The Forsaken Child

PROLOGUE

An ear-splitting scream tore through the lungs of the Queen of Varnholt.

Her eyes blurred, sweat dripping from her forehead down to her parted lips, stinging them with salt.

"I can't do this anymore..." she whimpered, her voice broken, "I can't."

"My Queen, the future heir is in your womb, I beg that you don't give up," the oldest midwife pleaded with her, her hands slick and trembling. The others held her wrists, her knees, so she didn't thrash off the birthing stool.

With one final push, a sound ripped from her that wasn't human — and then another sound answered it. A raw, furious wail. Red, wet, and writhing, the child was lifted, quickly covered with a thin white napkin, his fists punching at the air.

The relief in the room lasted one breath.

Color dried from the midwife's face, her hand still pressed to the Queen's belly. "There is another one," she whispered.

The room went chill. The fire crackled too loud. Everyone looked at each other.

"What is going on? What do you mean—" The Queen didn't get to finish before another wave seized her, a cruel, betraying contraction.

She pushed again.

The midwife wrapped the second baby in a small cloth. It was a girl. She carried her to the bed.

"My Queen, your daughter," she said softly, holding the baby out.

The Queen stared at the child from the bed. She did not stretch her hands. Her hands were tight on the bedsheet.

"Take her away," she said. "I don't want to look at her."

"My Queen, you have to hold her," the midwife whispered.

"No," the Queen shook her head. "If I hold her, I will not let go. Just take her away from me."

No one in the room moved. The other midwives were breathing fast.

The old midwife stepped forward. Her face was pale.

"My Queen, you have to listen to me," she said. "You know what our law says. Our kingdom sees twins as an abomination. It is a curse."

"I know what the law says," the Queen said.

"If the King hears that you gave birth to twins, he will have all our heads," the old midwife said, her voice shaking. "He will burn you. He will burn the babies. He will burn all of us in this room. No one will be spared."

The Queen closed her eyes. When she opened them, she looked at the boy lying on the other side of the bed crying, then she looked at the girl in the midwife's arms.

"He will only know about one," she said.

"What do you mean, My Queen?" the old midwife asked.

"You will tell the King that I gave birth to one child only," the Queen said. "A boy. His heir. That is all."

"And what about the girl?" another midwife asked.

The Queen turned and looked at Mira, the young midwife who had lost her own baby a month ago. Mira was still holding the girl.

"Mira," the Queen said. "You lost your child. Will you take her?"

Mira held the baby closer to her chest. "My Queen..."

"Take her tonight," the Queen said. "Leave the palace. Go far, to the village beyond the southern hills. Raise her as your own daughter. Let no one know she is mine."

Mira nodded with tears in her eyes. "Yes, My Queen. I will."

The Queen then looked at all of them.

"All of you must swear to me," she said. "This secret dies with us. No one will ever speak of this night again. If anyone speaks, we all burn."

"We swear, My Queen," they all said together.

CHAPTER ONE

The mountain hilltops were farther away from the kingdom of Varnholt and bordered along the Grey Forest, where the river doesn't meet the sea.

Seven years had passed and both twins had grown with age, both different and from the distance, have grown apart. The boy was named Amias which meant beloved, and the girl called Azubah which meant for I have forsaken you.

"Mummy, the firewoods are about to burn out, we might need more," Azubah said as she climbed on Mira's body.

Mira had been laid there for a while now. Her skin was hot. She only got up to feed young Azubah.

"Mummy, you are hot," young Azubah laid on her body, "I'm bored, please come and play with me mummy,"

Mira cupped her daughter's face in her hand, staring weakly at her. She tried to manage a smile on her pale lips.

"Come here, my dearest," she whispered, bringing young Azubah close to her, holding her tight like she was going to lose her. "Let mummy heat you up. When mummy is stronger, I will play with you the whole day,"

"Promise?" Azubah raised her small head.

Mira smiled as she nodded her head, "Promise,"

"Pinky promise," she raised her pinky finger up and helped Mira with hers.

"Pinky promise,"

"Pinky pinky promise?"

"Pink pinky pinky promise," Mira tickled her and Azubah fell on her body again laughing. She laughed so much she couldn't breathe.

Young Azubah curled underneath her and laid there.

For a while, it was quiet until her small voice spoke out again.

"Mummy, why don't we ever go out to town?" Azubah asked.

"You've asked this before Azubah and I told you. There are monsters out there that wouldn't hold back before taking your head off," Mira said, and Azubah shrieked beside her playfully.

"But have you seen them mom? How big are they?"

"Very big," Mira whispered. "Bigger than this whole house."

Later that night

Azubah was finally sleeping. Her chest was moving up and down peacefully.

Mira sat on the cold floor with a small parchment on her lap. A feather ink pen was in her hand.

The ink felt heavy on her hand as she pressed it on the parchment. She couldn't bring herself to do it as she looked behind to see the peaceful Azubah resting. She had gotten to be a mother for seven years for her. Seven whole years. She doesn't want to leave soon but she had no choice. She breathed out.

"I'm dying soon..." she whispered as she started to write.

Her hand was shaking.

"My Queen, forgive me. My body is failing me. I cough blood in the night. I feel death standing at my door. I do not fear death, but I fear leaving her alone. She is seven. She is too small for these hills. The wolves will take her. Please, I beg you, do not let her die here alone. She is your blood. Do something."

Tears dropped on the parchment and spread the ink.

Mira folded it. She crawled to Azubah and kissed her hair.

"My dearest Azubah, my love," she whispered. "Forgive your mummy."

She locked the small wooden door and left into the night to drop the message at the old courier stone.

The next couple of days she was coughing blood, while looking at the window hoping that they would come. Her handkerchief was stained red. She knew she was dying.

Then one afternoon, the sound of horses came.

A royal carriage arrived. Black and gold.

The coachman knocked hard.

"We are here for the girl," he said.

Young Azubah ran and held Mira's wrapper. She was crying and crying.

"No! I don't want to go! I don't want to go anywhere without my mummy!" she screamed.

Mira was too weak to stand. Tears were in her eyes.

"My dearest... my dearest, please," she said.

They carried Azubah away. She kicked and cried as they forced her into the carriage.

Inside the carriage, the Queen was sitting. She wore a veil and a heavy dress.

Azubah froze.

"Who are you?" she sniffed.

"I am taking you far away from here," the Queen said. Her voice was shaking when she saw Azubah's face.

"I want to bring Mummy! She can't be lonely! She is sick!" Azubah cried.

"She will be fine on her own," the Queen said, but she quickly looked away.

The Queen reached out and touched Azubah's long, tangled hair.

"You've grown so big," she whispered. "I would never have imagined. Look at how long your hair is. You... you could pass for your brother."

Azubah frowned through her tears. "My brother? I don't have a brother."

The Queen smiled sadly at her.

"He is no more," she said. "Amias is no more. And you shall take his place."