The Forest Queen: Isles & Tribulations

Chapter 6

Author's Note: I don't make a point of leaving notes on a regular basis, but I felt it was necessary this time round. I've been dormant on here for quite some time, now, but all of a sudden, I've had this influx of unexpected comments and votes in regards to this story. I'd like to thank everyone that has commented/voted, it means ever so much to me, and it's finally given me the kick in the tush that I need to get back to my writing! So, basically, I'm saying a massive thank you to you all, and providing you with a new chapter! I promise that the wait for chapter seven won't be as lengthy as this one! 

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Seven Years Later

The Castle of Triwen's kitchen was quiet. It was half past ten and preparations for lunch were not due to start for at least another half an hour. Mildred, the sometimes-stern First Cook, was dicing a mushroom, whilst a large pot of water simmered away on the stove next to her. She received a sideways glance and a small smirk from Mildred, but nothing else. The few other kitchen staff who were present hardly bothered to glance her way as she passed them; sneaking out through the kitchens was nothing new to her.

Slipping through the kitchen's battered wooden door, she found herself on the edge of the castle's rear sloping lawn. She lifted the hood of her heavy woolen cloak, obscuring her face from anyone who might catch a glimpse of her. Ten meters to her left stood a tall, squared hedge, that ran around the enormous garden's perimeter. Once positive that the coast was clear, she dashed across the short distance and wriggled her way through the immaculately shaped hedge.

On the other side of the over sized shrub was a dry dirt path, wide enough for a man to comfortably walk alongside a horse. Then, over the path, fields spread out for many acres, all of those within eyesight property of the city's more prosperous farmers. Sheep, horses and cattle were dotted across their respective fields, nibbling away at the lush grass on which they stood.

Yet it was not the fields, nor their occupants, that interested Orlaith. She turned left and made her way down the dirt path. It was not long before the smells of the fields disappeared, only to be replaced by the faint aromas of freshly baked bread and smoke from the stone ovens that were used to bake it. Sounds followed the smells and the buzz of voices soon reached Orlaith's ears: the shrill laughter of playing children, the stern voices of their mothers telling them to behave, and the bellows of market traders trying to sell their wares.

It was a small city, considered by some to be too small to call a city, yet it was close-knit and Orlaith liked that about it. Everyone knew each other and worked together to make each other's lives pleasant. It was, however, a slight downfall, especially when you were King Alistair's ward and trying to make your way, as discreetly as possible, into a brothel.

By now the streets were crowded with people huddling around market stalls, trying their hardest to get the best of the goods available. They were too busy haggling for their purchases to notice the slender hooded figure, wending its way through the cluster of bodies.

Ducking down a side street Orlaith looked over her shoulder, ensuring that she hadn't been followed. She remained alone. These roads stayed empty – during the day, at least. They were dark and, more often than not, home to a rat or two, but Orlaith didn't mind; as long as they got her where she needed to be, she'd use these streets as often as necessary.

A couple of roads later and Orlaith had made it to the brothel. It was a large, run down building; the wooden window shutters were rotting, the stones were caked in moss, and one of the panes of glass in the front door's small window had been smashed. No sounds came from within; the majority of the inhabitants would no doubt be recovering from the night before. Orlaith knew to knock quietly.

Footsteps came first, followed by a squeak as someone eased the door open, no more than an inch. Orlaith could make out a sliver of a person, their one visible eye attempting to suss her out. "May I help you?" they asked, their tone suggesting that they wouldn't mind if this cloaked, anonymous figure decided to leave all of a sudden.

"Yosandai, it's me," Orlaith whispered urgently. "Let me in!"

With an 'ah' of understanding, the door swung open. Orlaith scuttled inside and waited until the door was closed before letting down her hood. "Is she awake?" she asked, unbuttoning her cloak.

"Your guess is as good as mine, my sweet," Yosandai drawled, her lazy, exotic tones making Orlaith smile.

She was a mysterious one, Yosandai. The only thing that Orlaith knew about her for certain was that she owned this brothel, creatively named Yosandai's. When Orlaith had asked her about the name of her establishment, her response had been, "Peculiar things take place here, miss. What better suggests that than my name?" She was a tall, slender woman, with skin the colour of cocoa beans and a reputation just as dark. Orlaith was forever grateful that she managed to stay on the right side of her.

Leaving Yosandai to whatever business she had to attend to, Orlaith tiptoed across the small reception hall and up the wooden staircase. The closer she got to the correct door, the harder she prayed that its permanent resident was alone. Cringing as the handle screeched, she inched the door open and slipped inside. Orlaith quickly realised her friend was, unsurprisingly, anything but alone.