Legacy of the Curse

by Deborah Grace White

  But she pushed the thought to the side because she had plenty else to think about. It was surreal how seamlessly she was reintegrated into the Kyonan delegation. Her maids—including the poor girl whom she had abandoned in Montego, who now seemed to have a permanent look of alarm on her face—fussed over her endearingly. They washed her hair and dressed her in one of her own gowns, and she almost began to feel like a princess again.

  She stood it for as long as she could, but when her stomach began to growl audibly, she dropped a hint to a serving girl that she would be grateful for some food. She didn’t mention that she hadn’t eaten in a week, of course. The girl told her she’d just missed the midday meal, but obligingly hurried away to procure something for her. Jocelyn felt cowardly for admitting it even to herself, but she was relieved to be able to eat in the privacy of her own room, rather than facing Prince Ormond again so soon.

  A number of the diplomatic officials who had come with her from Kynton sought her out once she was presentable, to welcome her and express their relief at her safety, and other such wearying formalities. Jocelyn’s hands were growing stiff from keeping them folded in her skirts, to hide the burns. None of the officials mentioned the dragon factor in her escapade. They acted like she had been detained in the mountains and had only now emerged. She smiled, nodded, and kept her mouth shut. It felt like nothing had changed. It was more surreal than she could describe.

  Less absurd, but more nerve-wracking, was the visit from Queen Marguerite, to welcome her guest. She didn’t shy away from the fact that Jocelyn had arrived in Bryford in the company of a dragon. It seemed Jocelyn’s father had indeed told the Valorian king and queen that Jocelyn had been detained by a dragon ally from his past. Whether they had passed that on outside their family Jocelyn wasn’t sure.

  In any event, the queen asked some searching questions, and Jocelyn was unable to get away with swallowing her words like she had with the Kyonans. It took all her recent practice at controlling her power just to keep it inside. She was alarmed to find that the more she kept it in, the stronger it seemed to grow.

  She remembered Kincaid’s opinion of her suggestion that the only benefit of training with her power would be to avoid using it. She knew that was exactly what she was doing, and she felt like a failure. But the idea of embracing a magical power of change had seemed much more feasible and much less terrifying on a dragon-inhabited island in the middle of the ocean.

  Back in the world of humans, Jocelyn felt jumpy and on edge. She knew now just how much her power was capable of, and she shuddered to think of what might happen to a human on the receiving end of the kind of force she had unleashed on Elddreki. Even she, on the giving end, had almost been killed by it.

  But still, Queen Marguerite’s eyes were kind, and she certainly leveled no reproach at Jocelyn, either for her tardiness or for her unconventional adventure.

  “Will you…will you send word to my parents in Kynton, to let them know of my safe arrival?” Jocelyn asked softly, and the queen looked surprised.

  “Word has already been sent, naturally. But they are not in Kynton.”

  “They’re not?” Jocelyn asked, startled.

  “They were called to Alezae to respond to a disturbance,” said Queen Marguerite delicately. “They had requested us to inform them as soon as you arrived, so they kindly notified us of their removal from the capital.”

  “I see,” said Jocelyn, frowning over the unexpected information. What did “a disturbance” mean?

  “At all events, your arrival is timely, my dear,” the queen said as she rose to leave. “We had been planning tonight’s gala for months, and were not at all sure whether to continue with it in your absence. Now the question is pleasantly resolved.”

  “There’s a gala tonight?” Jocelyn asked blankly. She was so dismayed by the idea of being paraded before the kingdom so soon that she forgot to regulate her power, and it leaked out a little. A flicker crossed the queen’s face, but it was quickly smoothed out. She was not easily susceptible, then. That was a very good thing.

  “Of course, Jocelyn. We know it is a great sacrifice for you to be our guest here on this day, instead of spending your eighteenth birthday with your twin, and your parents. We would be remiss as hosts if we didn’t throw you a celebration.”

  For a moment Jocelyn just gaped at the older woman, her mouth hanging open in unladylike surprise.

  “Today is my eighteenth birthday?”

  Queen Marguerite had been standing, half turned to the door. But at Jocelyn’s question, she resumed her seat, frowning. “You were not aware? I was certain I had the date correct.”

  “No, I’m sure you do,” said Jocelyn quickly. “I just…had no way of knowing the date when I was traveling, and I hadn’t realized…” She trailed off, knowing the excuse sounded lame. But she wasn’t about to tell the queen, who might be her future mother-in-law, that she had no concept whatsoever of the date because she had spent the last week or so lying unconscious in a funereal bower on a secret dragon island as a result of overextending her innate magical power in order to give an immortal dragon mortality.

  She had made a questionable enough first impression as it was.

  “My dear,” said Queen Marguerite hesitantly. “It has not escaped my notice that you have not been entirely forthright in what you have told me of your recent experiences.” Jocelyn colored, thinking of the glaring omission from her story of any mention of Kincaid, and the queen hastened to reassure her. “I don’t mean to press you. But…are you sure you’re well? You don’t look altogether robust.”

  Jocelyn smiled ruefully at this diplomatic phrasing. She had seen her reflection in the tall looking glass in the room. The fresh clothes were an improvement, but she still looked a little bit like how she felt—as though she had been caught in a stampede of wild elk. Before she could politely if dishonestly assure the queen she was well, the Valorian woman reached out and took her hand unexpectedly. Jocelyn couldn’t restrain her wince, and Queen Marguerite’s sudden intake of breath told Jocelyn that she’d seen the burns.

  “What happened to you, my poor child?” Her forehead creased in concern. “I thought you said the dragons were friendly.”

  “They were,” Jocelyn hastened to assure her. “These injuries were not the result of dragon fire. I was just…careless.”

  The queen looked unconvinced, but with the same forbearance she had so far shown, she didn’t press Jocelyn for details, just promised to send a physician to examine the wounds.

  As much as Jocelyn appreciated the gesture, between the physician and the preparations necessary for the evening’s festivities, she didn’t have a moment to catch her breath all afternoon.

  “Oh Your Highness,” one of her maids gushed, as she pinned Jocelyn’s hair for the gala. “I’m so relieved you’re here in time for tonight. You’re going to blow them all away.”

  Jocelyn, sitting in front of the looking glass, met her own eyes ruefully. Somehow she doubted it. With her mouth firmly shut, there was going to be nothing to recommend her but her looks, and they weren’t exactly at their best. There were hollows under her eyes, and her face was paler than normal. She was dressed in one of her best gowns, a sky blue creation with lace forming the slim-fitted bodice and cap sleeves, and a full skirt of silk flowing to her ankles, given shape by layer upon layer of tulle underneath.

  Normally it suited her brilliantly, and it was still pretty enough. But her week of hibernation had hollowed out her already slim form, and nothing fit quite right.

  “I probably shouldn’t say it,” giggled the maid, needing no encouragement from the princess, “because I know there’s nothing official yet. But I think you’ll be a little blown away yourself. Prince Ormond is so handsome.”

  Jocelyn smiled painfully, making no attempt to correct the girl’s assumption that she had yet to lay eyes on the crown prince.

  “And you’ll have plenty of opportunity to see for yourself, Your Highness, because from what I can
discover, you’ll be seated next to him at the gala. And he’s going to lead you out for the first dance, of course.”

  Of course. Jocelyn barely restrained a groan.

  “There are lots of handsome men here in Bryford,” the maid continued with another giggle. “Even that visiting noble is very handsome, even if he’s a little old.”

  “I never thought I’d say it of a southerner,” interjected the other maid. “But I agree, he is very handsome.”

  “A southerner?” Jocelyn looked up, frowning. “What southerner?”

  “Some Balenan noble,” said the first maid, narrowing her eyes in concentration as she wrestled with a wayward golden curl on top of Jocelyn’s head. “He’s a guest of the Valorian royal family, and I gather he’s been here before.”

  Jocelyn’s frown deepened. He must be the diplomat Kincaid had once mentioned. “But we’ve never had a Balenan noble visit Kynton,” she said slowly. “Other than Aunt Scarlett’s family.”

  The maid clucked her tongue sadly. “I expect Balenans are wanting to stay away from Kyona these days, and who can blame them? With these nasty freedmen causing such a ruckus, acting like they’re so downtrodden.”

  Jocelyn turned in her seat, her mouth falling open in astonishment at the girl’s tone. She had never heard her maid express any such opinion before.

  “What are you talking about? The freedmen aren’t the problem!”

  “I can understand why you’d want to believe that, Your Highness,” said the other maid sadly. “What with your friend’s family being so close with so many of them. I used to think the same. But I’m afraid it just can’t be denied. And it’s no wonder if Balenans don’t want to come while the freedmen are so uncontrolled, not after the way they wronged Balenol when they left all those years ago.”

  Jocelyn pushed herself to her feet, her chest heaving, and the maids both fell back a step in surprise.

  “They wronged Balenol? What madness are you speaking? They were slaves in Balenol—slaves!”

  The maids exchanged glances, their expressions of confusion identical. Jocelyn had made no attempt this time to restrain her power, and she could see them struggling to make sense of their own opinions.

  “They were, weren’t they?” said one of the maids, looking slightly dazed. “But I thought…” She shook her head in bewilderment. “You’ll have to ask the Balenan nobleman to explain it all to you. He’s sure to be at the gala tonight.”

  “You can believe I’ll do exactly that,” said Jocelyn sharply, all thought of keeping her mouth shut at the celebration forgotten.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The royal ballroom of Valoria’s castle was one of the most impressive things Jocelyn had ever seen, dragons excepted. She arrived feeling strangely edgy from her walk through the castle. It was surreal to recognize a place she had never been, but thanks to her time in Princess Sarai’s head, she did.

  The ballroom she hadn’t seen before, however, and she had to admit she was enchanted by the sight. Thanks to the long summer days, light still streamed in through the many arched windows stretching almost to the ceiling. Thousands of candles already shone from elaborate chandeliers, ready for the sun to sink. The walls and ceiling were draped with huge swaths of fabric, in Valorian purple, and silver tassels and embroidery could be seen everywhere.

  After so long roaming the countryside anonymously, it was strange to enter with all the fanfare of a princess. The long tables were already packed when she and her delegation arrived, those fortunate enough to have been invited for the meal having already taken their seats.

  She was announced at the door, and everyone rose, with the obvious exception of the king and queen. Prince Ormond approached with a stately stride, offering his arm to escort her to her seat beside him. Jocelyn took a steady breath before accepting it, determined to improve on the impression she had given last time.

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” she said, keeping her power firmly inside.

  “Please,” he said, “call me Ormond.” His voice was pleasant enough, but the tone was so formal it didn’t match the words. She dipped her head in acknowledgment.

  “You look beautiful tonight, Princess Jocelyn,” he said as he led her to her seat.

  She glanced up quickly and caught the look in his eyes as they rested on her. He probably didn’t intend her to see, but it was impossible to miss the relief. She sighed internally. She couldn’t blame him for being glad she had the capacity to look like a princess instead of a peasant wench.

  And there was undeniably admiration in his gaze, as well. She felt her cheeks warm slightly—she couldn’t help but be pleased he thought she was beautiful. But the memory of his momentary shock at first sight of her intruded uncomfortably. She knew it wasn’t Prince Ormond’s fault—the expression had been involuntary, and his words and conduct since then had been irreproachable.

  But try as she might to avoid it, the comparison with Kincaid was inevitable. The admiration in Prince Ormond’s eyes was nothing to the way Kincaid had looked at her in the markets when he told her she was beautiful. And he had looked at her like that regardless of the peasant dress, and the unwashed hair, and the knowledge of her strange and dangerous power.

  Stop thinking about Kincaid, she told herself, knowing full well that articulating it would only make her more certain to do so. Once she and the prince were seated, she cast her eyes around surreptitiously. Many people had been invited tonight, nobles and influential commoners alike, if her practiced eye was any judge. Was it completely foolish to think Kincaid might be here? Would it be better or worse if he was?

  But she could see no sign of him, and she told herself it was for the best. She resolutely turned her attention to Prince Ormond, determined to get some sense of him as a person. He inquired politely after her health, his eyes lingering for the briefest of seconds on her now-bandaged hands, and she returned an impersonal answer.

  “I’m sorry our first meeting was so haphazard,” she said softly, as the soup was served. “I’m afraid it wasn’t quite the arrival in Bryford I had pictured.”

  “Not at all,” said Prince Ormond politely. “It was my honor to meet you, regardless of the circumstances. And we are all relieved you’ve arrived safely.”

  Disappointed in his formality, Jocelyn responded with a strained smile.

  “I wish I’d been there!” interjected an eager new voice. Jocelyn turned in surprise to see an attractive young girl, a few years younger than her. She was seated next to the nobleman on Jocelyn’s other side. “I can’t think of anything more exciting that arriving with a dragon! You’ll go down in Valorian history! Much better than arriving with some delegation.”

  The girl lowered her voice conspiratorially, the attempt fairly useless since she was leaning around the nobleman seated between them in order to speak to the visiting princess. “To be honest, your delegation’s arrival was positively boring by comparison.”

  “Lavinia,” said Prince Ormond repressively. She just smirked at him, and he didn’t quite manage to restrain an eye roll. It was the most natural behavior Jocelyn had yet seen from him, and it warmed her to the serious young prince.

  “Princess Jocelyn,” he said in a voice of long-suffering, “allow me to introduce you to my sister, Princess Lavinia.”

  “You didn’t do it properly,” Princess Lavinia complained. “You should have called me Her Royal Highness Princess Lavinia, and you should have called her Her Royal Highness Princess Jocelyn of the House of Dragonfriend. I’ve been dying to hear someone say it all summer.”

  Jocelyn held out a restraining hand, laughing in spite of herself. “Please, I’m begging you—don’t burden me down with all that! Call me Jocelyn.”

  The younger princess beamed at her. “And you can call me Lavinia, obviously.”

  “I’m very happy to meet you, Lavinia,” said Jocelyn with a smile. She hadn’t quite been able to bring herself to call Ormond by just his name yet, but with Lavinia it was easy.

 
“So the dragon,” Lavinia said in a business-like tone. “What was it like?”

  “He, not it,” Jocelyn corrected automatically. “His name is Elddreki.”

  “Whoa,” Lavinia said, her eyes as round as if Jocelyn had said something unbelievable. “So they really do talk?”

  Jocelyn tried not to smile. “Of course they do.”

  “Lavinia,” said Prince Ormond reproachfully. “Don’t drown her with questions the moment she arrives. Princess Jocelyn may not want to talk about her…ordeal.”

  “It wasn’t an ordeal,” said Jocelyn, surprised. “And I don’t mind talking about it.”

  Prince Ormond looked surprised but, unless Jocelyn was entirely mistaken, his polite front was concealing a curiosity as avid as his sister’s. She hid a smile.

  “So what did—oh, this is ridiculous,” Lavinia complained, clearly tired of leaning halfway across the table to speak. “Lord Irwing, trade seats with me.”

  The nobleman sitting between Jocelyn and Lavinia continued to sip his soup, untroubled by the young princess’s curt command.

  “You know I can’t do that, Your Highness. The queen would have my hide.” His voice was indulgent, and Lavinia pouted slightly.

  “Mother and her stupid rules. Why is it so important that we sit man, woman, man, woman?”

  “Tradition is not stupid,” said Ormond disapprovingly. He turned to Jocelyn. “You’ll have to forgive my sister’s…vivacity.”

  “Readily.” Jocelyn extended her smile to include Lavinia. “Not that there’s anything to forgive.” She had taken an instant liking to the young princess, and she could certainly relate to her frustration at the restrictions of royal life. “We princesses need to stick together,” she said humorously. “I’ve often wished for a sister to commiserate with.”