The Cursed Crown

by Matthew S. Cox

13

  Of Gods and Deceit

  Oona

  Oona found herself alone in Kethaba’s home, trying to understand how she’d gone from pampered princess to staring at her toes leaving marks in the dirt floor of a hut somewhere in Evermoor. She didn’t so much mind her common dress, bare feet, or the lack of luxury around her as much as it befuddled her that she didn’t mind it. Kitlyn had gone off to learn magic from the old woman and Piper wanted to show Meredith around. Fifteen minutes of silence sitting in someone else’s house alone managed to convince Oona to explore the village as well.

  Not since she’d foolishly run off into the woods had she spent so long wearing such a simple garment. Except for being noticeably paler than most everyone here, no one would have the slightest idea they looked at the Queen Consort of Lucernia. People back home would never believe she’d spent two days wandering a rustic village like any other peasant girl. She grinned to herself, thinking her present attire and surroundings came close to what her life might have been like had King Talomir not taken her from her home.

  “Well, not exactly,” she whispered to no one in particular. “I’d be much more used to rather arduous work. Feeding chickens, milking cows, harvesting crops…”

  Of course, had she not been whisked off to Castle Cimril, she never would have met Kitlyn, so she didn’t have any real regrets. In fact, when she thought about her mother, Ruby, and that woman’s reaction to her daughter being in love with another girl, she felt rather lucky to have escaped. A momentary waking nightmare of Ruby catching her kissing another girl out in the barn and losing her mind nearly made her cry.

  I wonder if word of our wedding has reached her, wherever she’s scurried off to. Does that woman miss Evie at all? After several weeks looking after her little sister, she’d grown sorely attached, and dreaded the thought Ruby may change her mind and come back for her.

  She navigated a cluster of roaming chickens and made her way into the heart of the village. Kethaba’s hut stood at the outskirts. The rest of it, perhaps thirty small roundish acorn-shaped homes much like the old woman’s, dotted the woods. About a third of them clustered together at a ‘village square’ around a larger hall.

  The people mostly welcomed her with smiles, though a few regarded her with suspicion or something else. She sensed they had lost family during the war, so accepted their chilly stares. It didn’t take too long for her to attract a crowd of local children, curious about a newcomer with such long blonde hair and a little army of soldiers all her own. They ranged in age from five or so up to eleven, all in basic garments of flax or animal hide. That some of the girls wore only skirts and most of the boys had long wild hair reminded her she no longer trod upon Lucernian soil.

  This, of course, made her think of the spiritcallers.

  Things are so very different here. It’s almost… freeing. They don’t care that I’m wearing a drab thing and no crown. Everyone here all seems so happy…

  The children peppered her with questions about Lucernia and also wanted to hear how she ‘healed the tree.’ Oona plopped down in the grass and sat with them, whiling away an hour or two telling stories. One small boy thought people from Lucernia were made from metal. She explained plate armor and how some important soldiers covered themselves with it for protection.

  A young black-haired girl of around nine scratched at a smudge of dirt on her chest. “The old king was mean to want to kill everyone in Evermoor. Even us kids.”

  Oona’s heart nearly broke. “He… well, I don’t think he wanted everyone to die as much as thought he could make himself powerful, and didn’t care what happened.”

  “That’s even worse.” The girl looked down. “Not to care.”

  “Did you kill him?” asked a boy a year or so older than the girl. Light brown, nearly blond, hair hung in an unruly tangle over half his face.

  “No. He… When people do things that are really bad, the gods—and the spirits of Evermoor as well—make sure they answer for it.” Oona let out a slow sigh.

  “Why did they say you wanted ta hurt us all?” A smaller boy, perhaps six, tilted his head at her.

  “Because they were confused.” Oona patted him on the head. “Everyone was angry and scared, and they deserved to be. After the seers came up with a foretelling, peoples’ emotions made them all take it in the worst possible way.”

  “What?” The black-haired girl stopped fidgeting with a wooden amulet and made eye contact.

  Oona thought for a moment. “Let’s imagine there is a girl and a boy who know each other. A seer says that someday this girl will make the boy cry. How do you think she would do this?”

  “Kick ’im in the berries,” yelled a boy.

  “Tell him she hates him,” said another brown-haired girl.

  The black-haired girl let the amulet drop against her chest. “Go away and live somewhere else so he can’t see her anymore.”

  “Punch him in the nose,” said a redhead boy about seven.

  “Well.” Oona smiled around at the kids. “You could all be correct.”

  “How?” The black-haired girl blinked. “We said different things.”

  “Exactly. There are many ways to make boys cry. What if the boy really liked her? If she stops talking to him or goes away or even dies… he would be sad. If he hates her, merely following him around and pestering him might make him cry. Of course, if she hit him, he’d probably cry, too. There’s too many ways she could make him cry, and for every one of them, what the foretelling said would still be true.”

  About two-thirds of the kids got an ‘oh, I get it’ look in their eyes, including the black-haired girl.

  “So, when the old men huffed up a bunch of dreamstem and said the king’s heir would end the war… people who were angry and frightened let that convince them we would do something horrible.”

  Oona spent a little while telling them about how she had lain awake in bed so many nights dreading the foretelling because she couldn’t bear the thought of destroying an entire kingdom despite all the lies she had been told of the people here. Soon, the kids asked her for a happier story. Not having brought any books along, she did her best to remember one. She wound up half remembering, half making up a tale about a talking cat and his friend the talking mouse trying to protect some chickens from a crafty fox.

  The occasional rumble of moving stone or crackle of shifting roots came from off to the west, likely from Kitlyn practicing her magic. Eventually, the children thanked her for the story and ran off to their homes in search of a mid-day meal.

  Feeling a little peckish herself, Oona stood and made her way back toward Kethaba’s hut. At a glint of metal in the distant trees, she changed course and visited the encampment where the soldiers, coachmen, and staff had set up tents. While none complained, she had a strong feeling they all had an eagerness to return to Cimril. She found the village pleasant, peaceful, and a welcome respite from the demands of royalty, though also looked forward to going home. A few soldiers regarded her with shocked expressions, no doubt at her being dressed like a rustic villager.

  Satisfied her people appeared in good health and spirit, she cut through the woods in a straight line for the old woman’s dwelling. Upon reaching a quiet spot in the trees between the camp and Kethaba’s home, Oona paused to look around. Voices drifted in from here and there along with the occasional laugh of a child.

  Other than being a bit on the primitive side, the people here were nothing at all like the savages described in the stories she’d been told her entire life. Certainly, the average person from Lucernia would be horrified at people, especially women, walking around half dressed. It would be easy to misconstrue their simple lack of preoccupation with propriety for something dark like cavorting with demons. Many Lucen priests assumed an association between sexual desire or sexuality in general with demons. And of course, they equated too-revealing dress as something sexual, hence demonic. She frowned.

  Those spiritcallers weren’t at all doing anything inap
propriate, merely not covering their breasts. Then again, the citizens in the large city of Ivendar rather reminded her of people in Lucernia: fine attire, houses, wagons. The villagers out here in the forest had a much more casual attitude about clothing. No one is used to it back home. Forbidden fruits are always more tempting than the basket of apples set out on the table for all to see.

  Oona blushed at the thought of forbidden fruit. She wondered if ever the day would come when she and Kitlyn could enjoy each other’s bodies without feeling as though someone would kick in the door at any second and scold them for doing something wrong. Is that normal? If Lucen had made me different and I fancied a boy, would I feel the same way? She pondered that for a while and came to the conclusion that she would. Never before in her life had anyone ever spoken with her about carnal pleasures. The subject simply was not discussed in Lucernia. At least, not in any place a proper lady would be. Some citizens married at sixteen, though not all. Almost everyone who intended to marry wound up wed by at least nineteen. Lucernians in their twenties without a bride or groom often drew ridicule. Of course, with all the dead from the war, the priests would be encouraging everyone to have babies. She found amusement in the thought that men who’d spent their lives equating sex with evil would be advising people to have more of it.

  However, the average citizen probably never heard much talk of ‘bedroom activities’ at all until they found themselves staring confusedly at their new spouse on their wedding night. Of course, they also didn’t have an entire castle worth of people watching their every move either. Fair bet commoners her age knew a lot more about that topic than she did.

  Three small boys ran by in the forest on their way to the river. Their joyous laughter lifted Oona’s spirits and made her grin… then brought an overwhelming crash of guilt.

  She lowered herself to kneel and bowed her head.

  “Lord Lucen, please forgive me for believing the lies about the people of Evermoor. Thank you for revealing the truth.” She paused in case an answer might come, though only the wind rustling the trees replied. “Lady Tenebrea, I am eternally grateful for your show of acceptance. You are the reason our kingdom hasn’t torn itself apart. Please grant me the poise and strength to withstand what the future may bring. I wish only to do what is best for our people, whether or not I bear the weight of this accursed crown or live a simple life with Kitlyn.”

  A disconcerting thought came out of nowhere and set her hands shaking. She hadn’t considered it at all given the chaos of late, but at thinking of the crown as cursed, she recalled the words of her tutors going over the royalty of Lucernia. King Talomir had ascended to the throne at the age of eleven after his parents, Queen Glema and King Eoin died together when a snapped wheel sent their coach plummeting off the Arch of the Ancients, leaving then-eleven-year-old Aodh as king. He had spent the remainder of his childhood at the temple of Lucen.

  Before Eoin and Glema, King Iastor and Queen Moeth had ruled. Iastor had fallen ill and died soon after the birth of Eoin, leaving Moeth on the throne with three small children. She’d lasted only six years before an unexplained illness claimed her life in the night. Their eldest son, Branok, who’d been seventeen, fell from a horse and broke his neck within a week of ascending to the throne. The daughter, Avalina, refused the crown, allowing Eoin—Aodh’s father—to become king.

  Of the past royals, only Avalina had lived beyond forty years of age, surviving well into her eighties as a mostly-forgotten noble before Tenebrea took her peacefully in her sleep.

  Oona shivered with dread at the thought Kitlyn might come to harm purely for being the ruler of Lucernia. Could inexplicably bad fortune of that magnitude have come from their displeasing Lucen? Surely, he would only have permitted such a series of catastrophes for a good reason. Perhaps the others had craved power too much, like her not-father.

  Forgetting her desire for food, Oona prayed for a while, beseeching Lucen to watch over Kitlyn and echoing her love’s statement that she didn’t really want to be queen so much as agreed to because the people needed her. Whatever Lucen wished, she would do if that meant abdicating the throne or keeping it… as long as they would be together.

  “… and if Kitlyn is to leave this world, please allow us to remain together even in the next one.”

  When Oona looked up and opened her eyes, she found herself kneeling in a stone-floored chamber amid old, dusty bookshelves awash with cobwebs. A vaulted ceiling overhead had the look of purposeful construction rather than a cave, though solid stone and no windows suggested her surroundings existed underground.

  Only the cool softness of dirt at her knees—still forested ground—prevented her from panicking. She hadn’t been transported elsewhere, but rather experienced a vision of sorts. Trusting Lucen, she calmed herself and looked around.

  The scratching of soft footsteps came from beyond the labyrinthine bookshelves. Oona tried to stand so she could walk closer, but her body wouldn’t move. Still, the urge to do so caused her view to glide forward like a flying faerie. Dust so thick it had congealed into a substance like pale grey felt shrouded books, some as thick as her leg. Spiders the size of hens’ eggs lay in wait for whatever unfortunate insect stumbled by.

  Oona peered around the massive bookshelf at an aisle between many others. A figure in a black hooded cloak stood six shelves away with its back turned. By size and overall shape, she assumed a man. By his somewhat hunched-forward posture, she guessed an old man.

  Does Lucen reveal the past? Is this a former king of Lucernia? Wide eyed and hoping Lucen might be showing her the reason for the seeming curse that affected the royals of her kingdom, she floated along behind him, trying to get a view of his face.

  No matter how hard she wanted to ‘fly’ faster, her vision kept a steady pace behind the figure. He shambled past rows of bookcases to a door at the end of the vast library. Another windowless hall bereft of torches or any source of light led on for some minutes before he reached out for the knob of an ancient wooden door covered in scratches and gouges from numerous claws or swords.

  A skeletal hand, still with fragments of flesh and sinew attached, gripped the handle. Oona tried to gasp, but couldn’t make a sound. The man glanced back over his shoulder as if worried about being followed. Beneath the voluminous hood lurked a face of dried bone coated in the same dust that shrouded the books. Pools of sinister pale yellow light gathered in his otherwise empty eye sockets. Traces of muscle and darkish rotting body still clung to the neck. Though the creature didn’t look directly at her, the shock of its visage rattled her so much that she jumped away—straight out of the vision.

  Flat on her back, Oona stared up at the branches breaking the sky up into thousands of blue spots between leaves. Her mind swam with fear so strong she could barely remember how to breathe.

  By Lucen, what was that!?

  “Highness?” yelled a man.

  Three of the soldiers ran over, hurriedly grasping her arms and pulling her up to her feet.

  “Are you all right?” asked one.

  Another looked around. “Were you attacked? We heard you scream.”

  “No, no…” She smiled at them, still shivering from the dreadful creature she had seen. “I believe Lucen granted me a vision, but I don’t know the meaning of it yet. I saw something most horrific.”

  The men exchanged worried glances.

  “May it please Lucen nothing ill befalls the queen.” The middle soldier made a hand sign of reverence to the gods.

  Oona hesitantly shook her head. “I do not yet understand the full purpose of what I have seen, though it didn’t fill me with immediate concern for her safety… no more than I usually have.”

  “Very good, highness.” The man on the left emitted a sharp exhale of relief.

  Though, whatever it is… I fear it is a threat to Lucernia. She eyed the soldiers. No sense alarming them with vagaries. “Thank you for your concern. I am all right. Merely going to fetch a bit of lunch.”

  The sol
diers returned to the camp, leaving her to stare at the trees for a moment more.

  “Thank you Lord Lucen for your insight. May I have the wisdom to understand it in time.”

  14

  Status

  Kitlyn

  The warmth of a hundred or so bodies filled the Royal Court of Lucernia with a persistent soft din.

  Kitlyn sat on the throne, trying her hardest not to let her boredom and discontent show on her face. Fortunately, her elaborate white-and-gold gown concealed that her feet didn’t quite reach the floor. Her one little scrap of rebellion—skipping shoes and hose—had thus far gone unnoticed by everyone except Meredith, who couldn’t look at her without snickering.

  If I must suffer forty pounds of gown, at least it can do something productive.

  The nine days since they’d returned from Evermoor had been mostly consumed with the endless tedium of internal politics. Presently, most nobles and courtiers of note occupied the wings of the throne room behind two rows of columns, all standing in the wash of multicolored light cascading in the stained glass windows lining both sides of the hall. The central aisle that led from the main doors straight to the throne dais remained clear as per protocol. Somewhere amid the bustle of political affairs, unwed young nobles and the well-to-do conducted courtship rituals… some seeking a spouse, others chasing the friendship of more powerful individuals.

  Endless discussions of minor policies would likely continue for some months in the wake of the former king’s death. It seemed everyone from the dukes and earls to the small boys polishing shoes in the city square for one tin crown per foot feared what may change under a new ruler. Kitlyn let her head back against the padded throne and counted dust motes cavorting in the air. When that became too tedious, she tried to see if she could exhale hard enough that her corset ceased feeling tight.