Downfall of the Curse

by Deborah Grace White

  Jocelyn laughed. “To tell you the truth, I was half hoping my parents would think I was still too young at sixteen.” She sighed. “But apparently the opening night of the tournament is an important enough occasion that we’re all supposed to attend.”

  “Is Eamon dreading his first ball as much as you are?” asked Lucy, trying to sound nonchalant as she looked down at her gorgeous lavender gown, officiously smoothing an imaginary wrinkle.

  If Jocelyn noticed the slight flush on Lucy’s cheeks, she didn’t comment. “I don’t know. I don’t think he’s spared much thought for the ball at all, to be honest. He’s absolutely sick over the fact that he’s not allowed to compete in the tournament.” Jocelyn shook her head indulgently. “He’s pleaded and pleaded with Father, but tradition is that competitors must be seventeen or older, and Father refuses to bend the rules just because Eamon’s the prince.”

  Lucy sighed. “That’s too bad. He must be disappointed.” She refrained from adding that she was disappointed. It would definitely have increased her interest in the tournament if she could have watched Eamon pitting his strength against all the visiting knights and nobles.

  They had just about reached the ballroom, and Jocelyn slowed, putting a hand on Lucy’s arm. “Tell me I can do this, Lucy.”

  “Of course you can!” said Lucy firmly. “You’re graceful, and you’re poised, and you look absolutely stunning in that gown.” It was all true, and she wished Jocelyn would believe it for once. “You were born to this role, Joss. You just need to have a little more faith in yourself.”

  “Thanks Lucy,” said Jocelyn, still looking anxious. “You’re much better at this than I am. You would make a good princess if only we could switch lives. I think I’d quite like to be a forest-dweller.”

  Lucy knew from Jocelyn’s light tone that she was only joking—mostly. But she couldn’t help the flush that rose to her face. She had been indulging in girlish dreams of being a princess lately. But they had nothing to do with swapping roles with Jocelyn. They were centered on quite a different route to the title. And the title was not in the least what captured her interest.

  They entered the ballroom to great fanfare. If Lucy knew her friend at all, Jocelyn was wishing she could slink in undetected. But Lucy couldn’t deny to herself that she took great delight in the dramatic entrance. She hovered respectfully a step behind Jocelyn, not wanting to steal the princess’s moment, but her eyes darted eagerly around the large space.

  The room was decked out beautifully, the swirling skirts and copious amounts of flowers creating a dazzling rainbow. It was all she could do not to bounce on the balls of her feet. She followed sedately behind Jocelyn, greeting the king and queen with a sweeping curtsy that she had practiced to perfection. When she rose to her feet, she saw King Calinnae smiling down at her in good-natured welcome.

  Queen Elnora also smiled, but there was something in her expression that told Lucy that the woman who had been like family since the day of Lucy’s birth would be watching her closely throughout the evening, and would make a full report to Lucy’s own mother. The thought didn’t trouble Lucy. She had no intention of doing anything scandalous.

  Jocelyn moved off to endure a series of dull formal introductions, leaving Lucy to drift toward a refreshments table. As she scanned the crowd for a familiar face, Lucy began to realize how much attention she was attracting. She felt her cheeks grow warm, but it was as much from pleasure as embarrassment. This was her big debut as well as Jocelyn’s, and although she had no official role or responsibilities, of course she had hoped to make a good impression.

  It seemed she had succeeded.

  An astonishing number of eyes were turned toward her, and there was no mistaking the admiration in their gaze. There were a few unfriendly expressions, but they seemed to all be worn by young women. Lucy ignored them, still searching through the crowd in the hope of seeing…

  Eamon.

  There he was. He was caught up in the formalities that had claimed Jocelyn’s attention, and he wasn’t looking at her. But as she watched him, admiring how princely and confident he looked in his ceremonial attire, he seemed to feel her gaze. He looked up suddenly, and their eyes locked. His initial warm smile of greeting was almost instantly swept away by a thunderstruck expression as his eyes traveled over her figure. Even from across the room, Lucy had no difficulty recognizing the fire behind his eyes.

  She looked down quickly, trying to remain graceful while on the inside she wanted to dance and squeal with triumph. That was the big impression she had been hoping to make.

  Before she could even raise her eyes, an unfamiliar young man appeared before her, and she found herself receiving her first ever invitation to dance. She accepted it readily, unable to help glancing at Eamon as the man swept her onto the floor. The prince was clearly struggling to keep his attention on whatever introduction he was supposed to be taking part in.

  From that point on, Lucy barely had time to draw breath. She danced constantly, never turning down an offer, determined to make the most of her first ball. Some of the men she danced with were respectful and courteous in their admiration, but others were more eager, paying her overblown—and at times not entirely appropriate—compliments.

  It was all overwhelming. She couldn’t deny that she enjoyed the admiration, but the scale of it was more than she had bargained for. She tried not to get carried away by it all, her mother’s voice constantly in her head. The older woman had indeed been reluctant to let her daughter attend this event, and she had subjected Lucy to a very candid conversation before agreeing to it. Lucy had thought her mother’s concerns exaggerated, but clearly she had known much better what to expect.

  She had favored Lucy with some startling insights from her own experiences, and given her some confronting advice. It was the first time she had ever directly commented on the striking beauty for which Lucy was so often complimented, and which was widely recognized to be inherited completely from her mother.

  Bearing her mother’s warnings in mind, Lucy tried very hard not to flirt. And it wasn’t just because she knew she was being watched, and wanted to be allowed to attend more balls in future. It was also because she wanted to prove to herself that she was worthy of her mother’s trust. Lucy was determined that any concerns about it all going to her head would prove unfounded.

  She thought she was doing pretty well, on the whole, until a familiar voice brought her heart rate back up to frantic.

  “May I cut in?”

  Her current partner didn’t look too happy about the request, but he could hardly say no to the prince. He relinquished Lucy’s hand with a stiff bow and melted into the crowd.

  “Do you want to dance with me, Lucy?” Eamon asked, his eyes burning into hers with an unfamiliar intensity.

  She suddenly couldn’t find her voice, so she just nodded. Eamon placed his hand in hers, his touch not awkward or overeager like the other men close to him in age, but confident and steady. He had always been that way. And she had always been powerless to resist him, if he only knew it.

  Her chances of keeping her head tonight suddenly seemed nonexistent.

  “You look beautiful,” Eamon said after a moment of silence.

  Lucy dropped her gaze, blushing furiously. “Thank you.”

  “It was nice of you to come and keep Joss company. She’s been so nervous about tonight.”

  Lucy laughed. “It wasn’t exactly a big sacrifice for me, being invited to a royal ball.” She grimaced. “And I haven’t been much help to her. I’ve barely seen her all evening.” She looked around the room, searching for her friend. “How’s she doing?”

  “Brilliantly, of course,” said Eamon, his voice warm as he spoke of his twin. “She’s so much more capable than she thinks. She just needs to have a little more confidence in herself.”

  “That’s what I told her!” said Lucy. “She’s the only one who can’t see how wonderful she is.”

  Eamon smiled down at her, his gaze infused wi
th the same warmth, and with something more.

  “I didn’t know you could dance so well, Lucy.”

  Lucy barely restrained a snort. “I think you knew exactly how well I can dance. We took dancing lessons together, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, sounding surprised. “I’d forgotten.” His eyes burned into hers, their intensity making her heart stutter erratically. “It was different, somehow.”

  “Yes.” Lucy couldn’t agree more.

  The dance was over all too quickly, and Eamon was occupied for the rest of the evening. After another hour, Lucy was starting to flag. She was relieved when Jocelyn sought her out to say that they were free to retire. They had almost made it to the door, Jocelyn apologizing ruefully for having abandoned her friend for most of the ball, when they heard quick steps behind them.

  “Leaving already?”

  “Oh, it’s you, Eamon,” said Jocelyn absently, glancing at her twin in surprise. “I wondered who was chasing us from the room.”

  “Sorry, Joss,” he said apologetically. “Mother said there’s one more person you need to meet.”

  Jocelyn groaned, quietly enough that only the two of them heard her. She turned to her friend.“Sorry, Lucy, I thought I was done. Do you mind waiting a minute?”

  “No need for her to wait,” said Eamon, much too airily. “I can walk her to your room.”

  Jocelyn stared at him like he had lost his mind. “Walk her to my room? What, are you worried that she’ll get abducted while she strolls through the castle?”

  “Happened to Mother once,” said Eamon quickly, and Jocelyn rolled her eyes.

  “It’s fine, Joss,” said Lucy quickly. “I’ll meet you back at the room.”

  “Thanks Lucy. I won’t be long. I hope.” Jocelyn turned toward her parents on the far side of the room.

  Lucy looked up at Eamon. There was a twinkle in his eye as he offered her his arm, and she couldn’t help but grin back at him as she took it. He led her through the familiar halls of the castle, chatting about nothing in particular as they made their way to Jocelyn’s suite, where Lucy was staying. Much too soon, they found themselves outside the door.

  Lucy turned to say goodnight, but the words died on her lips when she saw the way Eamon was looking at her.

  “Did I tell you that you look beautiful?” he asked quietly.

  She cast down her eyes, not quite able to hide the smile curving her lips. “Yes, you did.”

  “Oh. It’s just…” Eamon stepped slightly closer. “I’ve always thought you were the sweetest girl in the world, Lucy. It seems a bit excessive for you to be the prettiest, too.”

  Lucy felt her cheeks flame, her smile growing wider. She chanced a glance up, and saw that Eamon was fidgeting, for once looking as awkward and uncertain as a sixteen-year-old should.

  Then, all of a sudden, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek, so quickly she almost wasn’t sure it had happened. Before she could blink, he was disappearing down the corridor, his lean figure bouncing with the same nervous energy that was coursing through her.

  Lucy pressed her hands to her burning cheeks, barely able to hold in a squeal. The night had gone better than she could possibly have dreamed. All the exaggerated compliments and superficial admiration faded instantly from her mind, irrelevant and unimpressive next to Eamon’s words and actions.

  She could hardly believe it was real, and she couldn’t imagine how she would ever sleep that night. The future stretched before her, rosy and full of promise, as she dared to hope that all of her dearest wishes would come true.

  Lucy lay unmoving for several minutes after she woke. A chill seemed to be spreading through her, in spite of the heavy warmth already filling the air. She could really do without these dreams, but apparently her mind was as determined to reproach her as Jocelyn was. And Cody. And even Matheus.

  And even more uncomfortably, Lady Rodanthe. The noblewoman had followed Lucy to her suite the night before. The ensuing conversation had been so awkward Lucy cringed to remember it. The older woman was clearly as uncertain as Lucy as to the nature of her authority over the unofficial subgroup of the delegation. She hadn’t seemed altogether sure whether to chastise Lucy for her unintentional indiscretion, or whether to take responsibility herself for not giving Cody stricter parameters when he told her about the intended outing.

  Lucy groaned, sitting up in a fluid motion. She suddenly wished she could return to the dream after all. She’d been happy then, and innocent enough to believe it would last forever.

  She dressed mechanically, wondering just how much of a mess she had created with her poorly thought-out disappearance the day before. Was the royal family angry with her? Had she embarrassed them with her behavior? She was here at their invitation, after all. She chose a modest gown, one that she hoped wouldn’t attract attention. Her desire to make an impression had evaporated.

  As she studied herself anxiously in the looking glass, her eyes were caught by something behind her. She turned around, her gaze falling on the small leather journal she had taken from Raldo’s belongings the day before. In all the mortification of what followed, she hadn’t taken the time to have another look.

  She picked it up, only too glad to have some excuse to delay emerging from the sanctuary of her chamber. Her eyes scanned the first entry again, wondering about the identity of this Haydn, and the Isidore he spoke of with such heartbroken longing. Then she flicked over to the next entry.

  Well, here I am a month later, and my gloomy predictions have proved unfounded. The group of survivors I was fortunate enough to stumble upon are better organized and more resilient than I realized. It is no accident that they have survived this long. It is a well-organized community, in spite of the challenging conditions we’re living in.

  We have a rotation system, some hunting while others take patrol duty, and others prepare food. There are no children among us, but one of the women is with child. If I’m honest, I fear for that infant, and for the rest of us. Will we be able to remain undetected with a small child among us? And what a way to grow up, stranded here in the jungle. But the mother-to-be is delighted. She says that her child will not be born a slave, and that however hard this life may be, at least the baby will be allowed to live or die in the company of his parents, instead of being taken away to be raised by an uncaring master.

  There is something in that, I suppose.

  We had a scare a few weeks ago, not long after I joined the group, and decided to relocate deeper into the jungle, away from Nohl. We have made our way to one of Alben’s lesser-used bases, and turned it into a home of sorts. There are many dangers so deep in the jungle, but I think it is worth the risk. We rarely come across patrols of soldiers now. They probably believe that any survivors from the ship disaster would not have lasted this long in the unforgiving jungle.

  They underestimate us.

  I think about Isidore, every day. I wonder if she’s happy, if she’s all right. So many times in those first couple of weeks I made up my mind to return to Thorania, to find her, to forget everything else and just choose to be with her.

  But I couldn’t do it. And I know I never will. She had made her choices, and I can see no reason why she would listen to me now when she wouldn’t before. She stayed by choice, and I think she will be safe, away up in the north. I know in my heart that we will never meet again, and that thought is more bitter than everything else.

  I try to keep busy with my new community, not to dwell on the past. We must look to the future, however grim it might be.

  But I can’t help remembering how things used to be. I wish I had known Isidore before she was taken, back in Kyona. She must have been the light of her family’s life. Given everything, she did amazingly well to adapt and survive here. She is the only instance I know of where the slavers took the child of a noble family. How heartbreaking to think that her family probably never even knew what became of her. And what an adjustment for her to find herself a slave. It was bad enough for the
rest of us, but to go from such privilege and comfort to the life we were forced into…

  Well, it’s no wonder she was bitter. Weren’t we all? I am glad at least that her time as a slave was short, before we liberated her. I was so reckless and eager back then, still intoxicated by the delight of being liberated by Alben myself, far too confident in my ability to free others without getting caught.

  And I knew the moment I laid eyes on her that we couldn’t leave her behind. She had to be free. She was not made for such a life as she was living.

  I wish I could believe she will find happiness in the life she has chosen now. But it is a long time since I saw happiness in her.

  Thinking of the past is painful, but it’s easier than dwelling on the future that we lost when the ships went down. All our dreams, all our plans. How impossibly big they were. All the things we were going to do once we returned to Kyona. And now I will never see my home again, just as I will never see Isidore again. All I will ever see is this jungle, for however long I can survive here.

  Perhaps it is for the best as far as Isidore and I are concerned. Her family would no doubt have been beyond delighted to receive her back again, seemingly from the dead. Whether they would have been happy to find her promised to a street urchin who spent half his childhood as a slave in a foreign land, is much less certain. Perhaps we never really had a future, and we were always just dreaming impossible dreams.

  At least I, like most of us here, have no family to mourn me back home. This is my family now. And we are surviving together—more than surviving. We are a community. I am glad that I found them.

  Lucy shut the book with a snap. She had no desire to read further. Haydn’s life was hardly a pleasant escape from her own troubles.