you?” Orlaith sniffed, perplexed. “I am but a child, Your Highness.”

The king leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Am I right in saying that you are a witch, Orlaith?” he asked softly.

Orlaith tensed. Should she lie, tell them they had the wrong girl? Or should she come clean and let them know exactly what she was? Would her life be at stake if she did? She had never had such an important decision to make before, for herself and on her own. She was shaking as she whispered, “Yes.”

King Alistair smiled and nodded encouragingly. Queen Camille looked as though she would like nothing more than to dispose of Orlaith as quickly as possible. “We believe that your powers could help to strengthen our armed guards' defences,” His Highness explained. “This is nothing more than a precautionary measure, should our towns and villages be threatened. However, your powers will need strengthening and honing, is that so?”

Speechless, Orlaith nodded. Her mother had only been able to teach her the basics of witchcraft before she died.

“At the Castle of Triwen we have a wizened Professor, who will be more than capable of guiding you through your training,” he informed her. Sitting back in his throne, King Alistair asked, “Do you have any questions, Orlaith?”

Orlaith had many, but she seemed to be utterly incapable of forming an intelligible sentence. So much had happened to her in such a short space of time that her brain was failing to function. Her mouth hung open slightly. Snapping it shut, she managed to ask, “Where will I stay?”

“Here,” the king replied simply. The queen's eyes narrowed further. “I plan to take you on as my ward,” he added. Her Elegance's eyes were mere slits.

What is going on? “Thank you, Your Highness.” Orlaith's voice was faint and high-pitched. She felt very tired all of a sudden, the weight of all these changes and this new information almost too much for her to bear.

King Alistair must have seen the exhaustion on her face. “You will have had a most harrowing day, I am sure. I give you leave to go, Orlaith.” Looking to the back of the room, His Highness called, “Walter, if you would be so kind, would you please escort Orlaith to her chambers?”

Footsteps preceded Sir Walter appearing beside Orlaith and, once again, he offered her his hand. Once on her feet, she remembered to lower her head and curtsey; her mother had once told her that this was customary when leaving, or entering, the presence of royalty. As Sir Walter led her across the chamber, Orlaith caught the eye of Counsellor Dibbs; he no longer looked at her coldly, but gave her a sly wink instead. Reaching the doors, Queen Camille began whispering venomously to her husband, but Orlaith was too tired to discern, or care about, what was being said.