The Cursed Crown

by Matthew S. Cox

  “Indeed.”

  The queen shot upright in her throne and shouted in the Na’vir language. In response, the vast gathering of Nimse flooding the room receded, streaming out the door and up the walls to window holes as well as jagged tunnels near the ceiling that must have been made after the curse.

  An entire civilization of scholars reduced to near-mindless savages. Truly that is the work of a demon.

  “Until we meet again.” Oona curtseyed at the Nimse Queen.

  “We will return.” Kitlyn bowed her head.

  The queen chuckled. “Of course you intend to… but in order to return, you must survive meeting Voldreth. May you fare better than I.”

  Oona’s face faded even paler—a true feat.

  27

  Heights

  Oona

  Oona stared at their bed, her armor laid about on the floor of the royal bedroom around her bare feet. The sweaty tunic she’d worn under it clung to her, making the room feel even colder. Several days of riding and camping in the same clothes left her feeling too filthy to touch anything.

  “Are you all right?” Kitlyn, who’d not spent the past few minutes staring at the bed, padded around to stand beside her, wearing only sweat.

  “My thoughts are going in all directions.” Oona plucked at the wet fabric. Overcome with disgust, she peeled the tunic off and dropped it, then cringed. She felt too filthy to even touch Kitlyn. “I am sure we must go alone.”

  “Alone?” Kitlyn stepped closer, pulling Oona’s hair off her face and tucking it behind her ears. “Go where alone?”

  “To the north. ’Tis a vague but strong feeling. Death will follow if we travel with soldiers.”

  “All right.”

  Oona blinked. “You aren’t protesting?”

  Piper poked her head out from a heavy burgundy curtain filling an archway on the right side of the room. “Highness, the bath is ready.”

  “Thank you.” Oona spun to grin at her, and took Kitlyn by the hand. “Come. It is chilly in here.”

  The girl disappeared back behind the curtain.

  “No, I’m not protesting. I roamed all over two kingdoms by myself for over a week. I think we can handle a journey together.”

  Oona hurried over to a relatively small chamber filled with shelves of scented oils and soaps. The collection of bath accoutrements had more than quintupled since the room belonged to Aodh. Piper, in a short white slip, barefoot, stood beside the tub, ready to assist with their bath, grinning from ear to ear in anticipation of the magic she expected would occur soon. Oona smiled at her, wondering how much longer the fourteen-year-old would retain her childish delight at the light show. Then again, old people still found the displays the Lucen priests created in the skies for holidays fascinating, so perhaps she never would outgrow it.

  Hands outstretched to the tub, Oona focused on her magic. The bathwater glowed blue in response, a pool of liquid light. After a moment, steam rose in clouds. Satisfied the bath had become warm enough, she hurried in, gasping in delight at escaping the autumn chill. The soothing, heated water felt as though it physically scraped away the sticky grime of the road.

  Kitlyn climbed in and eased herself to sit beside her.

  For the next wonderful forty-or-so minutes, they bathed. Piper assisted with washing their hair and backs, and wound up almost as wet as them. Once they stood to dry off, Meredith entered with fresh towels. Soon, they donned simple dresses and sat on two nearby cushioned benches while their handmaidens combed and tended to their hair.

  Oona’s stomach growled. They’d returned not long after noon and it approached time for the evening meal. Restlessness plagued her, a sense that they shouldn’t remain idle too long. Though she felt more than a little trepidation at confronting an undead sorcerer who had existed for a thousand years, she trusted Lucen wouldn’t lead her down this path if she couldn’t do what he asked.

  Still, her hands shook. Though her vision of the undead sorcerer had been brief, it horrified her and sent her mind awhirl with all manner of wild assumptions of what he could do.

  Evie raced in, cheering that they had returned, and proceeded to bounce up and down on Oona’s bench seat while asking about their trip. Her little sister’s joy chased away the dread of what awaited them, and for a while, she thought only of family.

  After a wonderful meal, they relaxed in a sitting room with a glowing fireplace. Kitlyn and Oona sank into the cushions of a sofa with Evie nestled between them, and read to her until the girl had trouble staying awake. Oona carried her up to the curved hallway and helped her change into a nightdress. She sat on the edge of her former bed, singing softly to her little sister until the child fell asleep.

  Kitlyn hovered close, smiling, silent until they’d stepped out into the hall and closed the door. “It is so good to see her happy. I wonder if this is how it feels to have a daughter.”

  “I’m not one to ask that.” Oona smiled. “Perhaps you could speak to Margaret and see if she concurs.”

  “I could. Speaking of seeking counsel… let us do just that.”

  Oona nodded, and followed Kitlyn across the castle to Beredwyn’s chambers. He answered the door after a moment, still dressed in his advisor’s robes—though without the hat on.

  “Ahh, no two better faces could appear at my door to bring an old man a moment of pride.” He grinned while resting a hand on each of their shoulders. “I hope nothing troubles you at this hour.”

  Here in the relative privacy of the advisors’ hall, he behaved more akin to the grandfather of two young women than advisor to the queen and her wife. Perhaps because the man had always been kind to Kitlyn, Oona didn’t at all mind the casualness. In fact, she found herself drawn to him even more in the absence of her not-father. He knew who I was all along… Overcome for a brief moment, she hugged him.

  Beredwyn patted her back. “There, there, girl. What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing is wrong.” She stepped back, smiling. “I am merely happy to have you looking out for us. You’re the closest I have to a father.”

  “Something troubles you, however.” Beredwyn glanced back and forth between them.

  Kitlyn nodded. “The situation with the Nimse is not yet at an end. There is more we must do, and I believe you will not be fond of it.”

  “Oh, by Lucen.” Beredwyn’s thick grey eyebrows went up. “This is not a conversation for a doorway. Please…” He backed up and gestured into the room.

  Oona entered, heading for a small table with cushioned chairs around it. Kitlyn sat beside her, Beredwyn across from them. Having returned from Underholm directly to their bedchamber, they spent a while telling him of their journey, what they had learned of the Nimse—and what they promised to do.

  “That is quite a remarkable tale.” Beredwyn stroked his beard with slow, sweeping pulls.

  Kitlyn sat forward, head in her hands. “I cannot discern a reason for why most mention of the Na’vir was removed from the library. It suggests something occurred that one of my predecessors had felt great shame over.”

  “The sorcerer was… or is from Lucernia.” Oona fidgeted. “It may be possible that they simply wished to conceal that one who trafficked in demons had ties to the kingdom.”

  “But to conceal the existence of an entire civilization?” Kitlyn looked over at her. “Why?”

  “To speak of the Na’vir would invariably lead to talk of their downfall, and the source of that downfall came from Lucernia.” Oona plucked a bit of lint from her dress. “Or I suppose a prior king tried to cleanse the demons from Underholm and failed to do so, thus he wished to conceal the shame of defeat.”

  Beredwyn exhaled. “It also may simply be the thought that the Na’vir hoarded knowledge of all kinds without regard for what it contained and they wished to prevent anyone from venturing there in search of the forbidden.”

  Oona bit her lip, staring at him. “Oh. Yes. That also makes sense.”

  “There is more.” Kitlyn broke eye contact with
him. “We intend to locate this creature and confront it.”

  Beredwyn paled. “Kitlyn, you speak of an ancient horror steeped in demonic power. I cannot advise you to confront it directly. Bad enough you risked entering Underholm.”

  “I also question how it is we are to face such an old and powerful horror.” Oona grasped her knees, trying to hide the trembles in her hands. “Such a thing ought to terrify me into hiding under my blankets, but it doesn’t. Lucen will protect us.”

  A pained grimace spread over Beredwyn’s lips.

  “Do you not trust in him?” asked Oona.

  “Oh, it isn’t that. You are both so young. To challenge even a living sorcerer seems… dangerous, much less one who defies Tenebrea.”

  Kitlyn reached toward the floor, liquefying a tiny blot of stone that flew up to weave among her fingers, shrouded in green glow. “How many people our age could topple Castle Cimril?”

  He sighed.

  “There is something more.” Oona glanced aside. “I feel we must go alone.”

  Beredwyn coughed. “Out of the question. Too risky. Too dangerous.”

  Kitlyn let the small stone glide back where it came from and smoothed the floor before hardening it. “You care for us like a father—or grandfather—should. Yet, we are no longer little.”

  He regarded her with sad eyes.

  Oona reached over the table and took his hand. “I am certain that if we do not go alone, needless death will occur.”

  “Do you think that this sorcerer may turn our soldiers against you?” asked Beredwyn.

  “I hadn’t even thought of that.” Oona pressed a hand over her heart, her nerves prickling. “Is something like that even possible?”

  “Alas, I know not. Lucernia is quite civilized. Few ‘creatures’ roam our lands. Not like the northern reaches of Ondar or the woods of Evermoor. Magical beasts of all types roam the untamed lands west of the Dawnspire Mountains or elsewhere on the continent. We have tamed our land.”

  Oona looked down. “Why does that sound so much like we killed everything?”

  “Oh, child,” said Beredwyn with a hint of sigh in his voice. “All of that happened long before even I was born. Some creatures still exist here but they are rare. Yet, Lucernia still holds dangers. Bandits for example. And there is still a small chance you may stumble across something inhuman.”

  Kitlyn scowled at the wall. “We already have. Can you consider what my father did to be the work of a human?”

  Beredwyn leaned back as if slapped.

  Kitlyn’s glare softened. “I am referring to his theft of the Heart, not the life he forced upon me. Thousands died to his futile quest for power. The gods are watching us. After the crimes Lucernia committed against Evermoor, if we can help the Na’vir, we must. And if Oona says we are to venture off alone, I trust her.”

  “Let us not forget the lesson of The Foretelling.” Oona shook her head. “We are all succumbing to fear and jumping to conclusions, assuming we will need to destroy this sorcerer. It may well be possible we discover a means to assist the Na’vir without laying eyes on the fiend at all.”

  “The queen said he stole her crown. That may be the focus of the curse. If we can find it, perhaps all we need do is sneak in and recover it?” Kitlyn sat tall. “You’re right. This could be much simpler than we are assuming it to be.”

  Oona gazed into nothingness for a moment. Indistinct shapes of men in armor, smiling bearded faces, a woman raising a mug in toast, came and went. “I am not afraid. We should set out in the morning.”

  “You’ve only just returned.” Beredwyn grasped the edge of the table. “However, I should place my trust in Lucen. Though, after Aodh, I worry that our people may question those who claim to act in his name.”

  “There is a difference quite obvious to me.” Kitlyn took Oona’s hand. “She says Lucen guides her to do this, not that he wants others to heed her words. My father constantly spoke of how Lucen demanded people fear and hate Evermoor, but he spoke of his own desires. Oona is not asking or demanding anyone else act.”

  Beredwyn gazed at the table for an awkward long moment. “That is an interesting observation. But what if Lucen does command the people?”

  “Then he would speak to them individually.” Oona smiled.

  “I still object to the idea that the two of you should venture out without protection.”

  “No entourage of armed soldiers followed me across Evermoor.” Kitlyn folded her arms.

  “At the time, no one knew who you were.” Beredwyn tapped the table. “Now you are the queen.”

  “And now the war is over. There are no assassins… except maybe for the ones Fauhurst may send.”

  “Exactly.” Beredwyn also folded his arms, seeming satisfied.

  “Simple.” Kitlyn pointed at him. “Tell no one that we have gone nor where we are going for at least two days, if at all. If there is still anyone about who would betray us to that wretch of a man, he would need time to set up another ambush. We shall deny him that.”

  A sense of confident peace settled over Oona without apparent cause. “That is a good plan. I feel it will work. Lucen guides us.”

  “Very well.” Beredwyn leaned over the table and took their hands. “I shall do as you ask, but know that you cause an old man a great amount of worry. However, I shouldn’t diminish that I no longer see the spoiled princess nor the quiet-suffering young girl you were not so long ago sitting before me. Both of you have strength beyond anything I could’ve imagined or hoped for. May the gods protect you.”

  “They shall.” Oona stood, filled with inexplicable confidence. “We should rest now.”

  “Indeed.” Beredwyn yawned. “Though I dare say I shall not be sleeping well this eve.”

  “You sound like Princess Oona.” Kitlyn smiled.

  Beredwyn laughed and stood to hug them both.

  A shrill child’s scream ripped Oona from a restful sleep. Kitlyn sat up at the same moment, and they both stared at the door of their room. Once the fog in her head cleared enough to recognize the shout as Evie’s, Oona leapt out of bed, grabbed her longsword, and ran down the hall to her former bedchamber, Kitlyn running close behind.

  By the time she reached the door, the screaming faded to soft sobs and Evie wailing Oona’s name.

  She barged in to find the girl cowering under the bedding, completely out of sight. “Evie?”

  “Oona!” Evie pulled the blanket back enough to peer out.

  “What’s wrong?” Oona set the blade on a divan she passed on the way to the bed, hopped up to sit on the edge, and pulled her sister into a hug.

  Evie clung, and burst into tears again, shaking.

  “Shh.” Oona rocked her. “Shh… what happened?”

  The girl continued trembling for a few minutes. Kitlyn sat nearby and helped hug her.

  “I saw a ghost,” whispered Evie, pointing toward the tall wardrobe cabinets. “He was standing there watching me.”

  “Was it my father?” asked Kitlyn.

  Evie lifted her face away from Oona’s shoulder, eyes red from crying. Despite appearing terrified, her downcast posture suggested she believed she’d done something wrong. “I don’t know. I didn’t really look at him. I screamed and hid under the blankets.”

  While Oona held Evie, Kitlyn went over to examine the cabinets and wall between them, yawning the whole time. Eventually, she shrugged.

  “Nothing… it takes the Stone a while to build a memory. And there are quite a bit of footsteps here.”

  “It’s where I always used to stand to be dressed.” Oona sighed.

  “Please don’t become maudlin over my not being your proper handmaiden.” Kitlyn returned to the bed and kissed Oona on the cheek. “I’m at peace with it.”

  “Can I sleep with you tonight?” Evie trembled. “I’m scared the ghost will come back. He looked mean.”

  Oona lifted her and stood. “Of course. Ghosts know better than to mess with me and Kit.”

  Kitlyn ruffle
d Evie’s hair.

  The girl sniffled, managed a weak smile, and rested her head on Oona’s shoulder.

  She’s having a scare because we’re leaving again. Or maybe she’s heard so many in the castle talking about ghosts of late. Frowning, Oona carried her little sister back to the royal bedroom.

  With Kitlyn and Oona on either side of her nestled in warmth, the child went back to sleep.

  Perched in a saddle atop Cloud, Oona dwelled upon the sad-eyed stare Evie gave her when they told her they needed to leave the castle again. Despite the girl not protesting or complaining, one brief expression of disappointment weighed more heavily on Oona’s heart than Beredwyn’s worries for their safety. Of course, they hadn’t told Evie anything about an ancient sorcerer, only that they had to help a great number of people.

  The Mistral Wood passed on both sides as they followed the road north from Cimril. Even if another group of bandits did lurk so close to the capital, she doubted they’d be active this early in the day. Bandits tended to stay up late with drink. Kitlyn and Oona had departed right after breakfast.

  Halorne, the stable master, likely suspected they didn’t intend to go out for a relaxing morning ride considering the saddlebags, supplies, and provisions they’d packed. In response to the look he gave them, Kitlyn explained the truth, and bid him keep quiet for at least two days—unless Fauhurst showed up in the dungeon sooner.

  A gentle wind rustled the treetops overhead, causing the occasional leaf to fall or drift by in a meandering path like a moth that drank too much ale. Clear blue sky peeked past gaps in the branches. The beautiful day still had enough crispness that her armor didn’t feel overly warm. In fact, she’d added a cloak. She glanced with amusement at Kitlyn wearing boots, a sign she didn’t expect much trouble—at least not yet. Of course, on horseback, she couldn’t exactly touch the ground anyway.

  They reached the edge of the woods a little before midday and decided to stop there briefly to eat and rest while discussing how much they didn’t know about the ancient sorcerer or where exactly he might lair.