Like many others in Raldon, she had known Eamon since he was an infant, and it was clear she wasn’t standing on ceremony with him. Even from a distance, Jocelyn could see the tightness in his jaw as the woman scolded him like a child, and she felt a thrill of fear. What would this unfamiliar version of Eamon do if pushed past his limit?
But before she could start toward them, she felt a hand grab her arm. She turned quickly, letting out a cry, but sagged in relief when she saw who it was.
“It’s just me.” Kincaid sounded apologetic. “I lost you for a moment.”
“I have to get to Eamon,” she said curtly, trying to ignore the way his eyes hardened at the name.
“I’ll come with you,” he said. It was clearly not a request.
But they had only taken a few steps toward her brother when two new figures burst into the clearing not far from where Eamon stood, leaping from their horses the moment they were free of the trees.
Chapter Forty-One
“Lucy!” Jocelyn gasped, propelling herself forward more quickly. Lucy and Matheus stared around with wide eyes at the unprecedented assault on their home. Jocelyn was only halfway to them when her twin spotted the new arrivals, abandoning his argument with Bonnie mid-sentence to stride toward them.
“Lucy!” His familiar voice carried easily to Jocelyn’s ears as she ran. “Thank goodness you’re all right! Where have you been?”
He held out his arms, and Lucy fell into them for the briefest of moments before pulling back. It was the most open sign of affection Jocelyn had ever seen between them, and it made her wonder if more concrete promises had been exchanged than she was aware of.
“Eamon!” Lucy cried. “I heard the royal guard was attacking Raldon, but I could hardly believe it could be true!” She looked up into Eamon’s eyes with evident relief. “But now you’re here, it will be all right.”
Jocelyn’s heart clenched at the trust in her best friend’s eyes, and it took all her strength not to turn away from the disillusionment about to unfold.
“They’re not attacking, Lucy,” said Eamon earnestly. “If everyone would calm down and stop acting like they’re in some kind of war, everything would be fine. We’re just trying to resolve the tension. It will help everyone to know where we all stand.”
Lucy drew back, her horror evident in every line of her graceful form. “No.” Her voice was a whisper, but Jocelyn had almost reached them now, and she could hear the words. “You’re behind this?”
“Not you, too,” said Eamon, clearly exasperated. “Why does everyone seem to think this is a catastrophe?” Neither he nor Lucy seemed to have noticed Jocelyn and Kincaid’s approach.
“Someone said they were rounding everyone up, Eamon,” protested Lucy. “That they’re going to brand the children!”
“You make it sound so villainous,” said Eamon, his tone impatient. “It’s just a marker, to help identify everyone. I thought the freedmen were proud of who they are.” He frowned at Lucy. “Why are you so worked up? Your family aren’t even freedmen.”
“Yes we are,” she said, her voice furious despite the tears in her eyes. “They’re our people.” She held up her forearm, her hand clenched into a fist. “If you’re going to brand anyone, I insist that I be first.”
“Lucy,” said Eamon, sounding uneasy. “Don’t be difficult on this. I won’t allow—”
But Lucy had suddenly seen their audience, and she cut Eamon off unceremoniously to turn to her friend.
“Joss!” She raced forward, as if to embrace her, then fell back a step. “Why are you here? We thought you were still in Valoria. There have been the wildest rumors about what you’ve been…” Her gaze flicked between the twins, the betrayal in her eyes wrenching Jocelyn’s heart yet again. “Are you part of this, Joss? Are you—”
“No!” Jocelyn assured her. “Of course not. I’m trying to stop this.” She dropped her voice. “And Eamon doesn’t know what he’s doing, Lucy. He’s being manipulated by—”
“He seems to know exactly what he’s doing to me,” said Matheus in a hard voice, inserting himself into the situation. He was looking up at his former hero with an expression Jocelyn had never seen on his young face before.
“Of course I do,” said Eamon shortly, glaring at Jocelyn. “Stop saying I’m being manipulated, Jocelyn.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Jocelyn, losing patience. Chaos still reigned all around them, and there was no more time for arguments. She stepped forward, startling Eamon when she placed a hand on his chest. Her shoulders were already sagging with exhaustion, but she wasn’t going to be deterred by such a thought.
Apparently Kincaid was, however.
“Jocelyn!” His voice was sharp, and he grabbed her shoulder as he spoke. “You can’t. He’s too deep in it—it’s too big a task, and you’re already weak from everything else.”
Before she could respond, a new voice cut across their conversation, relief vibrating from every syllable.
“Lucy, Matheus!” Uncle Jonan strode out of nowhere, seizing his two oldest children by one shoulder in each of his strong hands. “We were so worried he’d found you!”
“Father!” Lucy cried, melting against him much as she had done to Eamon a moment before. “What’s happening?”
“You were worried who had found us?” asked Matheus, frowning.
Uncle Jonan’s face and voice were grim. “Your mother’s brother is behind this,” he said. “Apparently he’s using some kind of warped magic, but the main point is he wants to revenge himself on our family.”
“Scanlon?” said Lucy and Matheus in unison, their expressions equally astonished. Lucy glanced at Jocelyn, who nodded seriously.
“Yes, he’s here somewhere, although I don’t know where he’s hiding.”
“What are you all talking about?” demanded Eamon, his expression confused. “Scanlon? Aunt Scarlett’s brother? What does he have to do with anything?”
“He’s Lord Randall, Eamon,” said Jocelyn quickly. “He’s been deceiving you.” But she knew words were useless. A shutter had gone down over her brother’s eyes the moment she said the nobleman’s assumed name. Eamon was too far under the Balenan’s magical influence to hear any criticism of him.
“That’s nonsense, Joss,” he said sternly. “Are you the one who’s spread this wild story? Lord Randall isn’t Scanlon, and he isn’t after revenge.”
Uncle Jonan was staring at Eamon, and Jocelyn felt a small bubble of hope inflating inside her at his expression, which was more thoughtful than angry. It seemed he could tell there was something unnatural about Eamon’s response, his inability to even consider Jocelyn’s words. Perhaps Uncle Jonan’s experiences, not to mention his own magical talisman, had helped him to cultivate an ability to sense magic that his lineage had never given him. After all, he had entered the Dragon Realm with her parents, all those years ago.
After a moment Uncle Jonan shook his head. He clearly had a higher priority than figuring Eamon out, and Jocelyn didn’t blame him.
“Lucy, Matheus, you need to get to safety. Miles and Benjy are in that building, with some of the other children. Cody is guarding the door, and you know he won’t let anyone hurt you all. I need you to go in there and stay out of sight until we find Scanlon.”
“No way,” said Matheus flatly. “I’m not hiding away when Raldon is under attack.” He drew a blade from his belt. “I’m going to help.”
“Matheus,” said Uncle Jonan sharply. “We’re not going to argue about this. If you want to help, then help protect Lucy and your brothers.”
“Your family is not in danger,” said Eamon to Uncle Jonan, exasperated. “Do you think I would let anything happen to any of you?”
“Look around you, Eamon,” said Uncle Jonan curtly. “Something is happening. I don’t have time for your blindness.” He turned to his fourteen-year-old son. “Or for your arguments.” His face softened for a moment as he took in the belligerent stance of his oldest son. “It does you credit that y
ou want to help, Matheus, but this isn’t the moment. Your uncle is an evil, bloodthirsty lunatic, and he’s determined to wipe our family out of existence. Unless we know you’re all safe, your mother and I are doubly vulnerable.”
“Why have you been teaching me to fight since I was Benjy’s age if you don’t want me to actually fight?” Matheus insisted, ignoring Eamon’s sound of protest at Uncle Jonan’s description of the man he knew as Lord Randall.
“Don’t argue, Matheus,” interjected Lucy unexpectedly. She threw a look at Eamon that was evidently intended to communicate disgust, but which, to Jocelyn at least, radiated heartbreak. She drew a blade of her own. “If Miles and Benjy are in danger, of course we’ll keep them safe.”
“Thank you, Lucy,” said Uncle Jonan quickly, shepherding them both toward the building. Once satisfied they were doing as instructed, he turned back to the others.
“I don’t know what’s come over you,” he said to Eamon, before his gaze slid across to Kincaid, still hovering protectively next to Jocelyn. “And I don’t know or care who you are.” His eyes settled on Jocelyn. “But I can tell something unnatural is happening here. I haven’t felt so much power in one place since…well, I won’t go into that, but I will say this.”
His gaze was still locked on Jocelyn. “Scarlett has often said that every time she speaks to you, it feels like you’re holding back. I never really understood what she meant, but clearly I wasn’t looking for the right signs. All I can say is, if you’re still holding back, don’t.”
“I won’t,” Jocelyn promised him, her voice determined. Uncle Jonan nodded, and with a final glance toward his oldest children, who had just reached the building, he disappeared back into the melee.
Jocelyn followed his gaze. Lucy seemed to be all but dragging a protesting Matheus to the doorway. Jocelyn saw that Henrik had joined Cody in his defensive stance outside the building full of children. She was glad the Valorian knight had found something useful to do, but her heart sank as she saw the way his eyes were trained on Luciana. Even from across the clearing, she could see the blatant admiration on his face, and she had no doubt Eamon would see it too.
Sure enough, irritation seemed to radiate from Eamon, still standing beside her. Before she could say a word, he was striding off toward the building. She started after him, but Kincaid held her back with a hand on her arm.
“I know what you’re intending to do Jocelyn, and it’s too much. You’re already dead on your feet.”
“I have to, Kincaid,” she said earnestly. “You heard Uncle Jonan. This isn’t the time to hold back.”
“That’s all well and good for him to say, when he just sent his own children to safety!” Kincaid said waspishly. “What do you think your father would say if he was here?”
Jocelyn shuddered at the thought of her father witnessing any of what was happening in the clearing. “Let’s be glad my father isn’t here, and not just because he’d probably send me straight back to Kynton, surrounded by four squadrons of guards.” Kincaid still looked unhappy, and she laid a hand on his arm.
“Kincaid, I know you want to protect me. But you’re the one who told me there’s much more I can do for my kingdom than marry a prince. You’re the one who said my power is a gift.” She met his eyes seriously. “I might be the only one who can stop this.”
“Eamon could stop it, if he stopped being such a fool,” snapped Kincaid.
Jocelyn shook her head, looking over at her twin. He had reached the building, and he seemed to be arguing with Luciana, digging himself in deeper by the second, most likely.
“He can’t stop it, not by himself. Eamon needs me. I’m the other side of the coin, Kincaid. Kyona needs me right now. I thought stability was enough, that it was better than change. But bad things happen when there’s no openness to change. Eamon can’t do this without me. Scanlon has manipulated his mind too powerfully, and he needs my help to change it.”
For a moment Kincaid was silent, watching her unhappily. “You’re right,” he said eventually. “I know you are. And it’s not that I don’t want you to use your power. I just wish so much didn’t depend on you.”
She smiled absently, too distracted to reassure him. “I’ll be fine.” She started across the clearing, shoving her way through the combatants, none of whom seemed to have the smallest interest in accosting her, fortunately.
She reached the others in moments, and without further ceremony, she grabbed Eamon’s arm and swung him around to face her.
“What are you—?” His startled question broke off as she laid both her hands on his chest, squeezing her eyes shut in concentration.
It was both like and unlike her attempt to change Elddreki. There was no dragon fire within Eamon’s core, and mercifully her healing palms encountered no new source of heat. But as before, her extra sense allowed her to find the structure she was trying to change. Elddreki’s had been deep, deep within him, part of his very makeup. It had been the natural result of his decision.
But the blockage within Eamon was unnatural, ugly. The harder she pushed her mind into his, the more she could sense his own, familiar power. But there was a dark, warped power twisting around it, trying to graft itself onto the upright certainty that characterized her brother. She could sense the confidence within him, much as it had always been, but now it was all wrapped up in Scanlon’s dark power. She could feel the way his certainty and the darker power were intertwined, like weeds choking a healthy plant.
But if she could change the essence of an immortal dragon, who had made his decision hundreds of years ago, then surely she could change the course of this recent twisting that had begun within her own brother.
Just the process of identifying the power within him had exhausted her scant resources, but she couldn’t afford to stop now. Summoning all the energy she could find, she poured her own power into him, focusing all her effort on trying to untangle the two forces, to change the direction of Eamon’s power, to return it to its original independent path.
She drew a shuddering breath, her head starting to swim as her mind tilted toward unconsciousness. Then she felt a steadying hand on her elbow, and without needing to open her eyes, she recognized Kincaid’s presence. The knowledge that he was supporting her instead of trying to stop her buoyed her up, and she cast her net of power outward with renewed vigor. She could feel something inside Eamon starting to teeter, to weaken. With a gasp of triumph she homed in on the sensation.
“Jocelyn? What…what are you doing?”
Eamon sounded uncertain, more so than she had ever heard him. But he wasn’t pushing her away, and that was good enough. Just as Jocelyn really started to believe the stranglehold would break, a surge of power rushed out of her brother. It felt so much like being slapped in the face that she actually fell back a step.
Her eyes flew open, to see the astonished faces of Lucy, Henrik, Cody, and Matheus in the doorway of the building, children clamoring for a view from behind them. Looking to the side, she saw Kincaid, still gripping her elbow, his expression questioning and anxious. But none of those people were who she was looking for. The power hadn’t come from them any more than it had come from Eamon, although he seemed to be the medium.
“Jocelyn?” Kincaid asked, his voice low and worried. “Are you all right?”
“He’s here,” she gasped. “He’s…I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like he knows what I’m trying to do, and he’s fighting me.”
“Who’s fighting you?” Eamon sounded dazed, his expression bewildered. “What were you just doing to me?”
Jocelyn ignored him, speaking to Kincaid as she continued to scan the area. “I don’t think he’s far away.”
“Jocelyn.” Eamon’s voice was stern. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but you need to help me stabilize this situation, not make it more volatile.”
Jocelyn didn’t bother to respond. She could feel Scanlon’s power wrapping around Eamon’s every word, sickly and strong and suffocating.
“I’m fine,” she said hastily. Kincaid looked unconvinced, but after a moment’s hesitation he stepped away again, wending his way through the nearby crowd, his eyes scanning the sea of people. At a nod from the Valorian prince, Henrik joined him.
Jocelyn placed her hands back on Eamon’s chest, meeting her twin’s gaze. He looked unnerved by her strange behavior, but again he didn’t push her away.
“Eamon,” she said, casting her power out as she spoke. She was able to find the tangled mess inside him instantly this time, and she focused her waning strength on it. “Don’t you trust me?”
He looked down into her eyes, confused and a little hurt. “Of course I trust you, Joss. But like I said, you don’t have all the—”
“Because I trust you,” she interrupted. “And this isn’t you.” She pushed at the twisted power inside him, trying to rip it away strand by strand. Her breath was coming in pants now, sweat running down her face, but she didn’t let up. It was wavering—Eamon was wavering. His mind was becoming less stubbornly closed, more open to being changed.
“Jocelyn,” he said unsteadily. “What did you say before? Why do you think I’m being manipulated?”
Tears ran down Jocelyn’s cheeks, mingling with the beads of sweat. He sounded almost like himself again. But before she could answer, she was grabbed roughly from behind, strong hands yanking her away from her brother. Startled cries sounded on all sides, and she gave an involuntary yelp of pain at the force with which her arms were being gripped. Her whole form was sagging in weariness, and she longed merely to collapse, but she forced herself to keep going just a little longer, thrashing and kicking with all her limited might. It was futile—her captor continued to drag her inexorably away from her brother, and she didn’t need Eamon’s shocked voice to tell her who held her in his grip.
Legacy of the Curse Page 53
