Something was wrong, and although she didn’t yet know what it was, she knew it took priority over making a good impression on the Valorian royals. She looked at the information she knew so far as she hurried back toward her suite.
There was a Balenan nobleman in Valoria, one who impossibly possessed some kind of magic. He was an enemy to the freedmen, and although he was making sure everyone knew it, no one was calling him out on it. He was apparently coming and going from Kynton at will. If he was to be believed, he was also charming her brother, and even more suspiciously, doing so in her parents’ absence.
She didn’t need to understand exactly what was happening in order for that information to make her extremely uneasy. She felt a shot of fear go through her heart at the thought of her brother. She didn’t know when the feeling had become so strong, but she suddenly had the unshakable conviction that Eamon was in some kind of trouble.
Darkness had fallen some time before, and when she reached her suite, she was glad to find someone had come by and lit a number of candles in preparation for her return. For several frenzied minutes, she paced back and forth, trying to decide what to do. Should she return to Kyona immediately? Should she try to enlist the help of Prince Ormond and his family?
But that idea was unlikely to bear much fruit. Ormond had said himself that he trusted Lord Randall implicitly, and if his parents had accepted the nobleman as a guest on more than one occasion, they presumably trusted him too. They were probably all under the effect of his strange power. The thought made Jocelyn feel sick.
But not as sick as the realization of how close she had come to falling prey to it. Without her time with the dragons, she doubted she would ever have recognized what was happening.
If the Valorians couldn’t help her, who could? She wished she had a way to communicate with Elddreki, but she didn’t. Her thoughts flew to Kincaid, and the ache in her heart throbbed intensely, momentarily eclipsing her other thoughts. He would take her seriously, and he would want to help. But she had no idea where to find him, and even if she did, she couldn’t ask more of him, not after she’d broken his heart. Plus, what could he do?
Fleetingly she considered taking the matter to one of the officials in the Kyonan delegation, but she was afraid to do it. Quite apart from the fact that it would knock any one of them flat to hear her expressing an opinion on matters of state, her maids had clearly demonstrated that Lord Randall had managed to infiltrate the delegation with his lies.
She let out a groan. There was no one to turn to. She was as alone as Princess Sarai. The thought of the other princess, and the permanence of her isolation, filled Jocelyn with a sudden terror. She had comforted herself with the reflection that their paths were not so similar, because there was no risk of a violent uprising cutting her off from her homeland if she married the present day Valorian prince. But now she wasn’t so sure. Some kind of threat was looming over Kyona, undefined in nature, but clearly sinister.
She stopped pacing, drawing deep breaths to calm her racing heart. She wouldn’t help Kyona by panicking. She needed to think. It wasn’t too late. Princess Sarai didn’t find out about the threat to her homeland until it was all over, but Jocelyn was one step ahead. There must be something she could do to thwart whatever was being planned. She was not doomed to isolation and grief like Princess Sarai.
Her breathing calmer, she glanced around the room, looking for inspiration. Her eyes fell on a large portrait above the mantel, and she approached it absently. The portrait showed a couple, the man seated and the woman standing just behind him, her hand on his shoulder. They both wore crowns, and the expressions on their faces were peaceful.
Jocelyn stared at the portrait, momentarily distracted from her anxiety. In the natural course of things she should not have recognized these faces from Valoria’s past. But natural wasn’t the best description of Jocelyn, and she did recognize them.
It was Prince Germain and Princess Sarai. She squinted at the crowns, and the sash the prince was wearing over his ceremonial garb. Or were they king and queen by this stage?
She reached out a hand, feeling like she had found an old friend. She touched her fingers to the skirts of the painted princess. She supposed she should have seen it coming, but when she felt her consciousness suddenly beginning to spin, her only thought was, not again.
Sarai handed her horse off to the groom and flung the skirt of her riding habit over her arm. The last thing she needed was to trip on the thing and fall flat as she made her way up the castle stairs. The morning was fresh, and she had been invigorated by her ride over the fields. And, she thought darkly, her mare had shown no sudden inclination to throw and trample her.
She scolded herself internally for the petty thought as she reached the castle’s entrance. It had been weeks since the overheard insult, and she was disappointed in herself with how much her resentment over the incident was still lingering. Although if she was honest, Lady Marietta’s words bothered her less than Germain’s smile as he had spoken to the noblewoman in the gardens.
Sarai sighed, trying to put the incident from her mind. At least Germain’s sister had continued to be kind to her, despite clearly disapproving of Sarai’s passive response to Lady Marietta’s unbecoming behavior. In fact, they had spent so much time together in the weeks of her visit, that Sarai’s impromptu ride today felt almost lonely without her. The visiting family had departed only a few days earlier.
Sarai looked up as she crossed the broad entranceway. The morning sun streamed in through many windows, and she found herself admiring the castle’s welcoming entrance before she realized she was doing it. It was a beautiful building, she could acknowledge that now. She still found herself comparing it to the castle at Kynton, but she was reasonable enough to recognize that it was well designed and flawlessly decorated. And no less filled with pleasant chatter and cheerful faces than her childhood home had been. She knew it was a testament in her family-in-law’s favor that the castle’s servants were contented as well as efficient.
She left the entranceway, continuing down a broad corridor. Her thoughts drawn to the servants, she noticed for the first time that there weren’t many about. She looked around her, frowning. She had been too caught up in her thoughts before, but now she was paying attention, she recognized that indefinable quality to the air that said something was happening.
She picked up her pace slightly as she neared the large throne room, and she felt her heart skip a beat when she heard imperious voices issuing from within it. Was there some formal address occurring at that moment? She hurried on, dismayed. She had answered the impulse of the moment in going for her ride. She had not strictly cleared it with anyone. She tried to keep abreast of all official happenings at which she might be expected to be present, and would not have left if she had thought anything of importance was scheduled. But perhaps she had forgotten something.
She swallowed anxiously, remembering Germain’s words in the garden about wanting the court to see her fulfilling her role, and her inference that he’d been unsatisfied with her fulfillment of that role so far. If there was a formal audience in the throne room, she should be present, standing at Germain’s side, doing her part as a member of the royal family. She reached the doorway and hesitated, wondering if it would be a worse offense to enter in her riding habit, or to delay her arrival further by changing into court attire.
The door was open, a young servant standing at attention just outside, as was usual. He hesitated at her approach. She acknowledged him with a gracious nod before peeking into the room, hoping to get a sense of what was happening before committing herself.
She frowned in confusion at what she saw. It was not a formal audience, as the king was not present, but there could be no doubt the gathering was serious in nature. There were some dozen nobles present, their expressions ranging from grave to agitated. No one sat on the thrones, and she could see no sign of her husband, but Germain’s younger brother stood on the dais at the end of the long r
oom, his arms crossed and his forehead creased as he listened to one of the nobles. She had just started to withdraw, deciding that since Germain wasn’t present, there could be no expectation of her attendance, when the nobleman’s words penetrated to her consciousness.
“…must listen now to our concerns. Many of us have believed since receiving news of the coup that the Kyonan princess is a liability Valoria can ill afford. Now I would say it is indisputable.”
“That’s right,” another chipped in. “The border cannot stay closed forever. We must agree to trade and treat with Kyona’s new king.”
Sarai had been frozen in place at the realization that they were speaking of her, but a flash of anger passed through her at these words. Treat with Kyona’s new king? “New king”? He was no king! He was a usurper, a murderer. She closed her eyes for a moment, her agony returning. If only she knew where Jonathon was! Surely he could not be dead. Surely the usurper would have advertised it if he was.
“Of course the crown will listen to whatever concerns you may have, but I think perhaps you exaggerate the risks, My Lords,” said her brother-in-law mildly.
“I am afraid not, Your Highness,” a third noble interjected, his voice oily. Sarai recognized him—Germain had told her once that he was the head of the king’s intelligence network. “Our spies report not only that our…unfortunate alliance…has seriously damaged Valoria’s image in the eyes of Kyona’s new king, but that he actively resents the fact that we are harboring the princess.”
“And why should we harbor her at cost to Valoria’s interests?” another nobleman added gruffly. The noble in charge of intelligence shot him a look of irritation at the interruption, and continued, his tone still wheedling.
“All our sources are agreed that the Kyonan king remains determined to ensure the total destruction of the house of his predecessor, including the princess. Not only does that put Valoria at risk of war should he send men across the border to pursue her, but should she bear a son to the crown prince, even our own succession would be endangered by the Kyonan king’s intentions.”
There was a muttering hiss around the room, and Germain’s brother unfolded his arms, looking shaken. Sarai felt shaken herself at the idea that her father’s murderer might try to kill a future child of hers in his desire to wipe out all trace of King Cael’s line. The thought had never occurred to her.
“We are fortunate indeed that she is not yet with child!” boomed the noble who had been speaking when Sarai first arrived. Sarai realized she recognized him, too. He was Lady Marietta’s father, and probably the most influential nobleman in the court. “It is a gift, one we must not waste. We must take action now to remove this threat before it is too late.”
Sarai’s blood was pounding in her ears. She glanced at the servant standing alongside her, and he met her eyes involuntarily, looking as horrified as she felt at the predicament, and as unsure what to do. For a moment they stared at each other, then without a word the servant turned and fled. Sarai stared after him blankly, her own legs seeming strangely incapable of movement.
“My Lords!”
The startled cry brought her attention back to the throne room, and she realized with a jolt of horror that every eye within it was now trained on her. Someone had obviously noticed her presence, perhaps alerted by the servant’s sudden movement.
For a moment she considered retreating as hastily as the servant had done, but only for a moment. She lifted her chin high, advancing into the room.
“My Lords, it appears my presence here has caused some concern,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster.
“I think it would be a matter of concern for any court, Your Highness, to have a princess with no more conduct than to eavesdrop on conversations about matters of state.”
Sarai had walked halfway down the room, but she stopped dead at the insult. It was as much the nobleman’s tone as his words that felt like a slap in the face. She had not realized how completely she had lost the respect of the Valorian court.
“My Lord,” said the prince, clearing his throat uncomfortably. His tone held a slight note of reproach, but it was a weak response to such open disrespect toward a member of the royal family.
Sarai mustered her courage and walked the rest of the hall’s length. The suits of armor lining the throne room seemed more menacing than ever, and it was impossible not to recall her long walk down this same room on the occasion of her wedding. Little did she suspect then, as she leaned on her father’s arm, how bitterly her new court would regret that day.
The nobleman gave the prince a half-bow. “I would not wish to speak out of turn, Your Highness, but my concern, and I believe that of every man in this room, is only for the welfare of our fair kingdom.”
He turned to Sarai. “If you have been listening, Your Highness,” the tone somehow made the title an insult this time, “you know you are a danger to Valoria. And in light of that, if you honored the vows you took upon your marriage and your inauguration as a princess of Valoria, you would neither resent nor resist our attempt to protect Valoria’s interests.”
Sarai felt the color drain from her face. “What attempt is that?”
The nobleman took a half step toward her, his voice low and aggressive. “You inserted yourself into our royal family through fraud. The offered alliance was nothing more than a worthless sham.”
Sarai stared at the man, her shock leaving no room for anger. Was he a fool? Did he suppose she had known her royal house was about to be usurped, her family murdered? Or was he just seeking to win over his other listeners to his cause?
But glancing around, Sarai couldn’t see that he had much need to convince anyone. Every noble in the room was looking at her with mistrust and dislike, and in some cases open anger. Those present were far from the whole court. She suspected the group consisted of those noblemen who were already embittered against her, and that they had gathered for the specific purpose of lobbying for her removal.
She swallowed involuntarily as she tried to imagine what form that removal might take. She had thought at one stage it would have been better to have been murdered in Kyona with her family than to be the only one left to mourn their deaths. But she found now, with a curious and out-of-place little lift of her heart, that she didn’t want to die at all.
The nobleman took another step toward her, then another, and she fell back slightly.
“We cannot allow her to endanger our succession,” one of the other nobles said, his voice tight. There were murmurs of agreement on all sides, and one or two others moved slightly toward her. Sarai cast her eyes around beseechingly, meeting her brother-in-law’s gaze at last. He looked uncomfortable and uncertain, but he said nothing, did nothing to stop the attack that seemed to be building.
Lady Marietta’s father had almost reached Sarai. She had no idea what his immediate intention was, but she found it didn’t matter. She had lost all power of movement, and could do nothing but stare as he reached a hand toward her.
“We will not stand by and watch you ruin Valoria the way your father allowed Kyona to be ruined,” he said firmly, his hand an inch from seizing her arm.
“STOP!”
The authoritative voice drew every eye to the doorway, and Sarai’s limbs suddenly unlocked at the sight of her husband striding powerfully into the room. His chest was heaving, and he had clearly run there. She caught a glimpse of the servant boy hovering in the doorway and suddenly understood, with a rush of gratitude, the reason for his precipitate flight.
She stared at Germain, feeling as if she was seeing him for the first time. His bearing was more regal than she had ever seen it, and fury radiated from every line of his tall, strong form. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, but he wasn’t looking at her, his attention directed to the nobleman who still stood, frozen in momentary surprise, his hand outstretched toward her.
“If you dare to lay a finger on my wife, your future queen,” Germain said, his voice vibrating with passion, “I wi
ll personally ensure you are hanged before another sunrise.”
There was a collective intake of breath at the severity of the crown prince’s reaction, and more than one noble drew back slightly. Lady Marietta’s father was not among them.
Sarai herself drew a shuddering breath, feeling as though she had been under water and was only now able to fill her lungs. Germain’s gaze flicked suddenly to her, his anger disappearing momentarily, but his eyes still blazing with intensity. She stumbled toward him, the movement involuntary, and he reached out with one of those powerful arms to draw her in until she was safely at his side. Then his attention turned to his brother, still standing on the dais, and his anger returned.
“Brother, have you taken leave of your senses to be condoning this outrageous conduct?”
The younger prince looked shaken, and his tone was half-ashamed, but he offered no apologies.
“Germain, I think you should hear what they have to say.”
“I have no interest in listening to treasonous talk,” snapped Germain, and Sarai could feel the tension radiating from him. The arm which was still around her shoulders was as hard as stone, his muscles quivering with the strain of containing his anger. Hardly aware of her actions, she leaned against him, and his arm tightened even further. It was all she could do to refrain from burying her face in his shoulder.
“Treason, Your Highness?” objected Lady Marietta’s father, stepping forward quickly. Germain’s eyes flew to him, disfavor in his face. “Never! Absolutely the reverse, I assure you. We wish only to protect Valoria, always. This woman—”
“You will address my wife in accordance with her status as your princess,” interrupted Germain, his voice dangerously calm. He looked around the room, pausing slowly, deliberately, on every face present. “I will expect each one of you to answer to my father the king for your conduct toward a member of his household. And I can only imagine that he will expect an explanation as to your disloyalty in meeting in his absence to discuss the security of our kingdom.”
Legacy of the Curse Page 45
