The Cursed Crown

by Matthew S. Cox

  The deserters emitted a collective gasp.

  “That is a bold accusation.” Beowyn stared at her. “To speak so ill of the king would be dangerous were you still within Lucernia. Have you any proof of this?”

  “King Talomir attempted to steal the power of the Heart. He drank of its sap, but it did not give him what he sought. He bade Queen Solana to drink of the sap, but it did not give her any power either.”

  “Who is this girl that she speaks so freely with disdain about the king and his dead wife?” whispered Keal.

  Kitlyn reached her arms out toward the ground and sent her magic into the earth. Emerald light glowed at her hands, drawing forth a pair of six-foot stone spires behind the tree she’d been sitting on. She raised her hands, making the magic glow brighter. “The Alderswood trusted that I would help set things right. It gave me its power when I was within Queen Solara’s womb.” She hardened her stare not out of anger but to increase her resemblance to her father. “I am Kitlyn Talomir, daughter of Aodh.”

  A gentle hand gripped her left arm. “And I am Oona. A simple farm girl who bore Lucen’s gift, taken as a decoy for assassins to protect the true heir.”

  The deserters stared in silent shock.

  “W-w-what is… if you…” Galfred blinked at her. “If you’re the true princess, why are you here in Ondar? Has Castle Cimril fallen?”

  Kitlyn sent the stone back underground and relaxed her magic. “No. My father is dead. The war is over.”

  “If King Talomir is dead then…” Frith pointed at her. “Were you chased into exile?”

  “No.” Kitlyn took Oona’s hand.

  “That would mean you’ve become…” Keal blinked.

  “Queen. Yes. And Oona is my wife.”

  Galfred emitted a weak moan and passed out. Isha caught him before he fell flat and eased him to the ground.

  “The entire war was a lie.” Kitlyn looked over the deserters. “I am inclined to understand why you fled to Ondar, though I am not entirely sure if it counts as you having abandoned the people you had sworn to protect.”

  Niron coughed, pounding a fist into his chest a few times. “I am mostly responsible for this. I was a captain. Being on the front lines, I saw with my own eyes that the Evermoor forces didn’t attack innocent people as the king claimed. I suspected they searched for something. The more I saw, the more I couldn’t reconcile it with the orders coming out of Cimril. My soldiers were dying for nothing, and Lucen stood idly by.”

  “Gods’ time is not our time.” Oona squeezed Kitlyn’s hand. “Lucen did set things right.”

  “Did you usurp the throne?” Isha tilted her head at Kitlyn with an expression that suggested she would cheer an affirmative answer.

  “No. It is with reluctance I accepted the crown. I did not want power, nor did I truly wish my father to die. The temple was to declare him apostate. Rather than suffer that humiliation, he sent himself to Tenebrea.”

  Isha snarled at nothing in particular.

  “I didn’t black out because you married a girl,” said Galfred from the ground. “I can’t believe I asked the queen to go for a walk in the woods.”

  “His skill at charming the ladies is about as honed as his marksmanship.” Frith rubbed his arm.

  Oona laughed.

  “Speaking of…” Beowyn tilted his head. “I imagine that did not go over well in Cimril.”

  Kitlyn lowered herself to sit on the felled tree and explained her father’s challenge to the gods to show their disapproval in person followed by Tenebrea appearing to bless the two of them. That led into a more detailed explanation of her unexpected journey into Evermoor via abduction, and eventual return of the Eldritch Heart to Prince Ralen.

  “That is… quite a tale.” Bertan exhaled, raising both eyebrows.

  The gesture made him look like a small boy impressed with a bedtime story—and Kitlyn realized why he looked familiar.

  “Do you have a son named Ral?”

  Bertan bowed his head. “Aye.” He paused, then looked up, head tilted. “How do you know that?”

  “I met him. He… well, your family believes you are dead. He misses you.” Kitlyn put a hand on his arm.

  Bertan clenched his jaw, two tears racing each other down his cheeks.

  “Go to them.” Kitlyn grasped his arm.

  “If we are caught… they will execute us.” Frith shuddered. “Bert’s family already believes he’s dead. We may as well all be.”

  Oona set her hands on her hips. “That isn’t right.”

  “Oh, it is.” Isha frowned. “Deserters are executed.”

  “No, I mean it isn’t right.” Oona looked at Kitlyn. “The whole war was an affront against Lucen. Their refusing to participate in it is no more a crime than us demanding your father return the Heart. In fact, barking at the king and publicly calling him a liar is probably far worse.”

  Galfred rolled to his feet. “You did?”

  Oona indicated Kitlyn with a jabbing thumb. “She nearly tore down the castle. The man was rather stubborn.”

  Kitlyn suppressed the urge to chuckle and kept a serious face. “There is no reason for any of you to stay here. The war is ended and its pretense was false. You all saw the lie of it and refused to perpetuate the deception and killing.” Kitlyn looked from one soldier to the next. “I can’t hold it against you for acting in accordance with Lucen’s ideals. I realize we’re out here in the middle of nowhere with nothing to write on and my crown is back in safe keeping, but I will decree you are all reinstated if you wish, or pardoned.”

  The former deserters glanced around at each other with tentative smiles.

  “What brought you to Crows’ Corner?” Bertan cleared his throat in a poor attempt to hide the loss in his voice. “You saw Ral? Is he okay?”

  “He’s healthy but misses you. I understand you might not wish to return before I’ve had paperwork drawn up, but I cannot go back to Lucernia until I finish what we came here for. As far as why we were at Crows’ Corner…” Kitlyn explained the Nimse attacks and their meeting with the queen.

  Most of the deserters shuddered at the description of the underground city filled to teeming with giant razor-toothed mouths.

  Niron stepped up to Kitlyn. “Highness, it would be my pleasure to accompany you on this journey. I would not feel right standing idle while you travel unescorted.”

  “Aye.” Galfred bowed.

  One by one, the others all nodded.

  “I will return to my family.” Bertan took a knee. “After I have seen you safely back to Lucernia.”

  Kitlyn put a hand on Oona’s shoulder, thinking of Donal tempting fate. “Don’t say it.”

  “Don’t say what?”

  “Donal,” muttered Kitlyn.

  “Oh.” Oona opened her mouth, pondered, then closed it. “Yes. I don’t think Lucen would lead us here only to allow that to happen.”

  “Right.” Kitlyn clapped. “Do any of you know a place on the Ondari side of the Titan Peaks like what we’re looking for?”

  “Not rightly.” Niron leaned on a tree. “But the town of Imbrec is close. We may find someone there who can help with information.”

  “Didn’t you say we hoped to avoid appearing like an invading army?” Oona raised an eyebrow. “We’d be traveling with seven soldiers obviously in Lucernian armor.”

  “We’ve got cloaks and know how to blend in. No point to that out here in the woods.” Niron grunted and stood away from the tree.

  Kitlyn walked over to a spot of open ground near the lean-tos and tents. “Will you be ready to break camp in the morning? Is your leg up to the task?”

  “Aye. Merely sore. Decent enough to ride with, thanks to Orien. Morning it is.”

  The soldiers stood frozen in enthralled silence as Kitlyn summoned roots into another dome-shaped shelter. She retrieved their bedrolls from the area by the horse enclosure and crawled inside to unfurl them.

  Oona scooted halfway in, helping, humming to herself and grinning
.

  “He guided you to find these soldiers so we could bring them home.”

  “I believe that, yes.” Oona crawled the rest of the way in and lay on her side. “And maybe we needed their help, too.”

  Kitlyn flopped on her back, then removed her sword belt and boots. “I do not know what surprises me more… that I continue to pursue an ancient undead sorcerer without feeling like we travel to our doom, or that none of the soldiers appeared in the least bit horrified at us.”

  “Why would they be?”

  “At us.” Kitlyn rolled her head to look at Oona. “You know.”

  “Oh.” She shrugged, still smiling. “You should be more surprised that you’re not afraid of the sorcerer. Love shouldn’t even compare to an undead horror.”

  “Alas, that’s not the kingdom we live in.” Kitlyn took her hand. “But perhaps it is the kingdom Lucernia can become.”

  “Kit?”

  “Yes?”

  “Lucernia has two queens on the throne. Why do we still call it a kingdom?”

  Kitlyn laughed. “That is a good question. Queendom sounds strange.”

  “Only because you’re so used to hearing kingdom.”

  “Does it bother you to use kingdom?”

  Oona remained silent for a few seconds. “No, not really. Just struck me as odd.”

  “Are you going to stay up all night worrying about what to call Lucernia?”

  “No.” Oona snuggled close beside her. “I’m going to stay up all night terrified of an undead sorcerer.”

  29

  Imbrec

  Oona

  Oona yawned. The gentle sway of Cloud’s walking gait nearly rocked her to sleep.

  Her joke to Kitlyn came partially true. She had difficulty falling asleep, but not exactly due to fearing Voldreth… more the conflict of knowing she should be terrified but found herself believing they had a reasonable chance of survival. Debating between trying to be sneaky or perhaps suggesting Kitlyn ask Omun to come mash the entire place flat kept her thinking late into the night.

  He’s only a skeleton in a robe. We don’t even need Omun. Kit could flatten him with a big rock.

  She yawned again and tried to sit up straight so she didn’t pass out and fall off the horse. The soldiers had all wrapped themselves in brown or dark blue cloaks with voluminous hoods that made them look more like an esoteric order of woodland mystics than soldiers. As they had only five horses, Beowyn walked while Isha and Galfred, being the two lightest, shared one. He clung to her back while she had the reins—and he still blushed from Isha’s hours-ago suggestion that he ask to ride with Kitlyn. Of course, she hadn’t been serious.

  Oona grinned to herself. Kit would’ve agreed just to get him back for flirting with her.

  A few hours past noon, the woodland road led them to a large break in the woods where stone walls surrounded a square city a little over a mile on each side. Four men in blue tunics over full chain mail armor stood guard by the gate. They offered only passing glances at them. She doubted anyone from Ondar would recognize her or Kitlyn, especially without crowns or ridiculous dresses. If anything, someone might question their armor being of Lucernian design, though theirs didn’t have as much chain mail reinforcement as the soldiers’ did.

  Inside, most of the buildings also appeared quite similar to each other, of regular size and mostly square. Some structures taller than one story resembled castle towers. All the streets formed a perfect grid with no hint of meandering alleys or curved paths. None of the citizens wore bright colors, their relatively drab garments designed for function and comfort rather than appearance. With the exception of children, most people she saw hurried back and forth with evident destinations and little time to spare. A handful of merchant types wore somewhat finer clothing of deep green or dark blue, but also moved down the street at purposeful strides, barely sparing anyone a glance.

  When people did happen to look at each other, which twice occurred more as an unavoidable circumstance due to near collision—they stopped and got into a friendly conversation. Oona turned her head to continue watching one such chat as they rode past.

  Is everyone afraid to make eye contact to avoid an hour-long talk? She chuckled to herself.

  Niron, who led their group, turned at a corner. Four cross-streets later, they entered an appropriately square town square. At its center stood a moving fountain statue depicting a well-muscled man in armor with a winged helm, bulging arms, and a long beard. The larger-than-life-sized figure held an unfinished sword across an anvil while his other arm moved up and down with a hammer. Each time the hammer came close to the anvil, spurts of water shot out in all directions, a simulation of sparks flying.

  That must be the Steelfather.

  She ogled it, marveling at the craftsmanship. Shops on the left offered various items from clothing to jewelry to pocket watches, even weapons. Oona sighed internally at them, as they reminded her how, not too long ago, her greatest desire had been freedom from the castle to go into the city and spend money on random useless things. How naïve I was.

  Compared to Cimril, this small city at the edge of Ondar looked quite clean and noticeably happier. They haven’t suffered twenty years of war.

  Niron turned right at a blacksmith’s shop and continued past several city blocks of plain four-story buildings. Each had a footprint not much larger than a normal city home, but made from stone like castles instead of wood. Steps on the outside led to three doors with the fourth at ground level.

  It’s four separate houses stacked on top of each other… Not easy to expand the city with such a big wall around it.

  Their procession came to a stop at a large inn named The Hammer and the Anvil. Niron eased himself down from his horse and stiff-legged it over to the porch where he handed some coins to a boy of about ten in a neat grey tunic.

  “Minnit.” The child bowed and dashed inside.

  Since the other former deserters all dismounted, Oona did as well. The boy returned soon with two others, one the same age, the other closer to fifteen. The boys proceeded to lead the horses around the back, presumably to a stable. Oona spent a few minutes patting and talking to Cloud until one of the smaller boys approached her. She patted him on the head and handed over the reins. The horse didn’t appear to mind the child, so she trusted him and headed inside with the others once the eldest took Apples with him around back.

  The soldiers had taken seats around a huge circular table near the back corner of a large room. Dark brown wooden stairs along the right wall led to the second floor, likely lodgings. The scent of ale and roasting meat thickened the air to the point Oona almost felt full from merely breathing. Men and women in tunics of brown, grey, and black sat at tables eating, drinking, or talking. A few snippets of conversation as she hurried to her table suggested Ondari people had great difficulty ending social meetings. No one appeared to want to be the ‘rude one’ to say they had to go somewhere else.

  She kept her head down and took a seat beside Beowyn. His size made her feel tiny, but having him between her and the rest of the room lent a sense of security. Kitlyn sat on her right side. Within a few minutes, a late-thirties woman with light brown hair and perhaps the most elaborate dress she’d yet seen in Ondar approached. The stone-grey garment bared the woman’s shoulders, trimmed in white at the top, cuffs, and hem. A white tunic/apron ran down the front. Soft black shoes bereft of decoration covered her feet. Oona thought it compared to the castle maids’ dresses, in color, complexity, and overall look.

  The woman spoke rapidly in a heavy accent. Oona managed to pick out that she introduced herself as Astrid.

  Beowyn responded in a similar rapid cadence sounding almost exactly like the woman. His deep voice created a vibration in the seat of Oona’s chair. The woman nodded at him. The others all said short phrases back to her as she looked around the table, Galfred’s answer of “mead” the only one she recognized.

  Are they speaking another language or is… Prince Lanwick
didn’t sound at all like this. The words are similar but they pronounce them oddly. She glanced over at another table, catching the word ‘Steelfather,’ but it sounded more like the man said ‘stale feather.’

  Oona smiled when the woman looked at her. “House wine.”

  Astrid nodded before glancing to Kitlyn. “And for you?”

  “Wine as well.”

  “Aye, Miss.” Astrid bowed slightly and whisked off to the bar.

  Niron cleared his throat. “Once we’re done eating, I’ll check with the bartender here since my leg… Isha, you check with whatever temple you can find. Galf, head west and check other inns and taverns. Keal, north. Beowyn, south. Bert, east. Frith, you and I will stick here with the ladies.”

  “Fairly certain the waitress already knows we’re from the south.” Frith chuckled. “Lady Oona rather gave it away.”

  She leaned forward. “Are they speaking another language?”

  The soldiers chuckled.

  “This far south, they tend to speak in a blend of Ondari and Lucernian. Go north or west from here and the influence fades. Then it becomes another language.” Niron yawned. “People here use words from both, but they accent them differently.”

  “Yes, so it seems.” She pondered people in Evermoor speaking mostly the same language as Lucernian with altered inflections… similar to the difference between nobles and commoners. But if what the Nimse Queen said is true, perhaps the humans in Evermoor had originally migrated east from Lucernia some ages ago when the elves retreated? That would explain the similarity of language.

  Astrid returned with a big tray and handed out drinks. “There ya be. We’ve got a lovely roast ham ready, chicken, venison, nibbler stew, mutton stew, and fish.”

  Oona ordered fish, Kitlyn took the chicken. The soldiers varied, many opting for the ham. Astrid returned right away with a tray of bread, cheese, and apple slices, which everyone picked at. A while later, the actual food came out, another woman and the two smaller boys that took the horses helping carry.