Legacy of the Curse

by Deborah Grace White

  “Yes, even so, I don’t—wait a minute.” Jocelyn frowned, the sparkle in Elddreki’s eyes tipping her off as much as his repeated use of the word change. “Elddreki…” she said suspiciously. “Can you even use your magic to remove memories?”

  Elddreki didn’t answer, his eyes continuing to twinkle.

  “Elddreki!” Jocelyn’s mouth dropped open in indignation. “Are you…are you tricking me? Are you manipulating my emotions and playing on my heartbreak in order to make a point?”

  On a human, Elddreki’s smile would be called a grin. “Humans are so dramatic in their reactions to such things,” he said unrepentantly. “The temptation is almost irresistible.”

  Jocelyn glowered at him, her chest heaving with indignation and her heart still racing in response to the recent scare.

  “But in all seriousness,” Elddreki said, his voice suddenly earnest. “I said I want to help you, and I do. Can you not see the point I was trying to make?”

  Jocelyn frowned at him, but inside she acknowledged it. Kincaid was as dramatic a change as she had ever encountered. And even though it might lead to devastating loss, she still wouldn’t undo it if she could. She wouldn’t choose to go back to who she was before she’d met him. She wouldn’t choose to be unchanged. In spite of everything, she didn’t truly believe that particular change was bad.

  “Believe me, Jocelyn, change is necessary.” Elddreki’s tone had become heavy. “Coming from a colony which has chosen to close itself to change for all eternity, I can say that with authority.”

  Jocelyn met his eyes, her own heart touched by the sadness she saw there.

  “I don’t think any other dragon in Vasilisa would admit it to you,” Elddreki went on, his voice unusually quiet. “But as foolish and as fragile as you humans are, we envy you. We envy your place in the cycle of generations. We even envy the knowledge you gain when you cross the threshold of death. It is a question that will never be answered for us.”

  He looked away from her. “You asked me once if I regret my choice, and I did not answer you. But seeing this place, witnessing the life of this colony, seeing the dragonlings…” He looked back at her, and his gaze was too intense for her to handle. “I do regret it. Do not spurn the gift of change you have within you, Jocelyn. To do so is to dishonor those who have it not. I cannot change, but if I could, I would do so without hesitation.”

  Jocelyn was silent, unable to think of a single thing to say. After a moment, Elddreki bent his neck, lowering his head until it was right before hers.

  “Your power is a gift, Jocelyn.” She could feel the magic coming out of his mouth, intermingling with the words. A delicious fuzziness began to steal through her, dulling her senses and making her feel weightless. “Do not be afraid of it. Do not distrust yourself. Your kingdom doesn’t just need stability, it needs change. You need change.”

  And with those final words, Jocelyn felt herself sink into the welcome embrace of unconsciousness.

  Jocelyn woke slowly, her senses returning in a gentle progression. She couldn’t remember the last time she had slept so deeply and dreamlessly, and it took her a moment to remember where she was. She became aware that she was lying on her traveling cloak on soft ground, the clear light of morning shining on the branches above her. Beyond the trees, she caught a glimpse of a rocky slope, and it all came rushing back.

  Wyvern Islands! The second dragon colony!

  She sat up quickly, trying to remember how she had come to be sleeping in a copse of trees. She frowned in concentration. Elddreki had been speaking to her, and he had breathed his magic over her, making her…what? Fall asleep? She remembered his offer to take away her memories, and her heart seized in sudden alarm.

  She cast around in her mind, searching for the memory of Kincaid’s kiss, then let out a relieved breath. It was still there. Still agonizing. Still indescribably precious.

  She was still changed.

  She sat up, stretching her stiff limbs as she thought over all the dragon had said. He had certainly made a compelling case for the value of change. Could he be right? Could it be that if she stopped letting her fear rule her, if she started seeing change as something that was necessary, even good, she could learn to control her power? Could choose to use it or not use it as the occasion merited? To make it predictable in both potency and effect?

  That would be nice.

  She pushed herself to her feet, looking around. She didn’t think she was in the copse of trees where Kincaid had played with the dragonlings. This grove was bigger.

  “Good morning, young princess!”

  The bright voice made Jocelyn turn. Whether Raqisa had been there the whole time or had just landed, Jocelyn couldn’t say. Dragons were so unnervingly stealthy.

  “Good morning,” she responded, smoothing her hair self-consciously. “Did I sleep through the whole afternoon and night?”

  “You did indeed,” Raqisa affirmed. “You were weary in more ways than one, I think.”

  Jocelyn acknowledged it with a nod. She looked uncertainly up at the beast. Raqisa was watching her silently. “You…you took my…my companion back to the mainland, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  “Did he…was he…did he arrive safely?”

  Raqisa smiled. “Why do you not ask the question you wish to ask, Jocelyn?”

  Jocelyn let out a breath. Irritatingly perceptive mythical monsters. “Did he say anything when you parted?” she asked. She colored slightly. “Anything about…me?”

  “He thanked me most earnestly for preserving your life yesterday when you almost perished in flame,” said Raqisa conversationally. “A curious courtesy for him to perform if you are not a pair.”

  Raqisa’s words reminded Jocelyn suddenly of her own omission. “I didn’t even thank you!” she said quickly. “I’m more grateful than I can say.”

  Raqisa inclined her head graciously. “I would have been frustrated indeed had you been destroyed before I could fully investigate your unusual properties.”

  Jocelyn tried not to roll her eyes. She had almost forgotten how cavalier Elddreki had been about her safety before he had changed into a faintly emotional dragon. She frowned to herself. Had she really changed him—a dragon—simply by virtue of her presence? It seemed her power was strong indeed.

  “Elddreki said he can’t change, even if he wanted to,” she said suddenly. “But you can, can’t you? You age in a way he doesn’t. You can bear dragonlings, you can…well, die.”

  “I can,” Raqisa acknowledged when Jocelyn fell silent.

  “Are you afraid to die, eventually?” she asked curiously.

  “I am not.”

  “Why not?” Jocelyn persisted.

  Raqisa thought about her answer before speaking, shaking out her shoulders with a rustling ripple that passed all the way down her back to the tip of her tail.

  “I had a choice, Jocelyn. I could have chosen not to die, which is a privilege most creatures do not have. I did not make the decision lightly. I would not have chosen as I did had I not felt confident that what I was gaining in the exchange was worth losing what I was sacrificing.”

  Jocelyn looked into the distance. Kincaid had said something similar once, that most gains involve some loss. Would the gain of Kincaid be worth the sacrifice it would involve for Kyona? She shook her head. How could she choose to sacrifice on someone else’s behalf? A whole kingdom of someones.

  “Elddreki has told me that his colony consists entirely of immortal dragons,” Raqisa continued. “We are not the opposite here. We have not all chosen mortality. There are many dragons here who have chosen not to die. The one who was with me when I greeted you is just such a one. And our elders are immortal. Some of them are almost as old as the dragon-ruler of Elddreki’s colony in Vasilisa. I see the effect of their unchanging years, and I am glad we have them. But I do not envy them.”

  Jocelyn looked up at Raqisa in fascination. “So you really think it’s better, the way it is in this colon
y? Better to have change, even though it means death?”

  “Of course,” said Raqisa calmly. “Even Elddreki agrees.”

  “Yes,” said Jocelyn absently, remembering Elddreki’s confession of regret. He said he would change if he could, but he was incapable of it. She frowned. But he also claimed she had changed him, even if only subtly.

  “Speaking of Elddreki,” Raqisa said, her head tilted to the side, “I think I can sense his signature approaching.” She gave a guttural chuckle, the sound too deep to be feminine. “But it is difficult to be certain with you so close by, confusing the scent.” She gave Jocelyn a curious sniff. “It is an incredible anomaly, the way you carry his signature within your own. It reminds me of the interconnected magic of a dragonling and his sire. It is like you are kin, but how can a dragon and a human be kin?”

  Jocelyn listened only vaguely, her mind pursuing a different track. “So you can sense my power, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you could recognize it as change?”

  “That’s right. It would perhaps have taken me longer to identify it on my own, but when Elddreki named it, the essence became clear.”

  “But does it affect you?” Jocelyn pushed. “Do you experience any change?”

  “Me?” asked Raqisa, surprised. “Of course not. I imagine your power would only impact other humans.”

  Jocelyn was silent for a moment, deep in thought. “Elddreki said my power isn’t in my words, it’s in me. My words are just one of the main ways I let it out. Do you think that’s true?”

  “It sounds reasonable.”

  Jocelyn looked up at the yellow dragon. “Can you use your magic on me again? So I can watch? Not to submerge me in memories of the past again,” she added hastily. She had no desire to get lost in Princess Sarai’s troubles at the moment. “Some other magic.”

  Raqisa looked surprised, but she didn’t object. “What would you like me to do?”

  Jocelyn cast her mind around for something simple, something not too intrusive. The morning air was chill, and her traveling cloak was still on the ground instead of around her shoulders. The traveling cloak she had bought with her bracelet. Kincaid had been so cross at the discovery. For all his talk of gain requiring loss, Kincaid hadn’t even wanted her to lose something as unimportant as jewelry. No wonder she had seen nothing short of horror in his eyes when she said she intended to sacrifice her heart for the marriage alliance.

  Stop, she commanded herself sternly. No good would come of brooding.

  “It’s cold,” she said to Raqisa, her voice firm. “Elddreki always seems to emanate warmth. Can you use magic to warm me up?”

  “Certainly.”

  Raqisa opened her mouth, only a fraction, and Jocelyn tried to focus her attention on it. She realized she was unconsciously watching for fire, as had built in the other dragon’s mouth, and she closed her eyes. It was easier to focus on the magic without sight, sometimes. She could feel Raqisa’s power now—it felt different from Elddreki’s, or Eamon’s, or her own. She almost thought she was starting to recognize its signature.

  It didn’t leak out of Raqisa as Jocelyn’s power had so often leaked, or shoot out in unstable bursts. She could sense the way Raqisa gathered its strength, containing it until it was ready. Then she cast it out from her, almost like the fishermen Jocelyn had seen casting out their nets when she visited her father’s hometown on the coast.

  Jocelyn felt it settle over her, molding to her shape for a moment, then seeping into her skin. She had been so focused on the magic she wasn’t paying attention to the physical sensation, but she suddenly realized she was delightfully warm.

  “Thank you,” she said, referring both to the warmth and the demonstration. She hesitated. “Do you mind if I try?”

  Raqisa chuckled. “I do not mind in the least, young maiden. But you do not have fire inside you, and I do not think you will be able to warm me.”

  “No, no, I’ll try something different,” said Jocelyn absently.

  But what to try? Her power was change, apparently, but it was a bit ambitious to try to actually change anything about the dragon. What was she good at?

  Making people uncomfortable, she thought ruefully, but that seemed a poor repayment for Raqisa warming her up. She sighed. Little as she might like it, change was her only area. Changing people’s minds usually, rather than their nature. She glanced up at the dragon. On the off chance that it worked, she should try to make it a good change.

  “If you’re not afraid of dying, what are you afraid of?” she asked.

  Raqisa considered the point. “Sometimes I fear discovery by humans. I fear the loss of our isolation here.”

  Jocelyn considered Raqisa’s words, tilting her head to the side in an unconsciously dragon-like gesture. It wasn’t difficult to think of the words to use. That part she had been doing all her life. She focused instead on trying to harness her power.

  “That would certainly be a change,” Jocelyn acknowledged. As soon as the words emerged, her power wanted to catapult out as well. But she thought of how Raqisa had crafted her magic before releasing it, and she concentrated her mind on holding it in. Not forever, she promised silently. I’m not trying to hold it back altogether. Just until it’s ready. She felt her power swirl within her, potent and familiar and unexpectedly accessible.

  “But does that mean it would be bad?”

  She cast the net out as she spoke, trying to copy the way Raqisa had done it. She realized the truth of her own suggestion even as she made it. Raqisa was assuming interactions with humans would be a bad change, but there was just as much reason to think of it as a good change. Elddreki had been traveling with humans all this time, and she was fairly certain he was glad of it.

  She remembered Elddreki had said her power wasn’t actually in her words, and she continued to send it out even after she had finished speaking. She was amazed at the quantity. It seemed to just keep coming.

  Eventually it stopped, and Jocelyn opened her eyes. Raqisa was watching her carefully, the expression on her reptilian face difficult to make out.

  “You are right, Jocelyn,” the dragon breathed. “Your implication is clear, and sound. My fear is based on an assumption. Isolation from humans may not be necessary simply because it is what we have always done.” The dragon shook her head slowly. “It is more than just the logic of your argument. I can hardly credit my own senses, but I believe your power did just affect me. Minimally, but even so.”

  “Yes,” Jocelyn agreed, feeling awed—and a little frightened—at her success. “Even so.”

  “Well done, Jocelyn.” The new voice made Jocelyn jump. “You are learning at last.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Elddreki!” Jocelyn gasped, turning around. “How long have you been there?”

  “Long enough to be pleased you are taking my advice,” said Elddreki approvingly. “You wish to learn how to control your power.”

  It wasn’t a question, but Jocelyn confirmed it with a nod anyway. “For a moment I really convinced myself that using my power was a good thing, and it was incredible how easily I could draw on it.”

  “That’s how it should always have been,” Elddreki affirmed. “That’s probably how it is for your brother.”

  “Yes,” mused Jocelyn. “He’s never had any reason to fear or mistrust stability, has he? And if holding it in has only made it more unstable and unpredictable, that’s probably why mine has seemed to be getting stronger and his hasn’t.”

  She frowned thoughtfully. “But I don’t think it’s true he can access it so intentionally. He didn’t even agree with me that our power was magic. I don’t think he can recognize its form and its potential the way I’ve been learning to do. He’s never been directly exposed to dragon magic like I have since I met you.” She felt a stirring of excitement as she imagined telling her twin all she had learned. “But maybe I can teach him!”

  “I’m sure you can,” smiled Raqisa. “Although you mig
ht want to practice more yourself first.”

  “Yes,” agreed Jocelyn, surprising herself with her eagerness. “And this is the perfect place to practice, because I don’t think I can really do a dragon any harm, do you?”

  Elddreki shook his head indulgently. “You are making progress Jocelyn, but you still see your power as primarily a danger. You will not do us any harm. You may even do us some good, who knows?” He looked at Raqisa. “I am speaking based on an assumption that we will be welcome to stay, but perhaps that is hasty.”

  Jocelyn stifled a chuckle at the idea of Elddreki being hasty about anything.

  “You are certainly welcome to stay,” said Raqisa. “Both of you. For as long as you choose.”

  Jocelyn had been about to comment, regretfully, that she should probably think about rejoining her delegation in Bryford soon, but Elddreki spoke before she could.

  “It is gracious of you to say so, Raqisa, since my presence may be a source of grief.”

  Raqisa inclined her head in acknowledgment, but Jocelyn frowned.

  “Why would your presence be a source of grief?”

  “Raqisa and I would be glad to pair,” said Elddreki matter-of-factly. “But my choice has made that impossible.”

  “You could just as accurately say my choice has made that impossible,” interjected Raqisa serenely.

  Jocelyn stared between them, her eyebrows raised. She was as astonished by the total absence of self-consciousness on the part of either dragon as she was by the declaration itself.

  “But…” she felt her own cheeks heating in vicarious embarrassment. “You know that so soon after meeting?”

  Elddreki looked surprised. “Dragons generally recognize their pair instantly,” he said. “Does it take humans so long?”

  “Uh…”

  Jocelyn tried not to think about Kincaid, and failed instantly. It seemed impossible that a few weeks ago she hadn’t even met him yet. She remembered their first conversation, his unsettling attractiveness, the way his gaze had seemed to see straight into her. She hadn’t felt for him then what she did now, of course. But had it really taken that long, in the scheme of things?