A Crown So Cursed, page 1
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For My Papa,
Who Knew What I Was
Capable of Even When I
Didn’t See It in Myself
One of the deep secrets of life is that all that is really worth the doing is what we do for others.
—LEWIS CARROLL
Prologue
CALLOOH
Through the cracked and crumbling stone of what was once a grand, high ceiling, she could see the lightning dance. Watch it arc and stretch in a webwork of red veins against the stormy flesh of ever-present clouds. Daylight couldn’t penetrate them, hadn’t been able to in years, which made it impossible to tell how much time had passed. How long had she lain here, clutching at the fractured remains of what was once a throne?
Her throne?
She wasn’t certain. Not anymore. Not after …
Another bolt bruised the sky and briefly splashed the room with bloodied light. This place, like her, had been vibrant once. It had been bright and shining, full of life and every glorious possibility therein. Now darkness dwelled in its former splendor, and shadows clung to every wall and surface. It stood empty. Abandoned. Forgotten.
Also like her.
Something cold and oily nudged her arm, sending chills skittering across her naked skin. The sensation hurt. Everything hurt. Pain radiated through her body, centered somewhere near her chest. Near where she was broken.
The cold touched her again, harder this time, insistent. The effort to turn her head left her dizzy and aching.
A creature sat hunched at her side, its limbs tucked beneath a bulbous body. Its many eyes fixed on her, sallow and lidless. Inky skin flowed over the length of it, so the beast appeared to move though it remained still.
“You have need of us.” A raspy voice touched her mind, words registering though the room remained silent. This thing was speaking, she realized.
“Need of us.”
“We are yours.”
“Use us.”
“Us…”
“Ours…”
A chorus of silent whispers swelled. More of the creatures prowled into the dim light, undulating in heaps of pitch. They came to her. They called to her, as they had done before. As they had done then.
That night.
The night she first awoke. Had it even been night? She couldn’t remember now, and she had known nothing then, save pain. Pain and the compulsion to rise, but she had been trapped. Light had flickered somewhere above her, muted and distant. Distorted by the press of crystal enclosing her on all sides. The need to get out had overwhelmed her, and when she tried to take a breath, her mouth filled with fluid. She choked.
She screamed.
The sound had ripped free of her, brutal in its escape. It battered against her shining prison until cracks filled her vision. With a rising roar, everything she knew of the world shattered.
Then she could breathe.
Hacking and sputtering, she had hauled herself free of a vat of watery dark where she collapsed against the aged stone steps and heaved. The muscles in her stomach and throat convulsed wildly. Her body emptied itself onto the floor. The pain had been monstrous.
But there were worse things than lying aching in the dark. The loss of a child. Betrayal by family. A ruining at the hands of a hated enemy. These things had happened, were happening.
“Ours,” the whispers asserted. “She is ours, we will take her.”
No, she wanted to growl, felt the anger of it hot in her chest. No, you cannot have her! Have … me?
“Ours. Let us take her. Claim her. You swore.”
I swore.
“You failed.”
I failed …
No, she didn’t fail. She was thwarted.
Memories speared her mind like shards of glass. The Eye in her clutches. Her enemies fallen around her. Her victory, her vengeance, finally assured and then … The blade so black driven into flesh, breaking open bone, undoing her from the inside, no! No, she couldn’t, wouldn’t, go back to the shadow. It hungered. And if she couldn’t hold up her end of the bargain, it would take everything from her. She can’t lose her daughter again, she can’t—!
“Compose yourself!” A new voice slammed her with the force of a hurricane.
She doubled over, pinned under the weight of a rage that threatened to overtake her. A rage that was not hers, yet she knew it intimately.
“They must pay. They must!” she ground out through clenched teeth, though she couldn’t remember wanting to speak. Her mouth simply opened, and words fell out. “Every last one of them. For what was taken from me!”
“So you say,” the voice hissed, the sound low and grating, wide in some places and thin in others. “But I’m curious, why should I reward your previous failure with opportunity?”
She went stone still, and somehow managed to stay that way even as panic writhed inside her. “I—I have not failed. I will not fail! I just need more power, please!” Her voice was thick and slippery with desperation. “Please. Do not abandon me now.”
Gasping, she clutched at her heart, and her fingers curled around the Heart. The flesh of her hand split against the jagged crimson shards still embedded in her chest. Blood and ichor welled between her trembling fingers.
“Abandon you? As everyone else has? I would never.” The voice was softer, but no less firm. There were no gentle words to be found here. “We must tend the wound. Carefully. Or the body will break.”
The wound?
Her eyes were drawn to where her ribboned hand held fast. This was where the usurper struck her. It should have been a killing blow, would have been, if not for her creations. They had carried her away from the Red Palace, brought her here. To where she began.
“MY creations,” the voice corrected. “And they are healing what they can as quickly as they can, but your outbursts threaten to tear this body into pieces. Be mindful, I may not be able to restore the bond if it is severed again.”
She took another ragged breath. Then another. The pain was unbearable. Why did it all hurt so much, what was she doing here on the floor? A fog of confusion settled over her thoughts. “Wh-who’s there?” she called to the darkness, her words as tremulous as the rest of her. “Who speaks?” Fear, cold and foreign, coiled in her gut.
“Hush, child, sweet child,” the voice cooed, and a thickness filled her senses, clouding them. She was being pulled under.
She wanted to cry out, to batter her way free from the weight settling into her. But she had no strength left, nothing more to be managed than a thread-thin thought.
M-mother …
“There,” the voice said, quieter now. “She is ready. Take her.”
Her body tightened with the return of that rage. It filled her, replacing the damp chill of fear with roaring flame. Get up. Her limbs would not listen. She gritted her teeth, and pushed. Get UP!
More pain. Merciless. Devouring. Her every nerve went white-hot. She flopped on her side, her efforts melting away. It hurt!
“Of course it hurts, but you need to get her on her feet!”
The creatures gathered around her, gripped at her arms with slick and sticky fingers. Their touch was no longer cold and tingling but searing as they hauled her upward.
Another scream threatened to tear its way out of her. She buckled under a feeling like glass flowing through her veins. Her center of gravity shifted, yet somehow her trembling legs held.
“Well done, Your Majesty. Now, speak the Verse anew,” the voice coaxed, an eager edge sharpening its tone.
Her lips parted, but someone else’s words left her tongue. “Still it haunts me, phantomwise. Moving under screaming skies. In the deepest dark it lies. Never seen by waking eyes.” The words were soft, hoarse, but power shivered in the air at her lips.
A burst of jagged black crystal erupted from the floor several feet in front of her, behind the broken throne. The ragged edges snagged on the air, cutting into it, wounding it. Dozens of serrated points aimed outward in the promise of a quick but agonizing end if one strayed too close.
She stretched her hand toward the deadly spikes. Her fingertips pricked against a few, the sting dulling into the hurt already racking her.
For a moment, nothing happened. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound save for her labored breaths. Until a few of the spears began to shrink. They drew inward, melting into the body of the crystal. She all but collapsed upon the newly smooth surface.
Bnng-thmmp. Bnng-thmmp. Bnng-thmmp.
At first, she thought it was her heart beating. The steady rhythm seemed to originate somewhere in her chest before rippling out through the rest of her. But as she lay slumped against the cool crystal, the pulse spreading through her body, she slowly realized it wasn’t her heart. It was this … thing, this … coffin of glass and shadow.
“Speak the Verse anew,” the voice demanded.
She took a slow, steadying breath, and again another’s words left her lips.
“Fury bade me bound to law, and I make no denial. To prosecute in persecution, to test my all by trial. And see me whole with eyes of flame, the witness be my breath. First darkness drawing as it came, I’m thus condemned by death.”
Bnng-thmmp. Bnng-thmmp. Bnng-thmmp.
“Bound in blood this given host, gives in turn what I covet most. Callooh…”
Bnng-thmmp. Bnnng-thmmmp. Bnnnng-thmmmmp.
“Callay…”
The pulsing slowed, receding into the depths of the crystal. As it did, a spark of onyx flame took its place. It burned away the dark, curling it back to reveal something trapped, suspended beneath the surface. A body resting within. Arms, shoulders, torso, legs, everything bled into view. But not the face. The face remained obscured.
Bnng-thmmp. Bnng-thmmp. Bnng-thmmp. Beats in black flame.
The jagged sections of the Heart lodged in her chest pulsed red in answer. Instead of fire, she felt ice dig into her, burrow into her bones. A molten cold excavated and filled the deepest parts of her. The hurt was finally gone, and in its place, she felt the subtle bnng-thmmp bnng-thmmp bnng-thmmp resonating through her core. She closed her eyes.
“Thank you,” something inside her sighed. “Master.”
Mother …
One
CONNED
Alice couldn’t just sit there. She couldn’t escape. All she could do was endure. And it was her own fault, really, wearing a fur-lined cloak while it was ninety-five outside. It was fake fur, but that didn’t save her from slowly baking in her extremely intricate, incredibly detailed Trevor Belmont cosplay. Why was it so hot this close to Halloween, anyway?
“Jesus take me before global warming,” Nana K had said that morning, her voice carrying over Mom’s phone. The two of them spent most of breakfast commiserating over the unusually high temperature. “Hot as the devil’s ass crack out there. You be careful at your computer coms, Alice baby.”
“Comic con, Nana K,” Alice had snickered around a spoonful of grits.
“Right. What I say?”
Both Mom and Nana K then repeatedly reminded Alice to stay hydrated. Mom had even offered her fancy water bottle, the expensive-ish one that claimed to keep your drink cold for twelve hours. Lies. Three lukewarm refills later, Alice debated dumping it over her head instead of drinking it. The only reason she didn’t was it meant walking around in soggy clothes. No thanks.
“Uuuuuuuuuuuugh.” She scratched at the edge of her wig while her eyes trailed the ridiculously long line of equally miserable con-goers. A river of bodies stretched down the street and curled around the convention center. Most of them wore costumes that would’ve been perfect on a regular October Saturday. Instead, here they all stood in torment.
Courtney lifted her phone higher, the small fan plugged into the port working overtime to blow hot air against the back of her neck. She’d long since stripped off her red, close-cropped wig and shoved it into the handbag tucked under her arm. She mirrored Alice’s miserable moan. “When I’m a puddle on the sidewalk, remember me fondly.”
“How are you hot?” Alice asked. “You’re wearing a cotton tent.”
Without lowering the fan, Courtney glanced down at her Sypha costume. “Layered cotton tent.” She swiped a hand across her forehead, checking it for foundation afterward. Somehow, her makeup managed to stay in place even though she was sweating buckets. “You could take off the cloak, you know. I understand suffering for the aesthetic, but not like this.”
Alice shook her head. “It’s worse trying to carry it around.” Plus, she didn’t wanna start peeling off pieces so early in the day. That just made it easier to remove more and more and, before you knew it, you were walking around in half a costume no one could even recognize. “I’ll be fine once we’re inside.”
“If we ever get that far.” Courtney tilted to the side to survey the line herself, then huffed in displeasure. “I have seen legless spiders move faster than this.”
“That’s an interesting visual.” Hatta shifted where he stood just to the side of the two girls, his hands in his pockets. It was unfair how unbothered he appeared in his Alucard “costume.” No sweat, no flush, no nothing, despite wearing what was pretty much a whole-ass trench coat. Just standing there like he’d stepped right out the show.
Alice would be lying if she said she didn’t feel some kind of way about him using an illusion Verse to achieve the look. Lucky for him he was foine. And she wasn’t the only one who thought so. Every now and then people took candids as they walked past. Lots of people. Lots of candids.
Truthfully, she was happy he’d decided to come. Thrilled, even. Made being out in this heat all the more worth it. Chess was supposed to complete their trio, but he … he wasn’t into going out much lately.
Pushing the thought aside, Alice propped her short sword against her shoulder and shifted her weight so the handle of the Morning Star whip didn’t dig into her hip. Damn thing was heavy, especially after lugging it around half the day. Prolly because it was made from real metal, an exact replica, even. A gift from Hatta. Technically from Tan, since he forged it, but Hatta had made the special request.
“Have to complete the ensemble,” he’d said with a grin after surprising her with it that morning. She didn’t know if she was happier for the gift itself or that he’d remembered her costume, but she’d spent the better part of twenty minutes screaming and hugging him.
The line shifted forward about five feet before coming to a stop again. Courtney groaned.
“We should’ve come when the hall first opened,” Alice complained, wiping away more sweat.
Court’s face scrunched. “I wasn’t the only one who wanted to see the Lolita fashion show.”
Hatta blinked when both girls glanced his direction. “The dresses are cute,” he offered in his defense. “I thought I might see something to take back to Maddi.”
Court tapped a finger against her naked lips. “Some of them were fairly gorgeous. Others decidedly not. Does she have a favorite color? Because something toward the end caught my eye.”
“I think I know the one you’re talking about.” Hatta wagged a finger in agreement. Alice smirked while the two of them started going on about one dress in particular that Maddi might like. It had teacups embroidered in silver and gold thread against dark blue skirts.
As Court composed a sonnet about the boning in the corset, something over her shoulder caught Alice’s attention.
A white girl stood dressed in all black like it wasn’t Sozin’s Comet hot out here. Blond hair framed her pale face. Thin arms hung at her sides. Her body remained still, a detail that stuck out all the more as people shuffled around her in their shared malaise. That wasn’t the weird part, though.
The girl was staring at the three of them. She was too far away to be one hundred percent sure—maybe she was just looking in their general direction, or searching the line for someone—but something at the base of Alice’s skull buzzed in subtle warning. And maybe she was imagining things, or it was the sun and heat playing tricks on her, but she got the distinct feeling blond girl wasn’t blinking.
That’s not creepy af.
“Something wrong?” Hatta’s voice snatched at Alice’s attention, and she glanced up to find him gazing down the street as well.
When she looked back that direction, the girl was gone.
Alice rolled her shoulders, trying to shake the jitters dancing along her skin. “No, just … someone was staring, but she’s gone now.”
“People have been staring all day,” Courtney offered, tugging at Alice’s arm as the line crawled forward. “Specially your beau there.”
Hatta arched an eyebrow, though one corner of his mouth ticked upward slightly. If Alice didn’t know any better, she’d think he liked all of the attention.
Almost on cue, a group stopped on their way by. A Black girl dressed like Cardcaptor Sakura practically bounced as she asked if she could get a picture of them, though her gaze lingered on Hatta.
