The Cursed Crown

by Matthew S. Cox

  Oona followed, as did about ten soldiers.

  The withered queen looked like a long-forgotten doll slumped in the throne. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the glaring orb. Dozens of Nimse swarmed in, collecting behind the humans, though they gave off curiosity more than threat.

  “You are back so soon? You only just left.” The queen leaned closer, her glimmering amethyst eyes widening. “That’s not my crown. You are wearing the wrong crown.” She jabbed a finger at Oona. “So is that one. Not the right crown.” Her lips opened in a snarl, bearing tiny, sharpened teeth.

  “Good queen of the Na’vir, I bid you a moment’s pause.” Kitlyn gestured at Oona.

  “This belongs to you.” Oona pulled the miniature crown out from the satchel and held it up.

  The small woman with wrinkled ink-black skin twitched and emitted a raspy squeal, her eyes wide and glowing pale pink-purple. “Give it here! Give!”

  Oona hurried forward to hand it over.

  A tad ungrateful… Kitlyn bit her lip, wondering if perhaps the curse overwhelmed her manners.

  “My crown!” squealed the Nimse Queen, turning it over in her hands, eyes brimming with tears.

  The mass of Nimse filling the room emitted a collective, awed, “ooooooh” in a chorus of high-pitched voices.

  Shaking, the wrinkled little woman scooted back on her throne, raised the crown, and set it down upon her wild grey-white mane.

  Two orbs of pale spirit light emerged from the crown and whirled around, rising into the air, spinning faster and faster until they became a solid circle. After a few seconds, the energy ring burst outward, expanding across the whole room and vanishing into the walls.

  Color washed down from the woman’s head, turning her hair a beautiful shade of metallic copper. Her skin changed color, becoming the pale near-white of someone who hadn’t seen the sun in centuries. Wrinkles faded to the smooth contours of a woman not quite thirty. Though she had the physical size of a ten-year-old human child, her shape left no doubt as to her adulthood. Her amethyst eyes brightened to a purplish magical glow.

  The Na’vir queen shuddered and slumped back against the throne, gasping for breath.

  A high-pitched scream fell from the ceiling. Kitlyn whirled, barely catching sight of the Nimse that fell. The sea of tiny black bodies keeled over as if ill. One by one, clouds of silvery-white light burst around them. The mist soon faded, revealing a mass of naked people roughly half the size of humans. A sea of startled, glowing eyes in dozens of hues gazed back at her.

  Kitlyn gasped and whirled away from several hundred tiny, nude—and highly confused—Na’vir. Of course… the Nimse were feral creatures. They didn’t have anything on.

  “By Ximren’s quill, I will need to replace this gown.” The Na’vir queen regarded herself. Pale skin showed from numerous holes in the rotting, once-grand dress.

  The soldiers stifled snickers at watching the overjoyed, but embarrassed crowd scramble to cover themselves.

  “It seems quite a bit of new clothing is needed here.” Kitlyn managed a smile.

  “After a thousand years, there’s barely a scrap of fabric in Underholm that hasn’t rotted.” The tiny woman eyed her dress, seeming afraid to move lest it fall apart. “Our gardens are likely dead and will need to be cultivated. Our conjurers can produce some garments, but the magic is not permanent. You have done a service beyond measure for my people.”

  Outside the great hall, joyful cheers, mortified screams, and sorrowful wails at the destruction echoed.

  The patter of bare feet approached behind them, and a small voice cleared her throat.

  Kitlyn and Oona turned toward each other, glancing down at a dark-haired woman who barely stood taller than their belts. Her eyes radiated a soft cobalt blue light and a rather large bruise covered her right side from armpit to hip.

  “I am Xira.” The small woman bowed at them, some pain evident in her expression. “I apologize for attacking you. Thank you for sparing my life.”

  “You…” Oona took a knee, still blushing.

  “Yes. You spared my life and let me crawl back into the burrow. The curse compelled me to eat and kill.”

  Kitlyn found it uncomfortable to look at her between guilt at almost killing her, awkwardness at her lack of clothing, and fighting the urge to be condescending and think of a tiny person as cute or childlike. The woman appeared to be around eighteen, which for a Na’vir, would equate to roughly 180 years of age, well older than her. “Please forgive me for the Nimse that I’ve hurt.”

  Oona bit her lip, blushed brighter red, but placed her hand on the woman’s side. Orien’s light glowed in a bloom of golden warmth. When it faded, the bruise shrank to a sixth of its former size.

  Xira gasped, nearly losing her balance. Her eyes fluttered and a dazed smile parted her lips. “Ooh! The pain is much less. What did you do?”

  A man nearby spoke rapidly in the indecipherable language.

  “Oh, yes. Orien.” Xira curtsied. “You are so kind and generous to heal me after I tried to harm you. Thank you.”

  The queen stood, clutching her disaster of a gown, and stepped down from the throne. “The curse compelled my people to be monsters. We cannot blame you for defending yourselves. Even I had difficulty resisting the urge to devour. You have given us back our lives.” The queen flashed a broad smile, revealing normal—unpointy—teeth. Tears gathered in her eyes. Overcome with joy, she lurched forward, grabbing Kitlyn and Oona in an embrace around their hips.

  “Would it be insulting if I picked you up?” asked Kitlyn. “The temptation is overwhelming.”

  The queen stepped back, fists on her hips. “That is one thing about surface dwellers I will never understand. Why do they all have an urge to do that to us?”

  “I think it would be a little insulting, yes.” Oona glanced at Kitlyn. “She’s not a child.”

  “Let us start this over.” The small woman struck as regal a pose as her tattered gown allowed. “I am Lady Xorana of the house Nazadur, Queen of the Na’vir and ruler of Underholm.”

  Kitlyn offered a nod of greeting. “I am Lady Kitlyn Talomir, Queen of Lucernia. This is Lady Oona Talomir, my wife.” She hesitated a second. “Queen Consort of Lucernia.”

  Oona also nodded in greeting. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Queen Xorana.”

  A roar of applause rose up behind them.

  Kitlyn glanced back—a few hundred Na’vir abruptly ceased clapping to cover themselves with their hands.

  Queen Xorana’s eyebrows went up. “Your wife? I am impressed. I did not think humans, especially Lucernians, would tolerate a love like yours at all, much less for their royals. Perhaps much has changed in the past thousand years.”

  “The old doctrines were misinterpreted.” Kitlyn took Oona’s hand. “The gods themselves have smiled upon us, and for that, I will ever be grateful.”

  Oona beamed.

  “You have done my people and me a great service. I declare you friends of Underholm. It will, however, take us many years to rebuild. It is also likely that many of my people may take quite a long time to trust humans again, though your actions give us hope. In time, we may re-open the gates of Underholm to trade.”

  “As soon as you feel the time is ready, I would be honored to receive your emissaries.” Kitlyn squeezed Oona’s hand. “However, I believe some early trading may be in order. I can send wagons bearing food, fabric, and thread as soon as I return to my home.”

  Queen Xorana fidgeted at her dress. “Perhaps, in that case, it would be wise to hasten the re-establishment of trade, yes. We have gems and precious metals we can offer as payment. Once we have repaired Underholm to a proper state, I will invite you as honored guests for a celebration. You will, of course, forgive me as we are… not ready for such a visit yet.”

  Kitlyn twisted to peek behind her, letting out a relieved sigh at the empty room no longer wall to wall with nakedness. “I understand. We shall bid our leave then.”

&nbs
p; Once more overcome with emotion, Queen Xorana moved in to hug them. Kitlyn hastily squatted, accepting the embrace at eye level, as did Oona.

  “Farewell, Queen Kitlyn and Lady Oona.” Queen Xorana bowed her head, her almost floor-long hair falling over her like a curtain of coppery strands. “Travel with safety and honor.”

  Oona held out her hand, beaming a huge smile. Kitlyn took it, and walked with her out of the great hall.

  37

  Small Torments

  Oona

  Oona found herself awake.

  Ordinarily, that wouldn’t have bothered her if not for it being quite late at night. She snuggled close to Kitlyn’s warmth under the covers in the vast softness of their bed in Castle Cimril. Neither of them had bothered to put a nightdress on once they’d finished experimenting with some of those ‘things’ Ruby had so feared they’d done before marriage.

  Unable to explain why she’d snapped out of sleep, she closed her eyes again.

  Fingertips brushed across her cheek.

  “Wake,” whispered a feminine voice.

  Oona opened her eyes and rolled to her left, peering up at a pale girl of about fifteen. Long slate-grey hair hung past her knees, the last foot or so metallic silver. She wore a simple black dress, bare toes peeking out from under the hem. A strong melancholy presence wafted from her, though she regarded Oona with a faint smile.

  Her sleep-fogged brain took a few seconds to realize she stared up at someone who looked exactly like Tenebrea. She blinked. Her eyes shot open wide.

  The girl-who-looked-too-much-like-Tenebrea gestured toward the wall, a note of warning in her expression. Before Oona could open her mouth to say a word, the young girl disappeared into thin air, nothing but a semi-luminous silver fog clinging to the floor where she’d been.

  Eep! She didn’t ‘look like’ Tenebrea. She was Tenebrea. Oona stared at the wall, noting nothing more alarming than a bookshelf. She sat up out from under the blanket and shook Kitlyn’s shoulder until she woke.

  Kitlyn scrunched up her face and twisted to peer up at her.

  Click.

  That bookshelf swung inward at a slow creep, like an opening door.

  Kitlyn sat up.

  A wild-haired man in dingy cream-colored robes liberally stained with dirt edged around the bookshelf. He clutched a dagger in one hand, the other gripping the bookshelf/door, but at the sight of four bare breasts staring him in the face, he froze. The odor of whiskey drifted by.

  Tenebrea warned me. Oona’s jaw hung open. “He means to kill us.”

  Kitlyn leapt out of bed, naked as a newborn babe, and grabbed her longsword from its sheath leaning against the wall. “Fauhurst…”

  “What?” Oona looked back and forth between them. “That’s Fauhurst? I thought he was a beggar?”

  “I’d recognize those cruel eyes anywhere.” Kitlyn pointed her blade at him.

  “Kit. Put something on,” whispered Oona.

  “This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve killed a man while not wearing pants.”

  She locked stares with Fauhurst. He squeezed and relaxed his grip on the dagger, a manic look in his eye.

  Feeling more trapped by the bedding than embarrassed, Oona chose mobility and scrambled to her feet. Scarlet-faced, she grabbed her longsword and tried to put on an air of authority. “What do you mean this wouldn’t be the first time?”

  “I told you about that man in the keep… yanked my breeches down to trip me up.”

  “Oh.” Oona padded to the end of the bed and glared at the former advisor. “You came here to kill us.”

  “How did you get in here?” Kitlyn stepped closer to him, no trace of fear or hesitation.

  Fauhurst gazed between them, a bit of manic drool rolling down the beard he hadn’t shaved in weeks.

  “As an advisor, he knows all the secret passages. He ran off after we confronted the king and never came back to have his keys taken away.” Oona let anger keep her from being mortified, and also took a step toward him. “The castle hasn’t been haunted with a ghost. It was him!”

  “Wretches,” hissed Fauhurst. “The two of you. Impure! Dare you stand before a man not your husband in a state of undress?”

  Kitlyn took another step. “What do you call a man who sneaks into a young woman’s bedchamber at night?”

  “If you kill me, it will show everyone your true intentions.” Fauhurst backed away from the secret door, making jabby twitching motions with the knife. “They’ll all know you mean to force your abomination on the kingdom. Soon, it will be the pure love between man and woman that’s viewed as a crime against Lucen.”

  “You’ve completely lost your mind.” Kitlyn stalked toward him. “The people will think nothing of the sort, or did you forget that sneaking into the queen’s room in the middle of the night with a dagger makes you a wretched cur of a coward assassin?”

  “It’s obvious you are a coward. You hoped to catch us sleeping. Two small women our size, not even dressed, and you still fear coming anywhere near us.” Oona edged closer. “Put down that dagger or I’ll be forced to show you everything Guard Lorne has taught us.”

  Kitlyn raised her sword. “Drop that dagger or try to use it, cur.”

  A metal candleholder rose up behind Fauhurst.

  He pointed at them. “Stay back! Don’t bring your abom—”

  The candleholder came down on his head with a dull clonk. He emitted a weak whimper of a moan and collapsed, mostly unconscious. Piper stood behind him in a nightgown, the slender girl struggling with the weight of her improvised mace.

  Oona blinked at her. “Where did you come from?”

  “He’s not the only one who knows all the secret passages.” She pointed at a half-height opening in the wall below a small table between two bookcases, then set the candleholder down on the table with a pronounced thud. “I used to be a spy, after all. I sleep pretty light and heard you talking.” Piper crouched and pulled the dagger away from Fauhurst’s hand. “Shall I fetch the guards or send him to Tenebrea?”

  Kitlyn tossed her sword on the bed and grabbed her nightdress from a nearby chair. “Please fetch the guards.”

  Piper stood, still holding the dagger, but looking relieved. “Okay.” She ran to the actual door, unlocked it, and ran off down the hallway.

  Oona stared at the arch until the patter of running feet faded to silence.

  “My love, you should put something on. The guards will be here soon.” Kitlyn let her nightdress fall around her, then walked over to the muttering Fauhurst, squatted, and punched him in the eye.

  “Oh. Yes.” Oona grabbed her nightdress and slipped into it.

  Piper returned less than a minute later with five guards. One of them carried the dagger.

  “That is Fauhurst.” Kitlyn pointed at him. “He attempted to kill us in our sleep. He is also charged with plotting sedition. Please look into how a drunk managed to infiltrate the castle’s secret passageways and stay there for weeks undetected, even if he did have a key.”

  “Right away, highness.” The guard with the dagger tucked it in his belt, bowed at them, and helped carry Fauhurst out.

  Oona hugged Piper. “Nice move with the candle.”

  She curtseyed. “I didn’t think you wanted to kill him, or you would’ve just run over and done it. Probably the best choice. He’d have haunted you for years.”

  Kitlyn glanced at Oona with a raised eyebrow.

  “Well, I’m not going to be able to go back to sleep.” Oona sighed, crossed the room, and put her sword back in the scabbard, which she leaned against the wall.

  “We could stay up all night talking.” Kitlyn fell seated on the edge of the bed. “Though this mattress has strong magic. It may yet lull us into slumber.”

  “You could tell me about going to Ondar, and the Nimses.” Piper bounced on her toes.

  “Nimse, not Nimses. It’s the same word for one or more than one.” Oona wagged a finger at her. “And they’re the Na’vir now.”

&n
bsp; “Ooh. Please tell me what happened?” Piper leapt up and sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed.

  “It’s less than four hours until dawn.” Kitlyn glanced at the window.

  Oona smiled and crawled into bed. “Well, we can tell as much story as we can before we drift off.”

  Piper grinned.

  Oona reclined in the bathtub with Evie planted beside her. She washed her sister’s hair while Piper, kneeling outside the tub, worked on hers.

  “Do I have to wear a big dress?” Evie looked up at her, squinting at the soap. “I don’t like the big dresses ’cause I can’t breathe.”

  “I hate them, too.” Oona poured water over the girl’s head. “You can wear one that’s comfortable but a little fancy.”

  “Okay,” chirped Evie.

  Once they finished bathing, they toweled off and padded past the curtain to the bedroom. Oona put on a light set of underpinnings, skipping the hose and the burdensome crinoline, and selected a crushed blue velvet dress with silver trim. It had back lacings and frilly sleeves, but no boning in the corset area. The soft material didn’t limit her breathing and would be quite comfortable.

  Evie sat there wrapped in a towel, watching Oona dress and laughing at Piper muttering oaths to Navissa while fighting with the back lacing. When her turn came, she stood on the bed as Piper and Oona dressed her in a small gown of similar comfort and style.

  “So, what happened after you returned to Underholm?” Piper snugged the last lace, knotted it, and lifted Evie off the bed to set her on the floor. “I may have fallen asleep.”

  Oona laughed, imagining the scandal that would’ve erupted had one of Queen Solara’s handmaidens been found sleeping in the same bed, like a pack of common young girls inviting friends over for the night. She stuck her tongue out at the stodgy old people who’d faint over such a thing. “The Na’vir are free of the curse. In a few years, they may send an ambassador here.”

  “Will you tell me the story, too?” Evie smiled up at her.

  “Of course. But later. We have matters to attend.” Oona patted Evie on the head.