She took a deep breath, trying to master herself. She couldn’t unsay what had already been said. But she could keep her mouth clamped firmly shut on any more unnecessary reflections. She chanced a glance at the young people. One young man, sitting a little apart from the others, was watching her with a creased brow, but the rest were no longer looking her way. No one else seemed inclined to approach her. She would just keep to herself.
“Friends and brothers.”
The clear voice made Jocelyn start. She hadn’t realized that Darius had stood to address them all. The assembled group was already too quiet to be gripped by the hush that usually heralded a speech. But now that she looked around, she saw that everyone in the circle had turned their eyes to the chief, and she did the same.
“It is through our stories that we know who we are.”
“May our stories never be forgotten,” chimed the listeners.
Chapter Four
Jocelyn’s distress was momentarily forgotten in sudden excitement. She knew what was happening—the mountain people were famous for their storytelling. She found herself leaning forward.
“We have special visitors among us this evening, travelers passing through from one side of our mountains to the other,” continued Darius calmly. His eyes passed around the circle, skating over the nearby young people and pausing on Jocelyn for only a moment before moving on. “In honor of them I will tell a tale of others who made Montego a resting place to break their journey from one kingdom to the other.”
A few other people’s eyes flicked to Jocelyn, then back to Darius as the mountain chief continued.
“Generations ago, there was a king in Kynton, the ancestor of the king who now sits on the throne. He was a strong king, and not unconnected to our people. His queen was the daughter of our mountain chief, and through her our blood mingles even now with that of Kyona’s royal line.”
Again Darius looked at Jocelyn, and she held his gaze steadily. His keen glance as well as his words held her in thrall in the flickering firelight. She knew without doubt which of her ancestors he was describing. Her father had inherited the gift for storytelling that characterized the royal bloodline, and she had grown up on tales of the past. Only one sovereign—King Cael, the last king before the corruption in which the throne was usurped—had married a woman from the mountains.
Queen Jacqueline had been beloved, and for a short time it had seemed that the mutual distrust between the mountain people and the rest of Kyona might begin to fade. But after her grief over her daughter’s death and the events surrounding it had driven her to an early grave, public opinion had turned against her, and the royals by association. The mountain people had become embittered, more aloof and less loyal to the crown than ever.
Jocelyn knew all this, and she felt trepidation along with curiosity as she waited. What aspect of King Cael and Queen Jacqueline’s story would Darius focus on?
“The queen visited her mountain home many times after her marriage,” Darius continued. “Sometimes she was accompanied by the king, often she brought her children. But it is not her visits that I find in my mind tonight. Their eldest daughter, save one who died in childhood, made a journey of her own through our mountains. The Kyonan princess was on her way to Bryford, to begin preparations for her marriage to the Valorian crown prince.”
Jocelyn had been leaning forward, listening intently, but as Darius’s eyes bored into hers, she suddenly sat up straighter, a flush rising up her neck as she registered the ambiguity of his last sentence. A number of the villagers were again looking at her, and she resisted the urge to tug nervously at her skirts.
She knew that he was talking about Princess Sarai, the daughter of King Cael and Queen Jacqueline. She had married the Valorian crown prince some few hundred years ago, the countries being then on good terms with one another, as they were now. But it was impossible to miss the extra layer of meaning in the chief’s words, his omission of names suddenly seeming significant. Jocelyn wondered why she hadn’t thought of Princess Sarai before now, given the similarity of their situations. She searched her mind, but she couldn’t remember that her father had ever told stories concerning the long-deceased princess, other than the bare fact of her marriage into Valoria’s royal house.
“According to the stories of our ancestors, the princess was ill-at-ease when she passed through our town,” Darius went on. “Much like our own people, it is not the custom of royalty to show emotion freely.”
Jocelyn thought there was humor in the chief’s eyes at his reference to the famed reticence of his people. She felt a grim amusement herself. He certainly wasn’t wrong about the expectation placed on royalty to be unimpassioned.
“But in Montego, the princess was among friends. She was, as I have said, the granddaughter of our chief. To her more distant kin she communicated what both duty and affection prevented her from displaying to her nearest family in Kynton. She did not wish to leave Kyona. She did not know the man to whom she was betrothed, and she was apprehensive at the prospect of becoming Valorian.”
Jocelyn felt a chill at the man’s words, even as her curiosity flared. She had never heard any of this before—she supposed that the royal family in Kynton may never have known of Princess Sarai’s interactions with her mountain cousins. But the phrase “becoming Valorian” sent a shard of ice through Jocelyn’s heart. She supposed that if she were to marry the crown prince, as Princess Sarai had done long ago, it would mean becoming Valorian.
I’m Kyonan! she wanted to shout. I will always be Kyonan. It was somehow even harder than usual to bottle her words inside her, but she held them in firmly. The magical quality of this place swirled so strongly around her, that she almost thought that if she were to say the words aloud, even she would become confused as to whether they were true.
“The princess found comfort with her relations in Montego,” Darius was continuing. “She stayed some time with them. She found strength from their ways and their identity. She saw that they belonged neither to Kyona nor to Valoria.”
Jocelyn raised her eyebrows at the openness with which the chief disclaimed his people’s allegiance to the kingdom in which the mountain region was technically situated. It was a good thing Eamon wasn’t here. He wouldn’t like that.
“They belonged to the mountains, and the mountains to them,” said Darius simply. “She found that she need not lose herself to her new homeland. Neither must she hold herself back from her new life out of loyalty to her old kingdom.”
Again Darius’s eyes swept around the circle as he continued to speak. “She also took great interest in our tales of dragons. At that time, neither those of Kyona nor those of Valoria gave credence to the legends of our interactions with dragons. They believed the mighty creatures to be nothing more than a myth.”
A disgruntled rustling went around the group at his words. “If only that were still true,” Jocelyn heard a nearby man mutter. She winced slightly, remembering her twin’s comment about how irritated the mountain people had become by the regular invasions into their secluded region of questers seeking dragons.
“But the princess took the stories to heart,” Darius continued calmly, giving no indication that he had noticed his listeners’ reaction. “In keeping with her mountain blood, she felt the magic of this place, and she was eager for knowledge of its source. She asked many questions, but her time in Montego was short. She spoke of returning, of bringing her children to visit the mountains, as her mother had brought her. But once she crossed into Valoria, she did not return. Soon after her marriage, the Kyonan royal house from which she came fell into disarray, and there was no more interchange between the two kingdoms.”
The chief’s eyes lingered once more on Jocelyn. “The princess departed from Kyona long ago, and never again entered their stories. But here in the mountains, where she found a temporary haven between her two kingdoms, her story is remembered. The tale of the princess of Kyona is our story.”
“May our stories never be forg
otten,” the villagers answered in unison.
It was clear that these words signified the end of the storytelling. People stood, casting furtive looks in Jocelyn’s direction as they stretched and began to clear the remains of the meal or make their way toward their homes.
Jocelyn remained frozen in place, hardly knowing what to think. The chief had clearly told the story because of its relevance to her—he had said as much. But what was his purpose in doing so? Did he intend to encourage her or warn her? If he had intended encouragement, he certainly hadn’t succeeded. The thought of being ripped from her beloved homeland and forgotten by its history was heart-rending, and the possibility that her visit to Montego would live on in mountain legend provided no comfort at all.
She wished she could contradict the chief’s words. But as far as she knew, he was right, and Princess Sarai had never returned to her home kingdom. When the throne was usurped, she had remained in Valoria, and almost certainly had never seen any of her family again. Jocelyn knew that her own situation was not equivalent—even if she did marry Prince Ormond, there would be no violent uprising to prevent regular communication between her and her home.
But still…it was a distressing thought. Kyona wouldn’t be her home at all. She would become part of the story of the Valorians instead. She wondered why she had never before questioned what became of Princess Sarai. The rest of King Cael and Queen Jacqueline’s children had either been killed or had gone into hiding within Kyona, their descendants traceable even to this day. She herself was the descendant of one of those children, Prince Jonathon. But what had been Princess Sarai’s fate? Surely she had not been unconcerned by the plight of her parents and siblings? She would have become Valoria’s queen. Would there be records in Bryford about the rest of her life? Perhaps Jocelyn would be able to search for them during her stay there.
She was still deep in thought, staring unseeingly into the fire in front of her, when she was startled by a voice right next to her.
“Good evening.”
She jumped slightly, looking up at the speaker. She recognized him as the young man who had sat apart from the other people her age. The only one who had continued to look at her after the disastrous attempt of the friendly villager to speak with her.
Remembering her resolve not to engage in any unnecessary speech for the remainder of her time in Montego, Jocelyn stayed silent, acknowledging his greeting only with an incline of her head.
“May I join you?” the young man asked, nodding meaningfully at the space next to her.
Jocelyn hesitated. She should have chosen a rock with no room for an extra person. But she hadn’t thought it necessary. She was so used to the fact that her presence made most people uncomfortable, that it hadn’t occurred to her that someone might want to sit with her. She couldn’t refuse now without seeming excessively impolite.
She gave a tight nod, and the man seated himself readily, apparently undeterred by her less than encouraging expression.
“That was an unusual story, wasn’t it?” he opened cheerfully. “Not so much a story as a reflection. The other tales I’ve heard were more eventful.” He paused for a moment, but when Jocelyn didn’t respond, he pushed on. “My name is Kincaid, by the way. What about you?”
She looked up at him in surprise. She hadn’t been publicly greeted or honored as royalty on her arrival—and she hadn’t expected to be, knowing what she did about mountain culture—but she had been under the impression that everyone in Montego knew who she was and why she was here. Did he really not know her identity?
Her confusion must have shown on her face, because Kincaid added apologetically, “I’m not from Montego. I’m Valorian. I come from Bryford.”
She blinked, more surprised than ever. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might not be a local, but it certainly explained why he was the only one seeking conversation with the outsider. Now that she was paying attention, she could hear the slight difference in accent that should have told her he was Valorian.
He was still watching her, an expectant expression on his face, and she realized that she had never responded to his question as to her name. She cleared her throat, unable to see a way to avoid this small amount of speech.
“Jocelyn,” she said, again inclining her head graciously, in the hope that it would make her concise answer seem less rude. But he was still waiting, and after a moment she added, “I’m from Kynton.”
If he really didn’t know she was a princess, there was no need to enlighten him. Not being a mountain person, he might feel the need to use her title and show deference in other ways that would just be uncomfortably out of place in the setting.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Jocelyn,” he said, his eyes alight with interest as they rested on her. It took all of Jocelyn’s royal restraint not to fidget nervously under his scrutiny. “So you’re on your way to Valoria, are you?”
Jocelyn nodded tightly.
“To Bryford?” Kincaid persisted.
Jocelyn nodded again, not meeting his eyes. She was aware that he was still watching her closely, and it was a strange and unfamiliar sensation. People tended to look away when in such close proximity with her. Kincaid certainly didn’t look uncomfortable, though. And he didn’t wear that well-known look of confusion—although that would be because she wasn’t really speaking to him. Still, it was remarkable how at ease he seemed, and how eager he was to engage with her. It was a sensation that was novel and, Jocelyn suddenly realized, strangely exciting.
She snuck a look at him, and their eyes locked briefly. She looked away quickly, not wanting to see the friendly openness in his gaze turn into uncertainty, as had happened with the local girl. But as unwilling as she was to look into his eyes, she couldn’t help another surreptitious examination of the rest of him.
He was young, probably a few years older than her, but if he was over twenty it couldn’t be by much. She should have realized without being told that he wasn’t from the mountains. When she had glimpsed him earlier in the evening, his features hadn’t been clear in the gloom of twilight. But sitting right next to him, she could see that his hair, while not as light as hers, was still not dark enough to match that of the villagers. At first glance she had thought it was brown, but as the firelight danced across it, illuminating glints of red, she realized that it was actually auburn.
And it wasn’t long like the mountain people’s hair—men’s and women’s—which tended to reach down their backs, either in braids or flowing free. It wasn’t cropped closely like Eamon’s either. Kincaid’s hair bounced around his head in a casual way that Eamon, as prince, could never have gotten away with. But it was still undeniably stylish, Jocelyn admitted to herself. And Kincaid’s features were good, his face well formed and attractive, and not just because of its pleasantly open expression. Involuntarily, she met his eyes again, and felt a small flush rising up her neck at being caught examining him.
But he had clearly been examining her as well, and there was no hint of embarrassment on his face. His eyes, which she noted were a warm brown, were still bright with interest, and his smile remained casually friendly. She returned her gaze to the fire, trying to puzzle him out. As incredible as it seemed, he still showed no hint of discomfort. Her blank silence should have deterred him by now, if nothing else, but instead he looked intrigued.
She felt a sudden powerful longing rise within her, a desperate wish that she could make a good impression. It was a familiar feeling, but somehow much more potent than usual. How she would love to say something interesting, to make this friendly young man assess her as something other than sullen. And she knew just what she would say if she could. He was clearly a good-humored person—he seemed to have a permanent twinkle in his eyes. She was sure she could make him laugh if she could just…but she pushed the feeling down. She had long ago learned to accept her limitations, and there was no use rebelling against them now.
“So you’re from Kynton, and you’re heading for Bryford,” Kincaid mused, b
reaking the silence at last. “That’s funny.”
He chuckled, inviting her to share the joke, but Jocelyn just looked at him blankly.
“Just because I’m doing the same in reverse,” he explained. “Stopping in Montego on my way from Bryford to Kynton. Well, not Kynton necessarily, but Kyona at least. I’ve never been there before, and I thought I’d explore a little.”
She gave a perfunctory smile, wondering what it would be like to have that kind of freedom. She suspected that being a regular girl would be restricting enough, but being a royal one was a death sentence for any dreams of adventuring. This heavily scheduled and escorted state visit was the closest she was ever likely to come.
“How long are you staying in Montego?” Kincaid asked, his tone as friendly as ever, as though his listener was not sitting in unresponsive silence for the whole conversation.
“Two nights,” said Jocelyn, barely restraining a sigh. She didn’t mind listening to him talk, but she wished he would stop asking her questions.
“Two nights? That’s not long. Hardly worth it.”
Jocelyn just shrugged. If he only knew what a process it had been to achieve even that! Between the royal family sending her, and the one receiving her, Jocelyn’s time had never been less her own.
“I’ve been here for three weeks,” Kincaid continued, and Jocelyn looked at him in surprise. She had assumed he was also a recent arrival. “And I had planned to stay several more. It’s a fascinating place, and the people here are so unlike anyone I’ve met before. I’m afraid they won’t engage with you much in only two days. It was at least a week before anyone spoke more than two words to me. I think it took that long for them to be convinced that I wasn’t a quester looking for dragons, to be honest. They wouldn’t have had the time of day for me if I had been.”
He chuckled to himself as he spoke, and Jocelyn shot him a furtive look. She had wondered herself if he might have been a quester, but hearing that he wasn’t made her instantly respect him more. She wondered if she dared ask him what Bryford was like. Better to play it safe. No unnecessary speech.
Legacy of the Curse Page 5
