The Cursed Crown

by Matthew S. Cox

  Oona raised her hands over the remains. Her light orb glided down in front of her, its little eye spots angled in a manner that made it appear angry. “Lucen, as you provide the light in our darkest moments, I ask that you banish this tainted soul into the care of your daughter so that he may atone for his vileness and no longer plague the living.”

  The orb vibrated, flickering and sputtering tiny streams of blue light.

  Voldreth’s bones smoked, blackened, and dissolved to fine ash.

  “Lucen does not suffer demons to walk his land, nor those who traffic with them.” Oona bowed her head in reverence. “Voldreth shall plague the living no longer.”

  “I think we found it.” Kitlyn pointed at a shelf on the left. “But it’s giving off bad energy.”

  Oona followed her around the long table to a huge bookshelf that held little in the way of books. Various containers the size of jewelry boxes, crystal orbs, skulls, and broken jars oozing unidentifiable substances covered it. Near the floor on the bottom shelf, a thick child-sized crown of bronze, gold, and silver sat upon a violet pillow. Large rectangular rubies encircled the base with lines of pea-sized sapphires ascending ten decorative points.

  A copious carpet of dust covered everything on the shelf except for the crown and a bit of pillow around it, as if the energy within had been so vile even dirt wanted to avoid it. Merely looking at it sent a chill over Oona.

  “I am inclined to agree. That crown is most assuredly cursed.”

  Kitlyn squatted for a closer look, but didn’t touch. “Perhaps I could encase it in stone so we can carry it?”

  “That would be quite heavy; we don’t know that the curse wouldn’t pass through the stone; and we would still need to find a way to break the curse.” Oona rubbed her chin. “Let me try something.”

  She guided the orb closer and poured magic into it, brightening the usual blue light that served only to illuminate into the searing white purifying glow of Lucen. The gems gleamed in response, but after a few minutes of concentrating on her desire to remove the curse, the crown still radiated malice. Oona gave up and slouched with a sigh. “It’s too powerful for me.”

  “What about smashing it?” Beowyn hefted his blade. “Would that break the curse?”

  “Somehow I doubt it.” Kitlyn folded her arms. “And the queen might be upset with us if we destroy it. I got the feeling she wanted it back.”

  “It looks expensive.” Isha leaned closer. “I’d want it back, too.”

  “Feels like it’s filled with death.” Kitlyn shuddered. “The curse drew the life out of the Na’vir.”

  Beowyn patted Oona on the shoulder. “Well, she’s got the attention of Orien, god of Life.” He paused, evidently realizing he’d just touched the queen consort, and pulled his hand back, whistling innocently.

  Oona smiled and leaned against him with a brief hug. “It’s all right.”

  He bowed.

  “Oh, please stop being so formal. We all nearly died to an ancient lich, there’s no one from the court to see us, and… and… we’re not as stuck up as the last queen.” Oona sighed out her nose.

  Isha gasped, blinked, then laughed.

  “She is far too kind, sweet, and caring to be a queen of Lucernia.” Kitlyn winked. “You know she even thinks the chamber maids ought to learn how to read. Oh, the scandal of it.”

  Oona glanced at her. “I know you are joking, but it’s awful that some would find it inappropriate. And I am still quite new at receiving Orien’s blessing. I don’t think I have the skills to break a curse like this with life energy.”

  “Maybe someone from, uhh, Evermoor could help?” Beowyn quirked an eyebrow. “Their lifecallers are incredibly annoying.”

  “Annoying?” asked Kitlyn.

  “What else would you call it when a soldier you thought you killed gets back up?”

  “Horrifying…” Kitlyn blinked at him.

  “Not as an undead.” He waved his hand as if declining an offer of food. “All back to rights, alive. I mean, the men weren’t all the way dead, just close. But their lifecallers get them back up right quick like.”

  “Hmm. Well.” Oona regarded the crown. “The Nimse are attacking both sides, so the people of Evermoor would have reason to help us beyond it merely being the right thing to do.”

  Kitlyn put a hand on her shoulder. “Wait a moment. I’m no lifecaller, but I know I have a connection to the Alderswood. I could try to ask it for help or energy while you bathe the crown in the light of Lucen’s purity?”

  “That sounds like a reasonable idea since we are already here.” Oona knelt in front of the crown, which sat on the bottom shelf only two inches off the floor. “It’s infuriating to me that this creature destroyed the entire civilization then tossed the crown here like it’s some triviality in his collection.”

  “Probably because that is exactly how he thought of it.” Kitlyn squatted beside her. “I’ve never done this before so I have no idea if it will work. I suppose you should wait to see if anything happens, then call the light.”

  Oona nodded.

  Kitlyn pressed her hands on the floor in front of her toes and closed her eyes. Oona watched in silence. Nothing happened for a few minutes, but right as she prepared to give up on anything occurring, a faint cracking came from the shelf. She bit her lip, staring at the crown, hunting for the source of the noise. Another faint crack happened. Seconds later, a thin green leafy vine grew up from behind the pillow. The floor in front of the shelf split open with a small six-inch fissure. More bright green vines emerged, leaning toward the crown. One by one, hundreds of them appeared, forming a verdant wreath around the pillow.

  Oona held her hands out over the crown. Blue light glowed over her fingers. Her little orb raced down to hover above the ring of still-growing plants. As if in response to it, the vines glowed with swirls of emerald magic.

  Crunching came from the wall behind the shelf. More and more vines burst out from the stone, engulfing the bookshelf in life energy. Oona intensified her light, calling upon the purity of Lucen. She pictured the wretched Nimse, forced to suffer as barely-intelligent creatures for no reason other than they had refused to help a maleficar.

  “Lucen,” said Oona, “the Na’vir may not revere you as I do, or as the people of Lucernia do, but they were punished for trying to stand against one who sought power from demons. Please bestow your purity upon this crown and banish the corruption.”

  Kitlyn grunted as if trying to lift something heavy. She gave off a surge of energy. An answering resonance of magic rose within Oona’s chest and raced down her arms. Brilliant white light radiated from under her hands. The mass of tiny vines shot inward, engulfing the crown and turning black as pitch.

  The energy flowing through her burned. Oona clenched her jaw and pushed past the pain. Lucen guided me here. I will help the Na’vir. Her arms shuddered from the effort. Kitlyn emitted a belabored groan.

  The faint tinkling of a tiny crystal shattering broke the silence.

  Before Oona even had time to think it an odd noise, a blast of force blew outward from the crown. In an instant, she found herself crumpled against the wall at the opposite corner of the room, legs in the air, ears ringing from a boom she couldn’t remember consciously hearing.

  Kitlyn lay at the end of a streak of dustless floor, slumped in the opposite corner to Oona’s left. A matching smear of clean floor led from Oona to the shelf, which hid behind a dense cloud of mist.

  “Did that work?” asked Kitlyn in a moan.

  Oona peered into the glimmering blue-white fog. The sense of malice that had been emanating from the crown no longer tainted the air. “I think so? It did something.”

  “Ugh.” Kitlyn unfolded herself and sat up. “It tossed us across the room. That’s something.”

  Oona laughed. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  A large arm rose out from a pile of rubble about halfway between her and Kitlyn, one finger pointing at the ceiling.

  “Ouch,” de
clared Beowyn, then lowered his arm.

  “Isha?” Kitlyn looked around.

  A groan came from above.

  Oona looked up. Isha lay flat atop the shelf beside her, about twelve feet off the ground. “By Lucen… are you hurt?”

  “I…” Isha grabbed the edge and peered down at her. “Thought for sure I heard my leg break but it’s not hurt. Maybe I imagined it.”

  Kitlyn grabbed the wall and pulled herself standing. “The Alderswood sent a great amount of life energy. Maybe it did break but the tree healed you.”

  Beowyn sat up, stone chips and broken pieces of shelf falling away from his chest. Other than covered in dust, he appeared uninjured. Oona crawled back to where she’d been kneeling. The Na’vir crown glimmered with a definite magical light, though it gave off no sense of darkness. Nothing of the vines remained other than the cracks they’d left in the walls and floor. She reached out with both hands to cradle the small crown, blinking in surprise at finding it warm.

  She lifted it from the pillow and rocked back onto her feet, turning to face the room. Beowyn helped Isha down from the shelf.

  Kitlyn stumbled over and looked at the crown. “It does feel different now. Let’s bring it back where it belongs.”

  Oona gently placed the crown in her satchel. “Please tell me you can find your way back out of that maze.”

  “That’s the easy part.” Kitlyn headed for the door. “Unless there are more ghosts.”

  36

  Formal Introductions

  Kitlyn

  Niron and the horses met them at the end of the canyon, unhurt.

  “Was the weirdest thing I’ll ever see.” He whistled. “Hundreds of skeletons just rushed by like I didn’t even stand here with no chance at all of holding them off.”

  Kitlyn patted his arm. “They had specific orders.”

  “Captain.” Beowyn saluted him. “Under your command again.”

  Niron returned his salute before looking at Kitlyn. “What now?”

  “Now, I’d ask you and your men to ride with me back to Cimril. We have a rather demanding deadline to return this crown, but we can spare the time needed for me to officially reinstate you all.”

  “We should be in good hands provided we stay by your side. If you are pressed for time, we shall accompany you to Underholm.” Niron glanced off to the west. “How long do you have?”

  “Only about ten years.” Kitlyn chuckled. “I think the Na’vir queen has a strange idea of time after being alive so long.”

  Niron laughed. “Very well then, highness. To Cimril.”

  “To Cimril!” shouted the other soldiers in unison.

  They spent the night once more at the same inn in Imbrec. Everyone took the liberty of a bath, Kitlyn devoting over an hour to scrubbing before she managed to rid herself of all the tomb dust under her toenails. The next day, they set off to the south. With Niron guiding the way, they arrived at the actual Valor Pass rather than the highland route Kitlyn had stumbled across. The Ondari military garrison at the gate paid them little attention, likely because their direction of travel took them away from Ondar.

  The Lucernian counterpart on the other side stopped them, curious at a group of nine people in armor that made them look like soldiers without any prior notification that a scouting mission would come by. Unfortunately, the commander there recognized Niron.

  “Deserters!” The white-haired older captain drew his blade. “Drop your weapons… or don’t. Better you die with the honor you abandoned.”

  “Stand down,” said Kitlyn.

  “Quiet, girl.” He glanced at her. “You don’t look familiar. You’re with deserters, so you must be one as well… though you do seem a bit young. What unit are you from?”

  Kitlyn glowered at him. “Cimril.”

  A few men and women in the ranks behind him gasped.

  “Are you sure I don’t look familiar, Captain Andren?”

  He stepped closer, looking her over. “Cimril, you say? Who is your commander… or was your commander.”

  A red-haired woman hurried up beside him. “Umm, sir…”

  Captain Andren glanced at her. “What?”

  “That’s the queen,” whispered the woman before giving Kitlyn a ‘please don’t kill me’ stare.

  “Are you pulling my leg?” roared Andren. “That’s preposterous. That’s—”

  Kitlyn lazily flopped her hand to the side, summoning a small rock to leap up from the ground and spiral around it.

  “Oh dear.” Captain Andren lowered his sword. “That is the queen.”

  Kitlyn tossed the rock aside. “These soldiers with me are reinstated. While I appreciate the need to have a severe punishment for desertion, they did not flee for cowardice. Whether by Lucen’s guidance or their own perception, they saw the truth beneath the lies of the war and refused to wage an unjust slaughter. Those who desert for cowardice, continue to punish as appropriate.”

  “Very well.” The captain bowed his head. “Forgive me for not recognizing you, highness. Your attire…”

  “I am aware of that, Captain Andren. Being discreet made my journey simpler. Now if you don’t mind, we shall continue back to the city.”

  “Of course, highness.” He sheathed his weapon, backed up, and sent the other soldiers once more to their duties.

  Kitlyn sighed. “We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

  “Yes. But it is good work.” Oona smiled. “Our nation needs to learn how to exist without war going on.”

  Since Oona’s estate would be over an hour detour further north away from Cimril, they spent the night in the city of Gwynaben at a nice inn called the Sleepy Rooster before making haste south along the road. After one more night spent in a roadside inn at the midway point between Gwynaben and Cimril, they arrived in the castle city early evening.

  Kitlyn headed straight for the royal study and stared at the papers all over the desk, not knowing where to start. Within a minute of her rear end touching the seat, all five advisors rushed in.

  “Good timing.” She looked up at them and explained the situation with Niron and the others. “What letters do I need to send to who in order to reinstate them?”

  Beredwyn and Lanon guided her through the process. They wrote out twenty-one notices, three copies each of seven, which she signed. Each soldier received one to carry around in case they needed proof, another went to the castle archives, and the last copy would make the rounds among generals.

  That done, she invited the former deserters to have dinner at the castle in two hours—enough time to take a decent bath and change. Also, to satisfy the insistent questions from the advisors, she instructed them to arrange the dinner in one of the larger halls so the advisors could join them as well.

  “I shall explain everything over our meal. Right now, I am going to bathe and put on something more comfortable than this armor.” She grabbed Oona by the hand and whisked her out of the study.

  The advisors and soldiers all appeared at the appointed time, and over a pleasant meal, Kitlyn went over the details of everything that had happened. Despite the wonderful food and good company, she did, however, look forward to later that night, when she’d be back in her bedchamber for some time alone with Oona. Even if they only cuddled.

  It’s good to be home.

  Two days following their return to the castle, Kitlyn, Oona, and a group of twenty soldiers rode up to the gates of Underholm. She and Oona once again wore their armor, though this time, she also decided they should wear their crowns… and she kept her boots on.

  Kitlyn dismounted long enough to press a hand to the giant doors and urge them open.

  Since the tunnels of Underholm had plenty of room and they had quite a distance to cover, they rode the horses down into the depths. While Apples didn’t appear to care one whit at the darkness, Cloud responded with much less dignity, shifting and whinnying the whole way to the main chamber. Oona’s light orb led the way, trailed by twenty lanterns.

  Nimse p
eeked out here and there, though they appeared to recognize them and held back their aggression. A few scurried along the walls and ceiling, keeping pace with the riders. Upon reaching the underground city, Kitlyn steered to the right. The soldiers all whistled in awe. A few whispered nervously, unsettled by the shapes of Nimse gliding back and forth across the ceiling like silent phantoms.

  Darn. Maybe we didn’t break the curse. Hopefully, the queen will know what needs to be done.

  They rode past the large pit that had once been a pool and brought the horses to a stop in the plain open courtyard in front of the Na’vir queen’s palace. Kitlyn dismounted with a modest amount of grace, but still had to grab her head to keep her crown from falling off. Oona flowed to her feet with ease.

  “How do you manage that so easily?” Kitlyn looked her up and down. “Every time I get down from the saddle, I expect to land on my chin.”

  “Only practice.” She sighed. “I’ve been riding for ten years. You’ve only been on a horse three times until recently.”

  Kitlyn grumbled at the castle staff. “Do you think that wretched woman fainted when she learned who I am?”

  “Miss Dunbrook?”

  “Is that the name of the witch who thought ‘the common whelp’ would damage the horses merely by touching them?” Kitlyn stormed toward the doors.

  “Yes. I haven’t seen her in a while.” Oona peeked into her satchel, then sighed with relief and patted it.

  By the time she passed the bejeweled columns, she’d already stopped caring about that horrible woman. So many people had treated her so poorly that any attempt to remain angry at them would consume her entire day. She pushed the door open and entered the grand hall, striding up the middle into the dark toward where she remembered the throne dais.