The Cursed Crown

by Matthew S. Cox

  Fortunately, the advisors and the court lost interest in Oona having made such an odd noise.

  It took her a few minutes to walk back from the edge of bursting into laughter, though she couldn’t help but grin. She leaned close and whispered, “You would shock them less by wearing nothing at all.”

  Kitlyn made an appraising face, then nodded. “About the same I think. Though, I dare say they’d prefer me seated here in nothing than my servant’s rags.”

  Oona gasped. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “No.” Kitlyn leaned back in the throne. “Can you imagine their faces if I did that? No one would be able to speak for at least an hour.”

  “Stop it,” whispered Oona. “They already think of us as children. If we sit here giggling the whole time, they’ll be right.”

  “Since when did we require kings and queens remain dour all the time?” asked Kitlyn, at a normal tone. “I say we are now in happy times. The war is over and we have much to celebrate. We are young, but is it a bad thing to be filled with life?”

  Mixed stares met them from the court, but over the course of a few minutes, they changed mostly to smiles.

  “My father was too severe. Always angry, was he not?” asked Kitlyn. “Because he constantly feared his deception would come to light.”

  “Are we to expect you will never deceive us?” asked Lord Parrington, Duke of Tandren.

  “I shall not knowingly deceive anyone.” Kitlyn nodded to him.

  “Your father swore on Lucen he spoke truth.” Parrington glanced around him before looking back at her. “I suppose at least you do not invoke Lucen in that claim.”

  “No. While I would not wish to offend him either, I could not bear to break my wife’s heart. She took Oona’s hand. “She would know.”

  “Yet,” said Parrington with an air of haughtiness, “Princess Oona did not sense the deceit within Aodh?”

  Kitlyn bit her lip, at a loss to explain that.

  “Lord Parrington…” Oona glanced at Balais, then back to the duke. “A little known truth in our nation is that all magic does not, in fact, come from the gods.”

  The room fell silent. Balais appeared worried, annoyed, and confused in equal measure.

  “I believe most magical abilities among our people are gifts from the gods, but there are some who possess an inborn talent. Aodh Talomir was one such man. For his treachery, Lucen stripped him of whatever abilities he had granted, but he retained enough natural talent to construct an arcane shield that befuddled the gift Lucen gave me. As you have so often pointed out, good Lord Parrington, I am but a child of sixteen. I have not had decades to study and hone my gift. Yet now you imply as an even younger girl than I am now, I had been somehow remiss in lacking sufficient mastery to see through the deceptions of a former high priest?”

  A mix of murmuring and soft chuckling swept over the room.

  “We believe,” said High Priest Balais, “that the gods may allow some to be born with a certain level of magical ability as a test. The faithful are rewarded with greater knowledge and power. However, Lady Oona is correct. Whatever innate talent a person may have is often not rescinded upon a breach of loyalty.”

  The duke appeared satisfied with the answer and nodded. “Forgive me, highness.”

  Gradually, the din returned as advisors, nobles, merchants, and commoners resumed discussing matters.

  “I look forward to the day’s end,” muttered Kitlyn.

  Oona leaned close and whispered, “Are you honestly wearing nothing under that gown?”

  “No.” Kitlyn grinned. “I only omitted the hose and shoes. All the other useless fluffery is there.”

  “You flirt with scandal.” Oona smiled.

  “It is a matter of security.” Kitlyn held her head high. “Touching the stone beneath my feet allows me to draw greater power.”

  “You are still expecting assassins?” whispered Oona, the sudden grip of old fear back in full force.

  Kitlyn looked around at the assembled court. “Not from Evermoor. If someone does attempt to sneak up behind me, I would rather much like to feel them coming. Shoes are like blindfolds.”

  “Are you sure you merely don’t hate the feel of them?” asked Oona.

  “That, too.” She winked.

  Oona blinked, then covered her mouth to giggle.

  “What now?” Kitlyn looked over at her, raising an eyebrow.

  “Perhaps Lucen inspired the servants to keep taking your shoes so you would have your powers at their strongest?”

  Kitlyn smoothed her hands down the front of her gown. “Perhaps. I was certainly on my hands and knees enough, scrubbing, for it not to have much mattered.”

  “Ooh.” Oona scowled. “You’re making me angry all over again at the way they treated you.”

  Clonk.

  Again the doors flew open, startling the room to silence.

  A burly orange-haired man with ruddy cheeks and common brown robes rushed in, trailed by a slim brown-haired young woman in studded leather armor. Both wore amulets bearing the symbol of Orien: a hand upturned with sun rays above it.

  None of the soldiers moved to intercept them, instead offering reverential bows as they passed.

  The two priests rushed up to the throne dais. Before they arrived, Kitlyn stood and glided down the four steps to the floor to meet them at eye level… or at least eye-to-chest level with the man. Oona followed. A few of the nobles emitted shocked gasps at the queen not only standing for a visitor but stepping down from the dais, but then again, these two appeared to be priests. King Talomir had never done so, but he had been a priest himself which he believed coupled with his title as king had elevated him above any need to show deference to anyone.

  “Lifebearers,” said Kitlyn. “You seem troubled. What can I do for you?”

  “Highness.” The man offered a shallow bow. “We’ve rushed here as fast as we were able to from Crows’ Corner. There’s been an attack. Nine are dead.”

  The room fell quiet.

  “An attack?” asked Kitlyn. “From who?”

  “What, highness.” The thin priestess shook her head. The girl couldn’t have been much (if any) older than her. “Demons, we think. We’re not entirely sure, but no one saw the fiends, only found the bodies the next morning.”

  “They came in the night,” said the big priest.

  “Lucen protect us,” whispered Oona. “No one saw anything of the fiends?”

  “Not that told us, highness.” The woman faced her. “We tended to a number of survivors, but they claimed not to have seen anything, as if the darkness itself attacked them with tooth and claw.”

  Murmuring started in the court. Oona caught a few whispers of people questioning Lucen’s protection. The doctrine stated that Lucen once drove the demons from his kingdom and prevented their return. Most of the whispers blamed Aodh’s betrayal for this lapse, but one or two suggested it could be due to his daughter being impure.

  Caught between wanting to cry and scream in anger, Oona’s voice hitched in her throat. Before she could clear it, a man pointed out that if Lucen had objected to them being in love, Tenebrea would not have manifested, and the wedding ritual would not have let them hold flames. An argument started among the men about why Tenebrea would manifest to condone two girls in love but Lucen wouldn’t show up to slap Aodh into the Pit for such a malignant lie.

  Guilty of wondering that same thing, Oona kept quiet, but felt grateful that someone defended her and Kitlyn.

  “So, we do not know for sure there are demons about. It could be bears or some manner of animal?” asked Kitlyn.

  The big priest heaved a breath, raising a hand to beg a moment.

  Kitlyn glanced to the left where three maids sat on seats by the wall. “Will someone fetch some water for the priests?”

  One of the maids jumped up and hurried off.

  “We do not know for a fact that demons are involved.” The young priestess offered a grateful smile in response to the request
for water. “It only appears that way due to how they appeared in the night and vanished with no trace. We could not locate any tracks in or out of Crows’ Corner.”

  “Perhaps winged demons?” Advisor Lanon glided closer.

  Kitlyn shifted her jaw side to side. “Not everything that is neither human nor animal is a demon. Our kingdom is tamed from the wild but magical beasts still run rampant in more distant lands. It is not beyond imagination that one may have roamed here.”

  The maid returned with a ewer and two large wooden mugs. Both priests gratefully accepted the water.

  “Send twenty soldiers and some trackers to investigate.” Kitlyn nodded to Advisor Lanon.

  “Right away, highness.” He hurried off.

  While Kitlyn welcomed the priests to spend the night in the castle resting and eating, they politely declined and would take refuge at the Temple of Orien. Kitlyn appeared to expect that answer as the priests had expected the offer from her.

  Oona returned to her seat and wondered if that vision of the robed skeleton might somehow be related. Worry started again. If a demonic attack had truly occurred on Lucernian soil, it would represent the first such attack in centuries. The history books claimed Lucen had banished all demonic entities from the kingdom more than a thousand years ago… but of course, history books offered no guarantee of truth, only what those in power wanted the population to believe.

  Where did that come from? Oona blinked at herself. Oh, do I doubt everything now that I have seen the depths of my fath—that man’s crimes? She looked up at the rustle of Kitlyn’s gown as she settled back into the throne. The day at court cannot end fast enough. I wish to be alone with her and confide my fears.

  A boy of about twelve in a plain brown tunic, breeches, and boots rushed in the door. His outfit reminded her of the messenger who had accompanied them on the journey to Evermoor, so Oona figured he worked for the military as a courier—either an orphan or the son of a soldier.

  He slowed from a sprint to a tentative walk about halfway down the aisle, looking around. Upon spotting one of the tall advisor’s hats, he stopped short, staring at it with hesitant urgency.

  “It is all right, boy.” Kitlyn beckoned him with a wave. “Do not be afraid.”

  The boy swallowed hard, but walked up to the dais and knelt. “Your highness. I have a message from Wick Hollow. Some unknown creature has attacked them in the night two days prior. Three are dead.”

  “Anyone of political significance?” asked Beredwyn.

  The boy shrugged. “I do not know, sir. The lieutenant didn’t give me any names or mention anything about that. I think they were simple villagers.”

  “Where is Wick Hollow compared to Crows’ Corner?” asked Kitlyn.

  An attendant ran over a few minutes later having fetched a map. Crows’ Corner only stood a short distance into Lucernia from the Churning Deep. Wick Hollow sat due east from the town of Moonbrook and due south from Eastmarch, located at an intersection in the roads connecting the towns. About five miles separated the two villages.

  “So…” Kitlyn paused a few seconds in thought. “They are both reasonably close to each other, near the Churning Deep, and fairly isolated from large cities.”

  “Do you think it’s Evermoor?” asked Balais, his tone suggesting he didn’t.

  “No.” Kitlyn shook her head. “I have heard that some among the military feel lost without the war and do not know what to do with themselves in a time of peace. While I think it unlikely one of them would create the appearance of continued aggression, I am not so quick to dismiss the idea. However, the priests spoke of bite and claw wounds. The most likely explanation is some manner of bear or beast prowling that region. Both villages are within a day’s travel of each other. Send another group of soldiers and a tracker to Wick Hollow as well. Have both sets of troops encamp there to protect the villages until further notice.”

  “Very good.” Beredwyn nodded.

  Kitlyn sat back and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Her frustration and pain for those who had been hurt shone clear as Lucen’s light to Oona. She took her love’s hand and squeezed. Kitlyn glanced over at her with a grateful smile.

  “By Lucen, I hope the next crisis that runs through that door does not involve people being killed,” whispered Kitlyn.

  Upon retiring to their bedchamber that night, Oona brought up her worry that the throne of Lucernia might be cursed. She reiterated the long list of unfortunate circumstances that befell whoever wore the crown.

  Meredith assisted Kitlyn out of her dress. She’d worn most of the underpinnings, only skipping the hose to allow her feet to remain bare and in contact with the ground.

  “Well, I should thank you for giving me something new to have nightmares about.” Kitlyn put on a playfully angry scowl. “Curses now…”

  “I’m sorry. These thoughts have plagued me since we left Evermoor.” Oona clung to the bedpost to steady herself while Piper undid her back lacings. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

  “I would prefer nothing happened to me, too. Do you think it may be mere coincidence?”

  “Could be,” muttered Meredith, while tugging Kitlyn’s slip off over her head.

  “I did not find anything in the library about any curse on your line.” The instant the corset released Oona’s chest, she drew a great breath. “Oh, I wish we could outlaw these damnable things.”

  “We can,” said Kitlyn, now bare from the waist up.

  “Oh, I’m merely complaining to complain. The very fabric of our society would unravel if we interfered with fashion. The nobles need their expensive finery after all.” Oona fanned herself.

  Piper undid the fasteners holding up Oona’s crinoline. “You don’t need to outlaw them. Merely cease wearing them. The nobles usually mimic whatever those with more status do.”

  Kitlyn shoved the rest of her underclothes off to the floor without waiting for Meredith and stood there wearing only her crown. “I’ve learned to pick my battles. It would be my luck that something so trivial would turn the noble houses against me.” She grabbed her nightdress right away, a sign that she felt too tired to do much more than cuddle and sleep tonight.

  “It may well be a coincidence.” Meredith gathered Kitlyn’s undergarments from the floor one by one. “From what I’ve heard of the past royals, they’ve all been a rather certain sort of person.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Kitlyn.

  Meredith looked around for eavesdroppers and lowered her voice. “Right proud of themselves. Vain. Loved having power and reminding everyone else that they had power. Though, my grandmother said the one woman, umm… Avelina was almost as sweet as Oona.”

  “She refused the crown.” Oona stood still while Piper undid her bra, then basked in the cool air over her chest. Oh, that dress was dreadful. Perhaps those spiritcallers have the right idea.

  “Oh.” Kitlyn yawned, and plucked the crown off her head, staring sleepily at Oona. “I’d give up the throne if I had to for you.”

  “The kingdom is more important than me.”

  Kitlyn paced over, standing right next to her. “In a way, I can appreciate the truth to that, but I don’t really care if it’s foolish or selfish. If I ever found myself in a position to have to choose between you or being queen, I wouldn’t even have to think about it.”

  Oona’s heart melted. She pulled Kitlyn into an embrace despite having only her smallclothes on and two handmaidens watching. Of course, neither of them batted an eye at a simple hug, and Kitlyn wore a nightdress.

  “Perhaps Lucen punished the Talomir line for their arrogance,” said Meredith in a low voice. “And the one thing Aodh did right was sparing you that.”

  Oona bristled at the notion the cruelty Kitlyn suffered from the castle staff could be thought of in any way as a good thing, but couldn’t quite bring herself to snap at Meredith. Truth be told, as much as she wanted to believe Kitlyn’s true self would have been the same no matter what, had the king raised he
r like a princess, she may well have been another person entirely.

  Piper offered Oona her nightdress, giggling when Oona decided to mimic Kitlyn and shove her smallclothes off before putting it on.

  “I suppose.” Kitlyn sat on the edge of the bed and yawned. “Let us hope the troubles in the east are a simple matter of an errant bear.”

  “By Lucen’s will,” muttered Meredith.

  Piper flashed a cheesy smile. “Carros willing.”

  Kitlyn laughed and crawled into bed. “I’ll accept help from any deity willing to give it.”

  “Thank you, Piper.” Oona hugged her. “Sleep well.”

  “Good night, Meredith,” muttered Kitlyn, already close to unconscious.

  Oona scrambled into bed, clinging to Kitlyn. She closed her eyes and prayed to Lucen, asking that he shielded her wife from whatever curse might cast a shadow over the Talomir line.

  Three days passed with no word coming back from either group of soldiers.

  Fortunately, no word came of additional attacks either.

  Still tired from the morning training session with Guard Lorne, Oona reclined in the grass by the big tree in the castle gardens, occasionally rubbing her arm, sore from swinging a wooden blade. Much the same way she hadn’t cared what anyone thought of her wearing breeches during their sword lessons, she didn’t care what anyone thought of the queen consort flat on her back in the grass.

  Of course, the pair of them in pants—plus Kitlyn shoeless—had elicited quite a few raised eyebrows and hushed whispers, as did her love’s habit of wearing plain dresses whenever the day didn’t call for meeting with anyone in an official capacity. They’d come to view the gasping and hand waving as humorous, given all that had happened in the land over the past twenty years and people still found the time to be shocked at the queen in a ‘merely expensive’ dress as opposed to one even the goddess Navissa couldn’t put on without help.

  She imagined the nose-in-the-sky crowd gossiped endlessly about the ‘commoner queen’ and so forth. It no doubt frustrated them that Kitlyn didn’t care at all what anyone thought of her. How un-Lucernian of her. Oona grinned and glanced to her left.