Legacy of the Curse

by Deborah Grace White

  What a moment to witness! What a conversation to overhear, what an encounter to vicariously experience. It was too much, too intense.

  She felt a curious mixture of joy and alarm at the discovery that Princess Sarai had found happiness with her husband after all. Joy for the long-dead Kyonan royal, alarm for herself and what it all might mean for her. She had felt like Princess Sarai was a friend, another Kyonan princess who could empathize, across the generations, with Jocelyn’s own plight. But suddenly their paths seemed to diverge, with Princess Sarai’s change in attitude.

  Change.

  Princess Sarai had been as afraid of change as Jocelyn was herself. But she had found a way to overcome that fear, and to embrace her new identity. Quite literally embrace. Jocelyn had just shared her thoughts with embarrassing intimacy, and she knew how genuine was the change in Princess Sarai’s heart.

  Jocelyn wanted to be inspired by the other princess’s example, she truly did. She wanted to find it in herself to accept an alliance with Prince Ormond, to embrace a new role as a Valorian princess, to secure the advantages of such a connection for Kyona, and for Eamon. But somehow she felt further than ever from being able to do it.

  She cast her eyes around the room, still trying to master the jumble of emotions produced by the strange vision. Her eyes fell on the bed, drawn to something sitting on the white pillow, glinting in the light of the candles.

  She crossed the room in two strides, catching it into her hands with a gasp.

  Her bracelet!

  How was it possible? She examined it closely, but there could be no doubt. It was her own bracelet, the one she had bartered at the market day in the east, so much to Kincaid’s disapproval. How had it come to be in her room?

  Kincaid must be here. There was no other explanation. He must have redeemed it before returning to Bryford. She shook her head in amazement, picturing the merchant she had given it to, and the bustle and chaos of the market, all temporary stalls and shouting traders. What a task it must have been! What a foolish, wonderful, ridiculous way for Kincaid to waste his time and effort.

  And he must be here somewhere, in Bryford, perhaps even in the castle. Her every nerve tingled at the thought of his nearness.

  Jocelyn slipped the bracelet onto her wrist, clutching it like a lifeline as her heart soared, then plummeted, then soared again.

  Because the bauble, as frivolous an item as it was, had brought a flash of clarity to Jocelyn’s mind, and everything was suddenly unalterably clear. She was glad Princess Sarai had found happiness in her political marriage, but her path was not an example for Jocelyn to follow, because there was one very crucial difference.

  There was no Kincaid in Princess Sarai’s story.

  She may not have come to her marriage with an open heart, but she had come to it unattached. If Jocelyn were to go through with her marriage alliance, the same would not be true. Perhaps a month ago, Jocelyn could have done what the other princess had done, could even have chosen to love Prince Ormond. But it was as impossible now as it was for her to sprout wings and fly over the mountains like Elddreki.

  She had just been inside Princess Sarai’s head, and as intense as the other Kyonan’s emotions had been upon being kissed—truly kissed—by her husband, they were not stronger than Jocelyn’s own feelings when Kincaid had taken her in his arms and claimed her lips with his. Heat rushed through Jocelyn even now at the memory.

  His face swam before her sight, and her heartbeat picked up as she remembered the longing in his voice as he whispered how desperately he wished she would choose him. And of course she would choose him. How could she ever have considered any other choice?

  He had been right, absolutely right, in his observation that it was not her family who held her back, but herself. She had spoken of duty, but she had merely been hiding behind it to avoid confronting her fear of change, of herself. What a sweet thought it was now to know that her parents wouldn’t oppose her choice, would be ready to do whatever it took to overcome any hurdles between her and happiness. How foolish she had been to think she somehow needed to carry their burdens for them, to counteract their unconventional past by sacrificing her own future.

  Her heart sang with her certainty, and she wanted nothing more than to dash from the room and go in search of him then and there. But where would she find him? Perhaps she should wait for him to come to her. He would come, she knew he would. He had said he wasn’t giving up, and the bracelet was proof.

  She knew a moment of dread at the thought of explaining to the Valorian king and queen that she was unwilling to enter into an alliance with Prince Ormond because she had fallen hopelessly in love with a handsome wanderer while on her dragon quest. Perhaps she should leave the explanations to her father. He had been clear that there was no obligation on her, that he could handle any tension that might arise should the Valorians seek an alliance she didn’t want.

  All of a sudden Jocelyn remembered Eamon and Lucy, and her happiness faltered for a moment. Her parents would stand by her, but her decision to spurn the offered alliance and marry someone without political connections would undoubtedly make the other couple’s road even harder.

  But she took a deep breath, pressing the thought into its proper size and shape within her mind. It was unfortunate, but not a reason to make both herself and Kincaid suffer the agony of separation. Eamon surely would not expect her to sacrifice her happiness for the possibility of making his more attainable. She would never ask it of him if their positions were reversed.

  A knock on the door startled her from her thoughts, and she turned to see a tentative face peeking through.

  “Princess Jocelyn? Are you all right?”

  “Lavinia,” said Jocelyn, trying to return to reality. “Yes, I’m fine. Come in.”

  Lavinia came all the way into the room and closed the door behind her, but she looked doubtful. “Are you sure you’re all right? I hope you don’t mind me following you, but you left in such a hurry, and you looked upset…”

  Jocelyn pushed thoughts of her heart to the side with an effort, trying to smile naturally at the younger girl. “Of course I don’t mind,” she reassured her. “It was kind of you to check on me.”

  “Ormond didn’t say anything enraging, did he?” asked Lavinia, and Jocelyn caught the note of real concern behind the joking words.

  “Of course not,” she soothed. “It’s nothing to do with him, I just needed a moment to myself.”

  Lavinia settled herself on Jocelyn’s bed, drawing her knees up with a fine disregard for her elaborate gown.

  “Are you going to marry him?”

  Jocelyn looked at her in surprise. The younger girl was meeting her gaze steadily. “No, I’m not.”

  Lavinia’s face fell slightly. “I would like you as a sister, I think,” she said, with a faint sigh. “I know he’s a bit stiff and serious,” she added hopefully, “but he’s actually very nice. He has a kind heart under all that formality, and as much as he infuriates me on a daily basis, he’d never really hurt a fly. He positively reeks of honor.”

  Lavinia’s words tugged at Jocelyn’s mind, and she struggled to marshal her thoughts as she responded. “I don’t doubt it. I’m sure he’s an excellent man. It’s nothing against him.”

  “Why then?” asked Lavinia, frowning.

  “It’s, well…” Jocelyn colored in spite of herself, and the younger girl pounced.

  “You’re in love with someone else!”

  “Well, yes, I am,” said Jocelyn, unable to help the grin that spread across her face as she admitted it out loud for the first time.

  “Who is he?” Lavinia breathed, clearly eager for a cozy gossip, but Jocelyn didn’t respond.

  The latest vision of Princess Sarai’s past, and her subsequent revelation about Kincaid, had distracted Jocelyn from her concerns, but they were returning to the fore now. The thought that had been dancing around the edges of her mind had suddenly taken shape.

  Lavinia’s comment about O
rmond reeking of honor had tickled her memory because she had used that particular phrase in her own mind just a short time ago. Her first impression of Lord Randall had been that he reeked of trustworthiness. And it had caught in her mind even then. Where had she heard it before?

  With a sudden intake of breath, Jocelyn felt Raqisa’s words come back to her.

  A human who received forfeited power might reek of magic, but it would not be a part of him. Rather, he would be warped by it.

  Jocelyn remembered the strange and unnatural glitter in Lord Randall’s eyes, and a growing sense of horror washed over her.

  “Jocelyn?” Lavinia’s voice was tentative, and she was clearly wondering why Jocelyn hadn’t responded to her. “You are upset. Was it Lord Randall?” Jocelyn’s eyes snapped to the other princess at the name. “I saw you were talking to him before you ran out. I know you don’t have much reason to like Balenans, but he’s different, trust me. He really is a good—”

  “Lavinia,” said Jocelyn earnestly, her thoughts too frenzied to fully hold in her power. The word “trust” had jolted her into speech. “Lord Randall is not what he pretends to be. I don’t know exactly what he’s up to yet, but he doesn’t mean well by Kyona, and probably not by Valoria either.”

  “But…” Lavinia looked confused, and a little unsettled. Jocelyn suspected her opinion was being seriously challenged by Jocelyn’s power, and she found she didn’t mind. If she could change the Valorian girl’s view of Lord Randall, it would be a very good thing.

  “If you mean he’s not genuinely interested in our kingdom like he claims, and is just trying to ingratiate himself with the court, I don’t think that can be true. He’s explored all over. He even went to the east the last time he was here, and he said he enjoyed it very much. Most Valorians don’t even want to go there, so I don’t think he was faking his interest.”

  “He went to the east?” Jocelyn asked sharply. “To Arinton?”

  Lavinia nodded, looking confused and alarmed. Jocelyn drew a deep breath, shuddering on the exhale. Eric’s visitor from the South Lands, Kincaid’s diplomat, the unidentified human the dragon colony was concerned about. They were all the same person, and that person was standing in the ballroom just down the corridor.

  Any lingering doubt was gone. Lord Randall had received, and been warped by, the forfeited power of the grief-stricken dragon who was still missing from Wyvern Islands. Jocelyn wondered, feeling a little ill, whether the dragon was actually dead yet, or was still slowly expiring somewhere. Would he find what he sought when he crossed the threshold of death?

  She shook the thought off. She had much more pressing concerns. If Lord Randall had sought out the dragons to gain an unnatural power, then what was he planning to do with it? Why was he targeting the freedmen, and to what end?

  She paused, frowning. How would he have known, though? How would he have thought to seek out the dragons? She knew stories of dragons and magic must have circulated wildly through Balenol after the dramatic events of Aunt Scarlett and Uncle Jonan’s time there twenty years ago. But she had been under the impression when Elddreki told her and Kincaid the dragon lore that the ability to forfeit power was a closely guarded secret, one no other human would be trusted with.

  All of a sudden she remembered the story from Arinton, of the woman who had been in a boat on the loch when a wyvern surfaced and offered to grant her greatest wish. She groaned. The woman’s son had said his mother traveled far and wide, trying to sell her tale. And that had been months and months ago. Was it so impossible it had reached the South Lands? Had reached Lord Randall?

  She remembered with a cold rush that Raqisa had said a human receiving forfeited power might actually be able to choose what form it would take. She didn’t know what Lord Randall would choose, but she was sure it couldn’t be anything good.

  “Lavinia,” she said suddenly. “Lord Randall is up to something.” She cut the younger princess off as she tried to speak. “I know you all like him, but I’m telling you, something’s not right about him. I need to get a message to my parents. I don’t know what the disturbance is that took them to Alezae, but they need to get back to Kynton.”

  Lavinia still looked unconvinced, but to her credit she didn’t hesitate. “What can I do to help?”

  Jocelyn frowned thoughtfully for a moment. “Can you go back to the ballroom? Keep an eye on Lord Randall? I assume you have a royal courier service, where I can dispatch a message to Alezae?”

  Lavinia nodded, giving Jocelyn directions. “I can’t really believe he’s so sinister,” she said, hesitating at the door. “But it can’t do any harm to keep an eye on him.”

  “Thank you Lavinia,” said Jocelyn earnestly. She fiddled absent-mindedly with her bracelet as she followed Lavinia into the corridor. She wished very much that she knew where Kincaid was. She could really use an ally, one who didn’t need convincing. But there was no time to worry about it.

  The girls parted ways within moments, their paths taking them in opposite directions. Jocelyn raced down the dimly lit corridors, hoping she was remembering Lavinia’s instructions correctly. There was no one about, everyone still in the ballroom, celebrating her birthday. She wondered with a pang what Eamon was doing tonight. It was strange not to spend this most significant of birthdays with her twin. What, if anything, had Lord Randall done to Eamon?

  She was so lost in her thoughts she didn’t even hear the footsteps until they were upon her. Before she could cry out, one powerful arm was around her torso, trapping her own arms to her side, and a hand was clamped firmly over her mouth.

  “Not running off to do me a mischief, are you, Princess?”

  She couldn’t see her captor, directly behind her. But she had no difficulty recognizing the voice, although the smooth sincerity was gone. How had she ever thought this man trustworthy, even for a moment?

  “It was very considerate of you to lose your composure so dramatically, Your Highness,” Lord Randall continued. “If you hadn’t run from the room so precipitately, I might not have realized you were a threat.”

  Her angry retort died on her lips, the words muffled by the large shapely hand still covering her mouth. For such a slender man, he was surprisingly strong.

  “Tut tut,” said Lord Randall indulgently. “I don’t think I’ll be inviting you to speak, my dear. Not until I figure out precisely what power is in your words.” He leaned over her shoulder, putting his face right next to her cheek and inhaling, so his breath tickled her ear uncomfortably. “It smells different from your brother’s somehow.”

  Jocelyn froze, a shard of ice shooting through her heart. He knew about Eamon’s power.

  “Yes indeed,” Lord Randall was continuing, “it seems it was well worth my effort to travel back here for your birthday gala in order to acquire the matching set. I was deeply disappointed when I arrived to discover you hadn’t yet reached Bryford, but things have turned out for the best. It’s most fortuitous you arrived in time for tonight’s gala after all.”

  He gave a dark chuckle. “Almost as fortuitous as the discovery that the heir to the Kyonan throne is harboring illicit magic of his own. What a happy day that was. It’s really going to be almost too easy to bring down your upstart little slave kingdom.”

  Jocelyn growled, longing to reach for her dagger. But her arms were still trapped. Lord Randall’s grip was like a vise, and her battered muscles screamed in protest as he squeezed her more tightly.

  “Well, well,” he said lightly. “You may not turn out to be as useful as your brother is proving himself to be, but I’m sure we can find some way for you to contribute. It’s a good thing you’re in the habit of running away—I wouldn’t be surprised if your hosts don’t even suspect foul play.”

  Before Jocelyn could grasp his meaning, she felt Lord Randall gesture with his head, and three thickset men emerged from the shadows. One of them pulled a swath of fabric from his pocket, and Lord Randall removed his hand from Jocelyn’s mouth. She pulled in a lungful
of air, ready to scream with all her might, but she had no opportunity. Instantly the man covered her mouth and nose with the fabric, and her nostrils were filled with a foul and sickening smell.

  She flailed desperately for a moment, trying frantically to draw in air. But within seconds she felt consciousness beginning to slip away.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Jocelyn’s first awareness was of an aching pain in every muscle of her body. All the progress she had made since waking up in the bower on Wyvern Islands had been undone. Her palms stung furiously, and her limbs felt like they were being held down with weights. In addition, her head now felt like it had been pounded against a rock.

  Whatever she was lying on was also much less comfortable than the springy ground of the copse, and there was a sharp pain in her wrists. She realized suddenly that her hands were bound behind her back, and she wriggled her shoulders uncomfortably. She drew a deep breath in through her nose, and immediately realized there was a gag shoved into her mouth. Instantly, she could think of nothing else. The fabric tasted foul, and it was all she could do not to choke on it.

  Her eyes flew open, but there was little to see. Wherever she was, the light was dim. It seemed like some kind of vegetable cellar. She struggled to her knees, unable to hold in a sharp cry of pain at the movement.

  The sound alerted someone, and within moments a heavy door scraped open, flooding the space with daylight. Jocelyn blinked rapidly, trying to get her bearings. Had she been unconscious all night?

  “Good morning, my dear,” said Lord Randall amicably. “I trust you slept well?”

  Jocelyn just glared at him, and he chuckled.

  “I’m glad to see you awake at last. I need to leave almost immediately, but I was so hoping to chat with you before I go.” He considered her. “I think I can take the risk of your words.” He walked over to her, his movements lazy, and untied the gag.