Legacy of the Curse

by Deborah Grace White

  But the inn-keeper wasn’t looking at her, smiling pityingly upon Kincaid’s impotent fury.

  “It’s no use getting angry now, my friend. If you wanted to keep her, you should have taken better care of her.” He winked at Jocelyn. “That’s why you shouldn’t go for such young men, my dear. They make big promises, but they’re nothing more than a puff of wind.” He threw an arm around her shoulder, and she turned her head to avoid his reeking breath as he spoke into her ear. “Older, more mature men, like me, are a much better bet.”

  “Take your hands off her, or I will kill you.” Kincaid had also stopped struggling, and his voice was steady, but its deadly calm sent a shiver down Jocelyn’s spine.

  The man just chuckled. “I can see why you value her. She’s nice to look at, sure, but you’ve also got her very well trained. It’s rare these days to see a girl so good at shutting up and letting the men do the talking.”

  A fury as violent as any Kincaid had shown welled up inside Jocelyn, and suddenly she forgot about being subtle. All the frustration of her restricted life bubbled to the surface, personified in this loathsome, offensive man. In that moment she wanted nothing more than to make him pay. She cast aside her carefully prepared speech, giving free rein to both her words and her anger. It was amazing how easily it came—the words and the power—when she didn’t think, just spoke.

  “You’re bold to claim leadership of the group, being the size you are.”

  “What did you say?” The leader turned to her, his brows drawing together.

  Jocelyn shrugged, nodding her head toward one of the men who held Kincaid. “Well, he’s much bigger than you, for instance. I can only assume you were very cunning to find a way to defeat him when he challenged you for leadership of the gang.”

  A rustling went around the group, eyes flicking from the leader to the man Jocelyn had identified. The inn-keeper looked uneasy and confused.

  “He has challenged you for leadership I assume?” Jocelyn went on, raising an eyebrow. The usual release of prolonged speech was swallowed in the anger still simmering just below her calm front. All the power she had held inside by continually refraining from speech all day was clamoring for release, giving extra emphasis to her words.

  Kincaid had gone very still, and she could feel his eyes on her, but she didn’t dare meet his gaze. She looked around the rest of the circle instead, her eyes lingering on the burliest individuals in the circle.

  “There are at least half a dozen men here who I would have thought could best you.” She could see her words sinking in, the idea of a challenge taking root, and she returned her gaze to the leader, feigning astonishment. “Are you saying none of these men have vied for control? They must have absolute faith in you as their leader.”

  This time the rustling was louder, many men shifting their feet and narrowing their eyes at the man in the middle of the circle. It didn’t take much perception to see that they were all questioning their so-called trust in their leader. The first man she had nodded to released Kincaid, stepping forward.

  “I should be leader,” he said, his voice gruff and menacing. “I could beat you with my hands tied behind my back.”

  There were still three men holding Kincaid, but one of them let go with one hand, waving it dismissively toward the speaker. “You? I’d have you beggin’ for your ma in minutes if you had the stones to fight me.”

  “I’ll fight you any day you like,” snapped the first challenger, turning to him. The second man let go of Kincaid completely, and Jocelyn met her companion’s eyes at last. He was watching her with his mouth open, but at her significant look he gave himself a little shake, ready to take advantage of the diversion.

  “Enough, both of you,” said the leader, in a voice that lacked conviction. He still looked extremely unnerved.

  “You’re not the boss of me,” grunted one of the challengers. “At least, you shouldn’t be.”

  “Neither should you!” scoffed the man holding Jocelyn, releasing her to join the argument. She began to move toward Kincaid, her steps unhurried. He continued to stand still, not resisting the hold of the remaining two men on his arms. His restraint was rewarded a moment later, as they both joined the fight beginning to escalate in the middle of the circle, apparently forgetting about their captive.

  By that time Jocelyn had reached him, and had begun to surreptitiously repack their purchases into Kincaid’s pack, which lay abandoned on the ground nearby. As soon as he was released, Kincaid stepped quickly toward her. The altercation was growing in volume, as half the group seemed to be insisting they should be in charge, and all of them agreeing their original leader shouldn’t. The man was attempting to back away, his expression alarmed as he argued with them. Jocelyn could see the doubt and confusion on his face, as if even he wasn’t convinced he should be boss.

  She was watching the chaos, her task momentarily forgotten, when the first blade was drawn. In a flash, jagged steel could be seen in all directions.

  “Time to go,” said Kincaid grimly, his voice unexpectedly close behind her.

  He relieved her of his pack, slinging it onto his back before she’d fully turned around. Without warning he lunged past her toward the gang member who still held his sword, his fist striking the side of the man’s head with enough force to knock him to the ground. Kincaid had his sword in one hand in a flash, and before she well knew what was happening, he had Jocelyn’s hand in the other, and they were running out of town.

  The sounds of violence followed them, and Jocelyn didn’t need to look back to know the argument had become bloody. No one was pursuing them, but they still ran until Jocelyn’s breathing was ragged. As soon as the town was out of sight, Kincaid pulled Jocelyn to a halt, even though Dragoncave was still some distance away. She let go of his hand, putting her own on her heaving chest as she tried to catch her breath.

  “Are you all right?” Kincaid spoke quietly, but Jocelyn could hear the tightness in his voice. He was barely puffing, irritatingly unaffected by their sprint.

  She nodded without meeting his eyes, running her hands down her arms and wincing as she passed over the spot where she had been held. She wouldn’t be surprised if she had hand-shaped bruises there the next day.

  “They hurt you.” It wasn’t a question, and Kincaid’s voice was as hard as iron. Jocelyn remembered the fire in his eyes when the ringleader had run a hand over her hair, and she could feel her heart beating faster in her throat.

  “I’m fine,” she said quickly, her voice barely more than a whisper. She still hadn’t looked him in the eye.

  “You’re not,” said Kincaid shortly. He stepped toward her, then back again. Then he turned on his heel and strode several paces away, before turning and retracing his steps. His hands were balled into fists.

  “I’m so sorry Jocelyn. I shouldn’t have let my guard down—they should never have been able to sneak up on us like that.”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” said Jocelyn quietly, her breathing finally starting to return to normal. Not much power left her at the words—she seemed to have used it up in her attack on the gang.

  “You saved us.” Kincaid sounded awed, and Jocelyn looked up at last to find him watching her in amazement.

  She shrugged and looked away, uncomfortable. But her head snapped back up as Kincaid continued.

  “You saved us with your words.”

  Jocelyn opened her mouth and closed it again. She was still shaking from their near miss, and her thoughts were in too much of a jumble to know how to avert his suspicions. But it seemed they were beyond that possibility.

  “Your words have power. Magic. When you speak, you have magic.”

  Again, it wasn’t a question, and Jocelyn felt the color drain from her face. She stumbled back a step, putting her hands up in front of her in an involuntary gesture of defense.

  Kincaid strode forward instantly, closing the distance between them again and grasping her wrists.

  “Jocelyn, no! You have nothing
to fear from me. I’ll take your secret to the grave if that’s what you want. I told you once before that I don’t mean you any harm, and I meant it. I’m just trying to understand. I’m just trying to help you.”

  Jocelyn swallowed, tears pricking her eyes in spite of herself. She wanted to trust him, she really did. But she had never told anyone about her power before, not even Lucy, not even her parents. Could she really tell this man she’d only known for a few days?

  Would Eamon ever forgive her if she did?

  “Jocelyn?” Kincaid pushed gently. He was still holding her wrists, and he turned his hands under hers, bringing them together so that her palms were pressed flat against one another, his own larger hands cupped around them.

  She met his eyes, searching their depths for any gleam of calculation, or even for a hint of the satisfaction that comes from solving a puzzle or getting the better of someone. But there was nothing but kindness and concern. He truly didn’t mean her any harm. She had to believe that.

  “Yes,” she said at last, her voice surprisingly steady. “My words have power. Unnatural power.” Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she spoke, but inside, it felt more like a bird had been released from a cage. She could almost see it winging away into the sky.

  “But—” Kincaid’s hands tightened around hers, as if worried that if he let go the mystery would slip back out of reach. “How is such a thing possible?”

  “I don’t know,” said Jocelyn softly. “I’ve always been this way.”

  He stared at her in amazement, and Jocelyn felt her face grow hot under his scrutiny. She had imagined the shock, the horror, perhaps the calculation, she would see on the faces of the court if her secret ever came out. But Kincaid’s expression was nothing like what she had pictured. He looked amazed, certainly, but he didn’t look disapproving. On the contrary, he was looking at her as though she was a priceless treasure.

  “I had my suspicions,” Kincaid said, still holding her eyes with his. “I knew there was something strange about your silence. I could tell it wasn’t natural to you, that you were forcing it for some reason. But it wasn’t until Elddreki started talking about how mountain blood gives the ability to sense magic that I had my first inkling about why it felt unusual when you spoke. And then your performances back there in the town…”

  “Stupid interfering dragon,” Jocelyn muttered, and Kincaid gave a delighted laugh. She looked up, surprised at the disproportionate reaction. He was grinning at her affectionately.

  “You’re saying things like that in your head constantly, aren’t you?”

  Jocelyn smiled reluctantly. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  Kincaid laughed again, sounding eager, and more than a little pleased with himself. “I can tell. You have this look about you when you hold in a clever comment. Like you’re bursting at the seams.”

  “I’m not sure what was clever about that comment,” said Jocelyn dryly, but Kincaid just laughed again.

  “Like that.” He smiled at her with such open friendliness that she couldn’t help but be buoyed. “Your silence was killing me, Jocelyn. This is much better. I like it when you talk.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “You like feeling uncomfortable?”

  He paused, looking confused. “Of course I don’t like feeling uncomfortable. Who would? But why would you ask that?”

  She shrugged and attempted to draw her hands back, but Kincaid held on firmly. “No, don’t dodge the question. Why would I be uncomfortable?”

  Jocelyn sighed. “Most people feel uncomfortable around me, especially when I speak. I suppose it’s only natural. No one likes to feel confused.”

  Kincaid frowned. “I don’t feel uncomfortable around you,” he said frankly. “And I don’t feel confused.”

  “Your expression says otherwise,” Jocelyn quipped, and Kincaid laughed again.

  “Well, I am confused right now, but purely because of that suggestion.”

  “Don’t you feel anything when I speak?” Jocelyn asked him curiously. “You must, if you figured out that your mountain blood was letting you sense the power.”

  “I do, sometimes,” said Kincaid slowly, releasing her hands at last as he thought the question over. She returned them quickly to her sides, but they suddenly felt awkward there, like she didn’t know what to do with them. “Sometimes much more strongly than others,” Kincaid was continuing. “But it doesn’t feel uncomfortable.”

  “How does it feel?” Jocelyn persisted.

  Kincaid hesitated for a moment, then flashed her a grin which was more self-conscious than usual. “It feels exciting, actually.”

  “Oh.” Jocelyn wasn’t at all sure what to make of this information, and it was suddenly difficult to meet his eye.

  “Why do you force yourself to be silent?” Kincaid asked unexpectedly.

  “Because…” Jocelyn hesitated, confused. Hadn’t they just covered this? “Because my words have power. I can’t control when it comes, or how much impact it has. The only way to be sure it’s not happening is to avoid speaking altogether.”

  “But why don’t you want it to happen?” said Kincaid matter-of-factly. “Why wouldn’t you want to use your…ability? You used it to great effect back there.” He nodded his head over her shoulder, back toward the town.

  “That was a life and death situation,” said Jocelyn quickly, and a shadow passed over Kincaid’s eyes at the truth of the statement. “But generally it’s better for everyone involved if I keep my mouth shut. I mean, you saw what happened back there! Things got very ugly very quickly when I opened my mouth.”

  “You saved us,” said Kincaid firmly. “However out of control the situation became, those men deserved it.”

  “Maybe,” said Jocelyn with a shrug, “but I don’t want to be the one to decide what people deserve. Of course I’m glad we got out safely, but do you think I like the idea that I probably just killed someone?”

  Her voice cracked slightly at the end of this speech, and Kincaid’s eyes softened. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Jocelyn, you didn’t kill anyone. You didn’t force those men to turn on each other.”

  “Didn’t I?” asked Jocelyn dully. “I planted the seed in their minds, and I did it on purpose.” She took a deep breath, trying to steady the sudden shaking in her hands. “I didn’t have to do it, either. There were other ways to convince them to let us go, and I didn’t initially plan to incite violence. But I got so angry at the way that man spoke about me—”

  “I’m not surprised,” said Kincaid grimly, his hand tightening on her shoulder. “I was furious too. When he touched you, I wanted to kill him myself.” He gave her a twisted smile. “If you’re inclined to blame yourself just for putting him in a tight spot, you can take comfort from the fact that I would have run him through myself if I had half the chance.”

  Jocelyn gave a half-hearted smile. “Say what you like, but your every move radiates honor. If you’d fought him, I’m sure it would have been a fair fight. What I did isn’t like that.” She shook her head. “My power isn’t a good thing, Kincaid. It’s dangerous.”

  He was silent for a moment, watching her with such a serious expression that she lowered her gaze. “So is my sword,” he said at last. “But that doesn’t make it evil. I control it, I choose how to wield it. It’s only as good or evil as I am.” He moved his hand from her shoulder to her chin, gently forcing her to look up at him. “And you’re not evil, Jocelyn. You’re just not.”

  She blinked rapidly, trying to prevent the tears from coming. “You don’t understand, Kincaid,” she whispered. “You said it yourself—you control your sword. But I can’t control this.” She gestured helplessly toward her throat. “I don’t have to intend any harm for my words to do terrible damage.”

  Kincaid raised one shoulder, unconvinced. “I just don’t believe that it justifies you closing yourself away, turning yourself into a statue.” He gestured between them. “We’re having a conversation right now, and it’s n
ot doing any harm that I can see.”

  “And I’m glad, but I don’t know why,” said Jocelyn desperately. “Some people are affected more than others, especially if they’re not very strong-minded to begin with. And sometimes it just comes out stronger than other times, but I can’t predict it.” Kincaid opened his mouth, but she cut him off, wanting him to take her seriously, but at the same time afraid for him to know the worst of her.

  “You don’t understand, Kincaid. I’ve done terrible things.” She took a deep breath. “I had a favorite merchant in the markets in Kynton when I was younger. He would always give me things for free, just little baubles, you know, and I used to hang around his stall whenever I was allowed to explore the square on market days. I brought him and his family to the edge of ruin with a thoughtless remark about his trade practices. He altered his entire approach, and it almost destroyed his business. That was years ago, and he still hasn’t regained the success he had before I wreaked havoc on his life.”

  “You can’t blame yourself for that,” said Kincaid stubbornly. “If he was so weak-minded as to take business advice from a child—”

  “But he wasn’t weak-minded!” Jocelyn protested, a lump rising to her throat at the memory of the disaster. “And he didn’t know he was taking business advice from me any more than I knew I was giving it! I doubt he ever even connected his decision with my words. But the seed was planted, and he acted accordingly. My best guess is that my words had such effect on him because he knew me, and trusted me, and was predisposed to think well of me. Which makes the betrayal so much worse!”

  “For it to be a betrayal, you would have had to intend him harm,” said Kincaid firmly, but Jocelyn wasn’t finished.

  “That’s not even the worst of it!” she choked out, her voice rising. “About a year ago, a lord in my father’s court made me angry, and I made a snide comment about him, intended as a jest, to my brother. I didn’t mean anyone else to hear, but another one of the nobles did, and it all spiraled out of control. It ended with the man being accused of treason, and he would likely have been hanged if Eamon hadn’t stepped in and managed to manipulate the situation.”