The king leaned back, resting his elbows on the arms of the throne. “And why do you think they’ve accused you?”
“I don’t rightly know, Your Majesty,” she said. “I think maybe—I run an apothecary, gathering herbs for minor ailments, infection, and breathing difficulties and the like. I don’t pretend to be a doctor or a healer, never have, just use the knowledge my mother gave me to help people and earn a living as I can. But some of the people in the town . . . they were angry I could not provide a cure. Why help nettle stings and soothe us to sleep, they said, when I cannot save their children? I wish I could help, I do, but I don’t have the knowledge, and now—”
The king raised a hand to silence her. “You gather herbs? You do not look in the shape for it.”
“I did, Your Majesty, when I was young. Nowadays I have to hire apprentices to help me. The young things have good eyes, although they do sometimes dally about some. One of them succumbed as well, poor darling.”
The king nodded. “And you come here—why, exactly?”
“I—I was hoping you could offer your protection, Your Majesty. You know all about the evil people who hoard magic and threaten us all. If you said I was innocent, that it was just a sickness . . . maybe I could go home.”
“If I said? And why would I say that? You have nigh admitted your involvement.”
The woman stood completely still. “Your Majesty?”
“You gather herbs and mix potions—what is that but some subtle form of magic?”
“The plants have the magic, Your Majesty. I only mix them like my mother taught me.”
“And the apprentice who gathered the herbs for you fell sick from this curse too. Because the herbs poisoned her, perhaps? Or because she knew too much?”
The woman leaned away, shaking her head. Her eyes bulged. “No, Your Majesty! I would never do that. Never!”
The king glanced at Aurora. “Tell me, Aurora,” he said. “You are the most affected by magic out of those here. What would you see done with this woman?”
She swallowed. When she spoke, her voice was raspy, almost too soft to hear. “Nothing, Your Majesty,” she said.
“Nothing?”
“If she had magic, surely she would—she would use it to protect herself. Only an innocent person would come to plead for your help.”
“Or one who wished to appear innocent.” The king looked back at the shaking woman. “Do you hear that?” he said. “Our princess is touched by your tale. But just because you have charmed a sweet mind such as hers, does not mean you have succeeded.” He leaned forward, hands on his knees. “However, in honor of the princess’s return, I have decided to be merciful. I will protect you, as you have asked. Room will be made in the dungeon for you. We shall see if these deaths end along with your disappearance. If they do—well, I would reassess how you speak to me, old woman. We will talk again.”
The king nodded to his guards, and one of them stepped forward to drag the woman away. She clawed at his hands, still shaking her head in disbelief, and when she turned to look at Aurora, terror filled her face. The terror settled in Aurora, too, a dreadful desperation that felt far more truthful than the king’s dismissive anger. Aurora took another small step forward, watching the faces of the other onlookers. No one else seemed fazed. Some were fussing with their clothes, or fidgeting and whispering to the person next to them, as though this were a boring chore to withstand. Others were nodding in approval. The woman disappeared through the doors, and the king waved his hands to indicate that they should be closed behind her.
“I grow weary,” the king said. “And I must deal with the soldiers for Barton. Tell our other visitors that I will hear them tomorrow.” He stood up and strode out of the room. Iris beckoned for Aurora and Rodric to follow.
The antechamber felt close and too quiet after the grandeur of the throne room.
“I’m starving,” the king said as the brass doors closed. “I think lunch is in order.” He began to walk away, but Aurora found herself hurrying after him, questions bursting out of her.
“That woman,” she said. “What will happen to her?”
“If we find her guilty—and we will—then we’ll burn that magic out of her. It is the only way we can know we’ll be safe.”
Aurora’s throat was dry. “And then—then you’ll let her go?” She knew it was an inane question, but she had to ask. She had to be sure.
The king laughed. “Such a sweet one, isn’t she?” he said to the queen. “Of course we’ll let her go. What’s left of her, at least. I’ve never seen ashes walk very far, but there’s a first time for everything! Especially when witches are involved.”
And, still chuckling, he strode away.