The Cursed Crown

by Matthew S. Cox

  Kitlyn lay nearby in the grass as well, wearing a nice-but-simple crushed blue velvet dress. Her mouth hung open in the midst of a midday nap, a beetle as big as a man’s thumb struggling to climb her cheek.

  For an instant, Oona nearly let out a yelp at the sight of it, but bit it back to a soft whine of unease. Screaming would throw the castle staff into a panic. Not to mention, that particular type of beetle posed no threat at all and she’d grown too old to shriek at simple bugs. After having men try to poison her and take her head off with swords, a garden beetle hardly deserved a reaction at all.

  She clenched her jaw, leaned close, and gently plucked it off Kitlyn’s cheek before setting it in the grass.

  Kitlyn’s eyes opened. Since Oona had obligingly half draped herself over her, she leaned up for a quick kiss. “What time is it? I think I fell asleep.”

  “You did. I’m not sure… two hours after lunch I think?”

  Evie appeared on the arched walkway they had so often made Kitlyn sweep, and dashed across the grass into the garden, carrying a big cloth sack. When she arrived beside Oona, she dropped the bundle, revealing a mess of cloth dolls.

  “How were your lessons?” asked Oona.

  “Okay.” Evie picked up two dolls. “Today was all reading and writing. Why do I have to learn that?”

  Oona sat up and fussed at her little sister’s hair. “How else will you be able to read storybooks?”

  Evie grinned. “That sounds fun.”

  They talked for a while about lessons, which led into Oona and Kitlyn scaring Evie a bit with their tales of Miss Harper, the mean governess who’d watched over them when they’d been her age. Naturally, the paddling story came up.

  Evie gasped and grabbed her rear end. “What’d ya do that ya got paddled?”

  “Oh, we did a lot that should’ve gotten us paddled, but that time I think we’d rearranged the books in the library,” said Kitlyn.

  The child stared at Oona in shock. “You misbehaved?”

  “Hard to picture, isn’t it?” Kitlyn threw an arm around Oona.

  “We didn’t do anything bad.” Oona rolled her eyes. “Just playful.”

  Talking about lessons reminded her of history, which again made her dread that something would happen to Kitlyn. King Talomir had been thirty-seven years old, and took the throne at eleven. He’d lasted a good while before he died, but that didn’t guarantee anything. One heir had broken his neck within a week.

  Annabelle, the new governess, strode into view on the grass outside the garden appearing flustered. Straight dark-brown hair hung to her waist, framing a delicate porcelain face set with pale slate-blue eyes. Midway through her twenties, she retained enough youth to not object to entertaining the girl and playing with her—far unlike the dour Miss Harper who had watched Oona and Kitlyn as children. Had either of them approached her to play, the woman likely would’ve thrown the dolls in the fireplace.

  Evie, used to running around the village of Llanoen, still hadn’t acclimated to the expectation that she shouldn’t simply dart off and go wherever she wanted at a whim. Or at least, the governess responsible for her care thought so. Evie, not so much. The woman plopped down in the grass beside the child, and huffed. Though, with the queen right there, she didn’t scold her. Oona couldn’t help but feel awkward in her presence, still feeling like a child by comparison yet having authority over her.

  Unlike what Queen Solana likely would have done with Kitlyn had she not been murdered, Oona had no intention to leave her little sister entirely in the care of the governess and pretend she didn’t exist otherwise. Annabelle did play a vital role, as Oona’s station frequently demanded her attention away to conversations and places unsuitable for a seven-year-old. However, at times like this when she could spend time with the girl, she did so.

  Somewhat less than an hour after escaping into the world of a little girl and her dolls, the rapid tromp of approaching footsteps made Oona instinctively brace for Fauhurst’s verbal assault, but remembered after a few seconds he no longer prowled the castle and even if he did, she could have sent him on his way. She looked up.

  Advisor Lanon hurried into the garden and rushed over to them. “Highness, there is an emissary from Evermoor here insisting on seeing you. She won’t speak to any of us regarding the reason for her visit other than to say it is official and there are potential problems between the kingdoms.”

  Kitlyn sprang upright. “We have not sent anyone across the Churning Deep, have we?”

  “No.” Advisor Lanon shook his head, catching his over-tall hat to keep it from falling off.

  “All right.” Kitlyn reached down to help Oona up. “The emissary is presently in the throne room?”

  “Yes,” said Lanon.

  Kitlyn started walking, pulling Oona along.

  “Uhh, highness?” asked Advisor Lanon, trotting along beside them.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you planning to take audience with her like that?” He kneaded his hands.

  Kitlyn stopped. “Like what?”

  “Well, you’re…” He gestured at her and Oona’s bare feet. “And…” He gestured at their plain dresses. “And…” He indicated their lack of crowns.

  “The emissary from Evermoor will not bat an eyelash at how we are dressed.” Kitlyn sighed. “However, we should fetch the crowns at least since this is an official matter. I shall not make the poor woman wait while we labor with pointless fluffery.”

  Lanon turned pale, but only nodded.

  Oona raced after Kitlyn, feeling a bit like a kid again as the clap of their feet echoed in the stone-floored hallways. They rushed past several maids and guards who all stopped and stared at them, most likely alarmed more at their running rather than their simple dresses.

  Once in their bedchamber, Oona helped Kitlyn seat her crown properly, then stood dutifully while Kitlyn returned the favor. With the literal burden of leadership upon her head, Kitlyn fast-walked instead of running down to the throne room, entering via a rear passage intended for the royals and close attendants.

  The woman standing on the strip of carpet in front of the dais didn’t look terribly happy. She wore a mixture of chain mail and leather armor over a green tunic, the panels of her skirt and shoulder guards styled to resemble long leaves with engraved vine patterns. A slender longsword hung on her belt and she held a large de-strung bow like a walking staff. Dark red hair hung down to the middle of her back with numerous small braids decorating the otherwise loose mane. Rich blue eyes held a stare of accusation, which softened somewhat the instant she spotted the two of them.

  Kitlyn walked straight up to her, ignoring the throne.

  Oona followed, standing half a step behind her. Upon noticing that, Kitlyn backed up so they wound up beside each other.

  “Queen Talomir,” said the woman in a cautious tone. “I am Raesa, an emissary of King Lanas Volduin on an official matter of state.”

  “Welcome to Lucernia, Raesa of Evermoor.” Kitlyn nodded in greeting. “I hope you had a pleasant journey.”

  “My journey was more pleasant than the reason for it. I apologize if my manner seems brusque. My entire life has been spent thinking of your people a certain way.”

  Kitlyn nodded. “I understand. Our kingdoms knew four years of war before I drew my first breath. This new world we are in is a great—and welcome—change for both of us. What urgency has brought you here? Shall we discuss matters over dinner or would the minor delay be worrisome?”

  A few servants and courtiers took note of Kitlyn and Oona’s overly plain attire and stared.

  “I would not object to discussing the matter over a table. Perhaps I have been hasty in my judgement. There have been a series of raids on our villages nearest the Churning Deep, and some within Evermoor fear that your soldiers have not realized the war is over.”

  “Attacks? I have ordered no such thing.”

  Raesa shook her head slightly. “Considering what I have heard of your deeds, I would not expect
such. We think it may be a rogue element within your military or perhaps an isolated group.”

  “By Lucen,” whispered Oona. “What do you know of these attacks? Did anyone see our soldiers?”

  “No. The attacks occurred at night. A number of villagers caught outside were killed. We were unable to track where the enemy came from or went, though I did find claw marks on several doors and huts. The oddness of them led me to suspect someone is attempting to fool us into thinking an animal is responsible for the attacks.”

  Kitlyn rubbed the bridge of her nose. “There have been similar attacks at two villages in Lucernia. I have sent soldiers to each one as a defense, but have not yet received any report back from them.”

  Raesa blinked in surprise. “That news is both a relief and a concern. King Volduin will be delighted to know the aggression is not from Lucernia.”

  “Upon your return, kindly inform him that I will see these attacks stopped. Personally if need be.”

  “I shall.” Raesa smiled.

  Kitlyn waved one of the throne room maids over. “Please inform the kitchen staff that we will be having a guest during our evening meal.”

  Oona studied the woman. She looks like a tracker, yet she could not find where these creatures came from or went to? A pall of lightheadedness came over her. The periphery of the room blurred and spun. Oona grabbed Kitlyn’s left arm, clinging to stop herself from falling over. A sick feeling swirled around the pit of her stomach. Fleeting images of darting shadows swarming around the streets of Cimril flickered in her mind, along with screams of the dead and dying. The brief, but horrifying sights faded, leaving behind a strong sense that she could potentially prevent such tragedy.

  “Oona?” Kitlyn pivoted toward her, holding on. “Are you all right?”

  “We should go,” muttered Oona, still waiting for the room to stop wobbling back and forth. “I… saw people dying. Things running around Cimril. It’s… the soldiers can’t do anything. We have to go.”

  Kitlyn grasped her cheeks, holding her head steady. “What do you mean? What did you see?”

  “I think Lucen is telling me we are needed to help more directly.” She stared into Kitlyn’s rich emerald-green eyes. Her wooziness abated and she found her footing again. “I’m okay. Just… another vision.”

  A silence fell over the court.

  “King Talomir never had visions,” whispered a distant man.

  “Did you forget the high priest of the God of Truth spent twenty years lying to us all?” rasped a woman. “Why would he receive actual visions?”

  “Oh. Yes. Fair point,” whispered the first man.

  “A-are you seriously suggesting you and the queen leave in person because of a handful of killings?” Advisor Lanon paled. “I understand that you are eager to help, but you are the queen and, umm, well, queen…” He scratched his head under his hat. “Perhaps you are young, but it is unwise to try and do everything yourselves.”

  Raesa regarded Oona with a note of increased respect.

  “In most cases, Advisor Lanon.” Kitlyn stared into Oona’s eyes. “I would agree with you. However… I have rarely seen her this frightened before.”

  “Many more people will die if we don’t go. I can’t explain why I feel this is true.” Oona bowed her head. “It must be Lucen guiding me.”

  16

  Crows’ Corner

  Kitlyn

  Emissary Raesa joined them for dinner, which became a pleasant hour or so of conversation. Kitlyn initially asked her about what she found at the village where the attack occurred. The woman did happen to be a trained tracker, but still hadn’t noticed any signs of an invading force.

  “If you are not in any great rush to return home, I would be honored to have you join us tomorrow. I intend to travel out to the village of Crows’ Corner and see for myself what happened there,” said Kitlyn.

  Raesa pondered the idea for a short while, then nodded. “I would be most curious to compare what I can find there with what I observed at Wolf Glen.”

  “No tracks at all?” asked Oona, a hint of nervousness in her voice. “In my vision, I saw darting shadows. Just black blurs, and many of them. We could be facing an enemy that is magical or spectral.”

  “There are no users of magic in Evermoor who wield anything like that. The only ‘black’ energy I can think of belongs to followers of Navissa.” Raesa picked up her goblet of water. “And they do not randomly attack small villages.”

  “Most certainly not,” said Kitlyn.

  “Not that I am at all suggesting such a thing possible, but their magic would have left dark burns and frost on whatever it touched.” Oona delicately sliced up her portion of turkey.

  Kitlyn smiled, finding it cute the way she tried to make all the pieces of meat the same size.

  The remainder of conversation over dinner dwelled on the return of the Heart to the Alderswood. Raesa admitted to almost fainting when she’d heard that Kitlyn had set foot in the grove where the sacred tree grew, since the Order of the Sundering claimed the heir would do exactly that—and destroy the entirety of Evermoor.

  By the time they finished the meal, talk had segued to funny stories about some mischievous wolf cubs Raesa had tended a year or so earlier that had them all laughing. They agreed to set out early the next morning for Crows’ Corner, and Kitlyn requested a castle steward show Raesa to one of the guest rooms.

  Kitlyn sent word to gather the advisors and headed straight from the dining hall to the throne room. Beredwyn, Lanon, Balais, Alonna, and Naldun all arrived within fifteen minutes. She figured the advisors tired for none appeared to notice or care about her simple dress or lack of shoes.

  “I appreciate you all arriving on such short notice. I needed to make you aware of my plans for the morning.” Kitlyn explained her intention to travel personally, with Oona and the Evermoor emissary, to Crows’ Corner. “I do not expect to be away from the castle for too long, but I will once again need to leave the small decisions to you.”

  Advisor Lanon made an odd face and craned his neck as if listening to a whisper at his ear.

  Kitlyn glanced at him. “Do you hear something?”

  He smiled. “No, I was merely enjoying the absence of a particular nuisance saying ‘that is highly irregular.’”

  His passable impression of Fauhurst’s tone got a laugh from Beredwyn. Kitlyn didn’t much enjoy being reminded of him, though considering the man mocked him, she forced a smile.

  “To his, somewhat humorous, point,” said Balais, “why do you feel the need to attend to this in person rather than rely on the vast resources at your command?”

  Oona stepped forward. “I have had a vision of death and pain in what I believe to be Cimril. Shadowy figures flying around setting upon everyone with their fangs and claws. I fear Lucen wishes us to go ourselves and has given warning of a great loss of life if we do not.”

  “My father would have ignored such an inclination, not wishing to burden himself with such a task, especially when only simple farmers have suffered… if even he had sufficient faith to receive such word from Lucen,” said Kitlyn. “I trust her.”

  “One who does not heed the word of Lucen is likely no longer to hear it.” Balais faced Oona and offered a short nod.

  Lady Alonna raised both eyebrows at his quick acceptance of Oona’s statement, then bowed at her.

  “What manner of beast may move as Oona has seen while not leaving any tracks? Wraiths? Shadows? Something of that sort?” asked Kitlyn. “Have any of you knowledge of such things?”

  “There have been wraiths.” Beredwyn pulled at his beard in thought. “Though they would not have caused bite and claw wounds. Nor are they usually seen in groups.”

  “They are quite dangerous, but solitary.” Alonna shivered in dread. “I can think of several forms of demon that could appear that way, though no creature from the Pit has been able to set foot or hoof in Lucernia for an age.”

  Kitlyn paced. “We assume that my father’s tra
nsgression has not so angered Lucen that this protection broke.”

  “I do not sense that to be true,” said Balais. “The affront of one man, no matter how powerful, would not turn Lucen’s wrath against the whole of his people.”

  “But many turning their backs on his teachings for what Aodh did might.” Advisor Lanon folded his arms. “We must demonstrate to the people that his crimes will never be repeated.”

  Beredwyn gestured at her, beaming. “Our queen’s decree that no king or queen shall come from any priesthood, yet shall always be advised by them is a good first step.”

  “Distribution of power.” Kitlyn folded her arms. “Too much of it concentrated in one person creates temptation that can lead to great suffering. If a monarch ceases to act in the best interests of their subjects, they should not be in a position to malign the name of Lucen to obtain blind acceptance of their words and deeds.”

  Advisor Naldun offered a rare smile.

  “Very well. We shall make haste for Crows’ Corner at first light. And, I think I shall retire early.”

  Oona nodded. “Yes. We will need our rest.”

  The murmuring advisors drifted off in different directions to their rooms—or in Balais’ case, heading for the connecting passage that led to the temple.

  Kitlyn hated seeing Oona so rattled. The vision had left her wide-eyed, pale, and trembling faintly. She didn’t seem frightened as much as horrified by whatever she had seen. “We will make this right, whatever it is.” She pulled her into an embrace.

  Oona’s shaking stilled and her grip tightened. “I don’t think I will sleep much tonight.”

  “We must. Both of us will need our strength.” Kitlyn swayed side to side while holding her. “I’ll keep you safe.”

  “Hah.” Oona poked her in the side. “I’m not a frightened child. I’m worried about what may happen to our people.”