They glanced at each other in disbelief.
“Wouldn’t we be going beyond our station?” asked Mary.
“For learning how to read?” Oona rolled her eyes. “Of course not. And if anyone thinks so, I shall explain to them myself how that is not true.”
The maids bounced on their toes.
“Oh, that would be wonderful.” Rowan clung to her duster as though she hugged a doll. “I have always wondered what is in all of these books.”
Laura nodded rapidly enough to throw her hair around in a fray. “Aye, highness. It would be so generous of you to allow us to learn.”
Mary smiled.
“Then it is settled. I will instruct the tutor to include you three in reading lessons, and inform Elsbeth that it is my wish you attend. Also, one night a week, I shall work with you myself, in here.”
They made noises of delight, bouncing.
At a rattle from the doorknob, they zoomed back to their places and resumed dusting, though all three continued grinning.
The door wobbled. A tiny grunt came from the other side and it wobbled again. Oona tilted her head in confusion. Another, louder grunt preceded the door swinging inward, revealing Evie in a frilly pink and white dress. She scowled at the heavy door, then darted over to Oona.
“Will you read me a story?”
Oona pulled her sister up into her lap, grinning at her adorable pink slippers. “Of course. But I need to finish some reading first.”
“Okay.” Evie leaned forward to look over the books spread out on the table. “What do they say?”
“These books tell of a place far away underground where another whole civilization lived a long, long time ago. But, they closed up their giant doors and disappeared. No one really knows what happened or why they went into hiding.”
Evie mouthed ‘wow’ without saying anything. She peered back at her. “What’s a cibilabation?”
Oona repeated ‘civilization,’ pronouncing it slow enough for Evie to get after a few repetitions. “It’s a whole people. Like all of Lucernia is a civilization.”
“Oh. Why did they make it underground?”
“That is a good question. None of these books have the answer.” She tapped a finger to the tip of her sister’s nose, grinning. “I guess they simply like it down there.”
“I hope they aren’t afraid of the dark.” Evie offered a sheepish smile. “Like me.”
Oona patted her on the head. “You don’t need to be afraid of the dark. The dark can’t hurt you.”
Evie blinked.
“It’s what’s hiding in the dark that’ll bite you.” Oona playfully dug her fingers into the girl’s sides, making a ‘rawr’ noise.
Evie let out a short scream that dissolved into giggling. The sudden worry that the evident curse upon the throne of Lucernia may affect her sister caused Oona to hug her tight. Lucen, please watch over her. Let her keep her innocence until she’s grown. That Kitlyn had nearly died only days ago set her trembling in fear. She couldn’t bear the thought of Evie walking into some room of the castle and finding either Kitlyn or her dead.
“I’m cold, too,” said Evie. “Why did the old… ci va la za shin hide?”
“Good!” Oona grinned. “You said that perfectly.”
The girl beamed.
“I’m not sure. This one book”—Oona pointed at a tome larger than the girl—“mentioned something about a curse, but didn’t really explain what it did or why it happened.”
Evie shivered. “A curse like those words Mama sometimes says real loud at the chickens?”
“No.” Oona chuckled.
“I said one once when I dropped the milk.” She paled. “Mama hit me.”
Oona rocked her. “I’m sorry, Evie. Mama doesn’t know how to be a mama. And, no, this isn’t the same kind. This is a magical curse.”
“Oh.” Evie nodded. “Like the ones Mama uses that make the neighbors blush and gasp.”
Despite her mind stuck on thoughts of Ruby beating on her little sister, Oona somehow found the ability to chuckle at that. “I mean bad magic. A curse like someone evil doing magic.”
“How can evil people do magic? The gods aren’t evil and they won’t give evil people magic.”
Oona took a deep breath. “People make mistakes. And you know sometimes how I can say something that’s a little bit too complicated for you to understand without me saying it again or in a different way?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s the same with the gods and people. They’re so much wiser than us, sometimes what we think they say isn’t really what they said. Like magic. Not all magic comes from our gods. Some comes from spirits or nature itself.”
The three maids gasped and stared at her.
“Some even comes from deep inside a person. The gods absolutely give people who they find deserving great magic, but other kinds of magic exist, too.”
“Okay.” Evie smiled.
Oona glanced over at the shocked maids. “What’s wrong?”
“You just spoke against Lucen,” said Laura.
“I didn’t.” Oona smiled. “I spoke against lies the former king told. Well, the king before him. You know the people of Evermoor have magic, and they do not follow our gods. And you also know that the stories of them having demons everywhere were lies. Also, you remember how the former king did small bits of magic even after he’d been lying for so long? He’d lost the gift that Lucen gave him, but he still had the little he’d been born with.”
The girls nodded, then took on ‘oh… okay’ expressions.
After having de-scandalized the young maids, Oona picked Evie up and carried her from the long table to a more comfortable cushioned chair in the corner. On sudden inspiration, she whisked off to fetch the book Grengwylf. Evie sat patiently waiting for her return with a look of mild confusion. Oona showed her the richly illustrated cover with bright green forest surrounding a small boy on his bed. Evie oohed at it, smiling.
“I loved this story when I was your age, even if it did scare me a little.”
Evie blinked up at her, seeming both curious and worried. “Okay.”
Oona plopped down, pulled her little sister into her lap, and read to her, loud enough for the maids to hear as well.
22
Fluffery and Practicality
Kitlyn
Sunlight glowed in multicolored patches on the empty floor of the throne room at Castle Cimril, tinted to dozens of hues by the giant two-story stained glass windows running down both walls. Kitlyn sat in her throne, left hand pressed against the side of her neck. It had been six days since they arrived back at the castle, and though her strength had mostly returned, she couldn’t stop thinking about how close she had come to breaking Oona’s heart.
Better her alive and heartbroken than dead.
Of course, the more she dwelled on that idea, the more she suspected Oona might send herself to Tenebrea were Kitlyn to die. She had already almost done so once, albeit at the point of a sword, to protect her.
So, to distract herself from such somber thoughts, Kitlyn decided to focus on her anger at Fauhurst. For once, he managed to accomplish something beneficial… improving her mood. Thus far, his whereabouts remained unknown. The advisors and generals had all been shocked to learn of such a brazen attempt on her life.
Their third day back, while Kitlyn rested in bed, Oona had stormed around the castle with Guard Captain Lorne and several soldiers, questioning everyone regarding the mysterious note. Word rapidly swept over the castle that the queen consort intended to ferret out the spy with Lucen’s gift, yet no one disappeared or ran away. Everyone they spoke to truthfully denied providing information about their trip. However, quite a few reported disturbing things going on in the castle. Doors open that shouldn’t be, moved furniture, footsteps while no one was there. Many thought the ghost of a restless King Aodh prowled the halls.
Where Fauhurst had managed to find the money to hire assassins defied explanation as much as ho
w he knew of their trip. Surely, the man must have had hidden money away as the six gold radians she’d ordered he be left with couldn’t have been enough to hire those men. At least, not while leaving him anything. Either he had stashed coins somewhere or had help from the nobility. Kitlyn sent several priests and priestesses of Lucen out with military escorts to interrogate all the nobles that Beredwyn’s spies had discovered to be in contact with him. It reassured her that none of them had aided him, but that also made her worry he possibly received money from outside Lucernia. Of course, the most likely explanation other than sympathetic nobility is that he’d either stolen it or made arrangements with organized thieves, the sort of people who wouldn’t care what money would be used for and tended to charge interest in blood.
With the guards actively hunting for Fauhurst, and his estate confiscated, she hoped it wouldn’t take long for him to be found. And… if he should happen to choose the same escape from humiliation that her father had, she wouldn’t be terribly bothered by it.
Oona presently sat in the queen’s throne to her left, clinging to Kitlyn’s arm. As the day didn’t call for public court and only the advisors stood before them, both had worn more comfortable dresses of matching forest green velvet with soft shoes.
The advisors, standing in a row at the base of the throne dais, continued discussing the best way to handle Fauhurst. In light of Kitlyn’s continued hesitance to officially sentence the man to death, mostly because she didn’t want to project the sense she retaliated for their long-standing animosity, they considered arranging it so he didn’t survive his meeting with the soldiers who went to arrest him.
“The man is a coward.” Beredwyn stroked his long, wavy beard. “He would not raise a weapon at the guard. We cannot force those soldiers to become executioners.”
“I must object to the deceit of it,” said Balais.
“Even a cornered rat bites.” Advisor Lanon brushed lint from his sleeve. “The man is clearly desperate to have sent assassins. He has nothing left to lose, and by rights, he would be executed for his crimes anyway.”
“Prison would be a far harsher fate for him.” Alonna, hands clasped in front of her robes, spoke with her head bowed. “We should allow fate to occur as it is wont to do. He may decide that he prefers the end of a guardsman’s sword to a cell.”
A faint shiver slid down Kitlyn’s back at the memory of her brief time in the dungeons. The thought of being locked alone in a small room like that for years struck her as too cruel, even for someone like Fauhurst. Kitlyn lowered her hand from the side of her neck, and Oona grasped it.
“It would please me more to see him in prison and alive, however… I will need to make some changes.” With the release of those her father had imprisoned unjustly, the castle dungeons held only six prisoners. One had been caught attempting to steal from the royal vaults, the other five were supposedly assassins who’d attempted to kill Oona throughout the years. The city’s ordinary criminals went to a larger above-ground jail in the northwestern portion of Cimril City, the dungeon reserved for the harshest punishments of those who acted against the crown directly. “The current prisoners… assassins? Are they from Evermoor?”
Oona blinked. “King Volduin never mentioned them.”
“Four are.” Beredwyn nodded once. “One of them almost succeeded many years ago, though you likely do not remember.”
Kitlyn and Oona both stared at him.
“He’d disguised himself as a groundskeeper and scooped Oona up on the pretense of allowing her to ride a pony. If I recall, she’d been about five at the time.”
Kitlyn squeezed Oona’s hand. She did remember that, mostly for being hurt that the man ignored ‘the peasant child’ and only the princess would get to ride a pony. Oona wailed in protest, demanding Kitlyn be allowed to go with her, but the man carried her off nonetheless.
“It is somewhat familiar.” Oona’s eyebrows scrunched in thought. “Did I not have a bit of a tantrum that he refused to bring Kit?”
“Exactly the reason his plan failed.” Beredwyn smiled.
Kitlyn scowled at nothing in particular. Those men had come here to kill her, but due to a war her father started and under a false interpretation of an old man’s ramblings. After consideration, she decided that they had a choice to murder a child or not, and deserved to remain incarcerated. Though, she still intended to use her magic to rearrange the dungeons. Keeping prisoners isolated defied the gods with its cruelty.
She spent a few minutes explaining her intention to arrange the cells into spaces big enough for four prisoners together. Oona brightened at the idea, and the advisors—especially Balais and Alonna—appeared to agree.
“That decided…” Kitlyn leaned back and gazed again at the stained glass. “There remains the matter of the Nimse.”
“I do not think it wise to send our forces into Underholm.” Lanon clasped his hands, each disappearing into the opposite sleeve. “They would be at too great a disadvantage within the depths.”
Beredwyn pondered a moment. “On open ground, they are relatively weak. However, our soldiers would have no way to defend against those creatures dropping on them from above.”
“I am not convinced it is necessary to invade them at all,” said Oona.
Advisor Lanon looked around at everyone. “Perhaps we can establish a blockade at the doors, shut them in?”
“They are not using the door.” Kitlyn made a drilling motion with one finger. “They tunneled out of the ground at Crows’ Corner. Though, I do not know how readily or rapidly they can dig.” Perhaps that is why it took them weeks to attack us? She thought back to Omun stomping through Underholm and the Nimse swarming after them along the walls. The small creatures had been furious with her for touching those glowing purple rocks. Could they still be upset about that? But if so, why would they randomly attack people in Evermoor as well? Do they lack the reason to recognize which land I came from so they attack both? Strike a hornets’ nest, and the little demons aren’t too particular about who they sting.
Emissary Raesa would have made it to Ivendar by now, though no word had yet reached Lucernia regarding what King Volduin wished to do regarding the Nimse threat. Their villages had less sturdy homes than those on this side of the Churning Deep. Angry Nimse could shred thatch roofs with ease. Something needed to be done soon.
The advisors muttered amongst themselves, debating various ideas to cope with a nearly invisible enemy that could appear anywhere without warning.
“Have we not been doing exactly that for the past twenty years?” asked Beredwyn with a hint of a smile. “Evermoor’s raiding parties crossed the Deep wherever and whenever they cared to courtesy of their rootcallers.”
“This is true, but Evermoor’s forces at least trod upon the ground, not under it.” Advisor Alonna fidgeted at her medallion of Navissa. “These Nimse can appear with far less warning. Perhaps the Night Goddess can offer her protection since they fear the light.”
Lanon rambled about distributing small numbers of soldiers to all towns and villages near Underholm to conduct a night watch. The other advisors clustered in and they began murmuring in conference a bit too low to follow along with.
Oona leaned close, brushing her fingers at the side of Kitlyn’s neck while whispering, “The wound is nearly invisible.”
“You are a gifted healer.” Kitlyn drew her love’s pale hand up and kissed it.
“I’m hardly a healer. I’ve only just begun to learn how.”
“And yet you mended a mortal wound. You are gifted.”
“If in the sense of receiving a gift from Orien, then you are correct.”
“So humble,” whispered Kitlyn.
Oona blushed.
“Perhaps it is wrong of me to divert so much of my thinking toward another land, but the Nimse will cause many deaths in Evermoor. Thatch huts and windows without glass.”
“It is not wrong of you at all to fear for the lives of the innocent.” Oona’s lip quivered. “We m
ust act.”
“Do you still have the same feeling?” whispered Kitlyn. “Did Lucen wish us only to be at Crows’ Corner?”
“I…” Oona closed her eyes.
The advisors continued their discussion, considering sending soldiers to every village or town within reasonable distance of Underholm.
A moment later, Oona shuddered and her eyes snapped open. “I still see the shadows racing across Cimril. I fear we are still entwined with this.”
Kitlyn nodded. “I will go to Underholm.”
All five advisors stopped talking simultaneously and stared at her. Beredwyn wore a look of worry, Lanon shock. High Priest Balais lifted both brows in an expression of surprised respect. Alonna gave off an air of caution.
“So soon after you were attacked?” asked Lanon.
“The Nimse are not going to wait for us to find Fauhurst or his sympathizers,” said Kitlyn.
Oona sat tall. “I am sure Lucen wishes us to have a more direct hand in this.”
“The former king always said ‘Lucen wants’ certain things.” Lanon cringed ever so slightly. “He claimed to know the desires of the God of Purity, yet clearly did not.”
“Dear Lanon,”—Balais pivoted to face him—“you will note her highness said she believes Lucen wishes her to be involved, not that he wishes her to be involved.”
“Are they not the same thing?” asked Lanon.
“The difference is small.” Advisor Nalden smiled. “But meaningful. She speaks for her own feelings rather than claims to know the mind of a god.”
Balais nodded to him. “And does not demand others obey without question.”
“I understand there is danger.” Kitlyn stood. “However, I feel the risk to my personal safety is small compared to the risk facing our people. We have little reason to suspect Fauhurst will move against me so soon, especially with our soldiers searching every inch of Cimril for him.”
The Cursed Crown Page 21