THE KINDNESS CURSE
Magic to Spare, Book 1
Michelle L. Levigne
Table of Contents
Title Page
The Kindness Curse (Magic to Spare, #1)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
About the Author
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Ye Olde Dragon Books
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COPYRIGHT © 2021 BY Michelle L. Levigne
ISBN 13: 978-1-952345-36-4
PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED States of America
Publication Date: June 1, 2021
Cover Art Copyright by Ye Olde Dragon Books 2021
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Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination, or are used in a fictitious situation. Any resemblances to actual events, locations, organizations, incidents or persons – living or dead – are coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.
Chapter One
"I hate magic. I hate majjians," Merrigan said for what felt like the thousandth time since the seer, Clara, had turned her world upside down.
She tripped over another branch across her path through this unending, dark, tangled forest. Six hours ago, she had been riding in her carriage, following a tidy plan to save her kingdom. All she needed was a little cooperation from a seer who owed the late king of Carlion some loyalty. Her caves were in his kingdom, after all.
Merrigan stopped short, stunned to see sunlight and a road a few steps away. It wasn't much of a road, packed dirt full of ruts, and a ditch between her and it.
Five hours ago, her carriage stopped in front of the series of caves where Clara consulted pools of vision.
More than four hours now, Merrigan had stumbled through a tangled, shadowy forest, with birds shrieking overhead and squirrels and other creatures running through the branches. She was positive the roots reached out on purpose, to trip her.
Clara had done this to her. Threw her out into the forest, so far she couldn't find her way back to her carriage. Put her in these rusty black, dowdy clothes. Granted, she was a widow, but she was the queen. She had a right, a duty, to dress stylishly. At least Clara had changed her light slippers to heavy black boots. Sometimes, unfortunately, common sense and comfort did trump style.
Her legs ached and her joints creaked and her arms felt too thin. Even her hair felt wrong. She couldn't adjust the thick, canvas strap slung across her chest, and the heavy carpetbag bumped her hip with every step. Her arms simply wouldn't cooperate. She felt hollow, drained. What had Clara done to her? And why?
Everything blurred from the point the woman stepped from the shadows and looked at Merrigan with those depthless, pale eyes. Still, the implication was painfully clear.
"I'm cursed," Merrigan whispered. Getting across the dratted ditch in front of her was far more important than remembering what that arrogant majjian had said to her, just before rainbow streaks of magic twisted around her. A thousand thorns shredded her clothes and skin, then dropped her in a muddy patch of open ground in the center of the forest.
The sunshine slanted down at an early afternoon angle on the rough road. More like an overgrown path. Perhaps this was a lane to the main highway. She cringed at the mental image of someone from the court in Carlion seeing her here.
What was that creaking noise, rattling and dragging, coming toward her? Merrigan looked over her shoulder, anticipating some horrific monster made of bits and pieces, animated just long enough to torment her. Yet nothing moved in the shadows. The sound didn't come from the forest. Was it too quiet?
All except for the sounds of frogs.
Merrigan shuddered and focused on the road so she wouldn't hear if those frogs dared to speak to her. She had ordered all the frogs in Carlion turned into frog legs for breakfast, to silence them. She had grown sick of frog legs long before the kingdom ran out of frogs. Yet she still sometimes heard frogs creak-croaking her name, in the stillness between waking and sleeping.
"No, no, no," she whispered, and turned to face forward. She refused to look down into the ditch, if any frogs hid there.
Movement to her right wrung a tiny shriek from her. Was that a wagon? Yes, it was, and the source of the sound. Not a monster.
She had been an overly imaginative fool. Leffisand would laugh, if he could see her now. Of course, if her late husband could see her now, she wouldn't be out here in the forest, would she? She wouldn't need to consult a seer to fix the problem of having no heir.
Fury helped Merrigan take that leap to cross the ditch.
Her legs betrayed her, just like everything else today. She hit her knees on the edge. An unqueenly shriek escaped her. She dug her fingers into the dirt and debris and stopped her slide backwards. Thuds and voices cut through the panicked heartbeat in her ears. Big, strong hands caught hold of her arms with bruising force and lifted her up with astonishing ease.
What had happened to her, that she was so thin and frail?
"Here, now, Granny, be careful." The man smelled of metal and salt and the stables. He chuckled as he slung
