Legacy of the Curse

by Deborah Grace White

  “No,” she said firmly, sucking in a breath at the surge of power that left her with the word.

  Kincaid opened his mouth to argue, but paused, looking in surprise at the woman. She had been loud and articulate in promoting the sale a moment before, but she now hesitated, looking uncertain.

  “Perhaps you had better not buy the dress,” she said, her tone as confused as her expression. “If the lady doesn’t like the idea.”

  Kincaid blinked, looking more surprised than ever as his gaze traveled between Jocelyn and the local woman. “Of course I should buy it,” he said.

  “No,” said Jocelyn again, tugging on his arm until he stepped away a little, so the woman couldn’t hear them. He was frowning at her, and she could feel her cheeks still blazing. “You can’t buy me clothes, Kincaid.”

  “Yes I can,” he said stubbornly.

  Jocelyn sighed, exasperated, and ran a hand over her face. Why did he have to make it so difficult? She didn’t want to be forced to use more words, but she couldn’t let him buy her a dress.

  “I really don’t mind, Jocelyn,” he said, his voice softer. “And you can’t keep wandering through the North Wilds wearing that.” He gestured at her dress with his head. “You’re attracting too much attention.”

  She followed his gaze, her forehead creasing as she looked at her gown. He was right—although it was far simpler than her elaborate court clothes, it was still much too costly for the setting. She was fully aware of the many pairs of eyes following her through town. Kincaid’s tunic and leggings, while of good quality, were much less decorative and much more practical.

  “If it makes you feel better, you can pay me back later,” said Kincaid, as she hesitated.

  Jocelyn gave in with another sigh, but the troubled expression didn’t leave her face, and she remained at a distance, more embarrassed than ever, while Kincaid negotiated the deal.

  They were finally heading out of town when they were stopped by a middle-aged man.

  “Looking for a place to stay, travelers?”

  The man spoke pleasantly, but his eyes lingered on Jocelyn in a way she didn’t like. Neither did Kincaid, judging by his half-step forward, and the way he angled his body so she was partially behind him.

  “No, thank you,” he said, his voice polite but firm. “We’re on our way out of town.”

  “Oh, surely not leaving in such a hurry!” said the man jovially. “I run an inn, you know. Small place, but very pleasant. You must stop for the night, really you must.”

  “No thank you,” Kincaid repeated, starting to walk again. The man stepped into their path, clearly not the type to give up easily.

  “But it’s not safe to sleep out in the open, not in this part of the kingdom. And Thalia is the only town for miles.”

  Jocelyn started visibly at the name, and Kincaid hesitated, looking to her.

  The local man pushed on eagerly. “You want to stay, don’t you sweetheart?” he said to Jocelyn. Kincaid shifted at her side, and she could feel his disapproval at the inn-keeper’s familiarity. The man turned to him at once. “You may be willing to take your chances sleeping out in the wilds, but you can see that your, uh…sister…?”

  He trailed off hopefully, looking to Kincaid for clarification.

  “My wife,” said Kincaid shortly. Jocelyn was able to keep her start of surprise internal this time, but only just.

  “Ah, of course, just so,” said the man, his tone faintly disappointed. “Well, your wife clearly doesn’t want to take her chances out—”

  “What was that word you said before?” Kincaid interrupted, clearly trying to identify the cause of Jocelyn’s reaction. “Tha-something?”

  “Thalia?” repeated the man, distracted for a moment from his attempt to sell them lodgings.

  “Yes, that. What does it mean?”

  “It’s the name of the town you’re standing in,” said the man blankly. “I don’t know that it has a meaning, as such.”

  Jocelyn stepped forward, a hundred questions buzzing through her mind. “Has the town always been called that?” she asked, wincing slightly at the way her power wrapped itself around her listener. His was clearly not the strongest of minds.

  “Uh…” Predictably, the man looked confused. “I think so. That is, I don’t know.”

  Jocelyn sighed, wishing she could somehow communicate her questions straight into Kincaid’s mind so he could conduct the inquiries. Then they might actually get somewhere. She was just pondering the best words to try again when a cackle sounded from behind her.

  “Of course it’s always been called that.” The croakiness of the voice was enough to tell Jocelyn the speaker was old, but she turned to look anyway. The woman hobbling past was stooped with age, but her eyes were bright with interest as she stopped and looked at the travelers. “And this town’s been ’ere more’n two hundred years.”

  The inn-keeper—if he really was an inn-keeper—gave a barely perceptible sigh.

  “Mother Gloria. Afternoon.”

  “Yes, yes.” The woman waved a wrinkled hand at him dismissively, her eyes still on Jocelyn and Kincaid. “I seen you both in the markets. Buyin’ oil lamps an’ ropes an’ such. Thinkin’ of exploring Dragoncave, are ya?”

  The man turned back to them, suddenly resuming his interest. “Ah, questers! Well, well, it’s a while since we had any up this way. I can sell you some excellent dragon products.” He smiled conspiratorially at Jocelyn. “Powdered dragon scales will make the hair grow twice as fast and thick you know. All the noble girls in the court at Bryford swear by it. It’ll make this lovely golden hair shine like the sun.”

  He reached out a hand toward Jocelyn’s braid, evidently intending to take it between his fingers, but at Kincaid’s aggressive glare he seemed to think better of it. He dropped his hand and transferred his attention to the young man instead.

  “Or perhaps you’d be more interested in a dragon tooth? If you wear it around your neck, you will be victorious in all your conflicts, you know.” He leaned close, dropping his voice impressively. “I have one for sale, very rare. It’s a tricky business harvesting dragon products, very dangerous, so they don’t come cheap. I collected the tooth from a dragon myself.”

  Jocelyn snorted. She couldn’t help herself. The man’s gaze flicked to her, irritated.

  “Ar, can’t you see they’re not so green to swallow that nonsense?” said Mother Gloria impatiently. “You never seen a dragon anymore’n I have. If they’re questers, they should know perfectly well that the mountains aren’t passable this far north.” She gave them a pitying look. “If you want to look for the famous Kyonan dragons, you have to start from Montego, hasn’t anyone told you that?”

  “We’re not questers,” said Kincaid shortly. “And we’re not interested in dragon products.”

  “Then why’re you goin’ to Dragoncave?” Mother Gloria insisted. “And why’re you askin’ about the history of this town?”

  Kincaid frowned, looking between the two locals. To Jocelyn’s immense relief, he voiced her own question.

  “What does the history of this town have to do with dragons?”

  Mother Gloria snorted. “Well, this town’s only here because of Dragoncave, ain’t it? And how much more connected with dragons can you get than that?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Kincaid, exchanging a look with Jocelyn. “Is there really some history of dragons at Dragoncave?”

  The old woman shuffled closer, clearly only too ready to abandon whatever her original task had been and spin a yarn. The inn-keeper gave a tiny sigh and drifted away.

  “Oh, there were dragons there once, no question. But it was long and long and long ago. Too far back to count. There’s a magic in those walls, though, and it lingers still.”

  She leaned in impressively, but Jocelyn felt anything but impressed. She didn’t believe this woman had ever wriggled her way inside the cave any more than she believed anyone in this town would be able to sense magic if it slapped the
m in the face.

  “The dragons were here long before the town, and the cave was here long before the dragons,” Mother Gloria was continuing, but Kincaid cut her off, sounding just as skeptical as Jocelyn felt.

  “If the dragons were here and gone long before the town, then how is the town only here because of them?”

  Mother Gloria frowned, annoyed by the interruption. “I’m gettin’ to it,” she growled, her voice losing some of its mystical storytelling tone. “Someone came lookin’ for dragons, and found the cave. It was one of the royals, generations way back. She was—”

  “She?” interrupted Kincaid, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes, she,” snapped the old woman. “You think only men go questing for things?”

  Jocelyn chuckled, shooting Kincaid a smug look when he glanced at her. He rolled his eyes, a faint smile on his face.

  “She was one of our royals, but she didn’t come from here,” Mother Gloria continued. “She was a princess from a foreign land, and she—”

  “From Kyona?” asked Kincaid, flicking another quick look at Jocelyn.

  “Will you stop interrupting?” snapped Mother Gloria, her chest heaving with indignation. “No, she wasn’t from Kyona.” Her tone clearly expressed her disgust at such a tame suggestion. “She was from some far exotic land, where the people had magic. She could sense magic on the wind, and follow it like a hound follows a scent. She was looking for dragons—desperate to find them she was—and the magic brought her to this place. She had others travelin’ with her, and they made a little camp here. Some of ’em liked this place, and stayed on when the princess returned to Bryford. It became a town, and she named it—”

  “Thalia,” finished Kincaid, his gaze questioning as he looked at Jocelyn.

  She nodded slowly, indicating he had asked the right questions to reach the information she wanted. It was strange how quickly he’d fallen into the role, almost like Eamon was here. She glanced up at Kincaid, remembering how casually he had pretended she was his wife. He was still watching her intently, and she looked away again quickly. Not quite like Eamon was here.

  “I wonder if she found what she was looking for,” Kincaid mused. “The foreign princess.”

  “Ask the cave and find out,” said Mother Gloria, with another cackle.

  “What do you mean?” Kincaid sounded wary.

  She grinned. “I told you, she was magic. She came from a race of magic storytellers, and they say she poured her stories into the cave. If you have the magic, you can ask the cave to tell you, and her stories will come out. It’s part of the power of her kingdom, where—”

  “Kyona,” said Jocelyn, and both of her companions looked at her in surprise. “Her kingdom was Kyona.”

  “Eh?” asked Mother Gloria, already looking slightly confused. “No, I told you, she was from some far distant—”

  “She was from Kyona.” Jocelyn’s voice was firm, and her power was tangible. At least it was tangible to her, apparently the second princess from this magical kingdom of legend to pass through the tiny town.

  “She was…that is…” Mother Gloria frowned, looking more uncertain than ever. “Mayhap she was from Kyona…I thought…but now that you say it…”

  Jocelyn tuned the woman out, well used to the verbal dithering with which her firm statements tended to be met. But she realized a moment too late that Kincaid was paying close attention, his shrewd gaze passing between the two women. She met his eye involuntarily. She was sure he was remembering how vehemently the woman had insisted a moment ago that the foreign princess was not from Kyona.

  She cleared her throat, tilting her head toward the path out of town in a silent suggestion that they get going. The afternoon was wearing on, and she felt vaguely uneasy about the unceremonious disappearance of the inn-keeper earlier. If he was coming back, she’d rather be gone before he arrived.

  Kincaid nodded, his expression thoughtful and his gaze still uncomfortably piercing. Mother Gloria still seemed very confused, but as they turned to leave, she came out of her stupor enough to hold out a hand, palm cupped suggestively. With a sigh, Kincaid pressed a small coin into it in payment for the tale, and then held his own hand out to Jocelyn.

  Surprised, she took it, and the two of them hurried toward the edge of town. Kincaid’s hand was warm and strong, his clasp somehow reassuring after the calculating look he had been giving her. At least whatever speculations he had about her weren’t making him draw back. Jocelyn found it hard to focus on the path, her mind distracted by the unexpected contact, and for a few moments Kincaid was as silent as she was.

  “I’m sorry if it was too big a presumption,” he said suddenly. “Saying you were my wife.”

  Jocelyn looked up quickly, and found Kincaid regarding her steadily, his face showing none of the embarrassment she felt.

  “I could see he was sizing you up, and I thought it was better to play it safe. Like I told you, this isn’t a good area. It’s bad enough for a beautiful young woman to be wandering around. Better not to make it known you’re unclaimed into the bargain.”

  Jocelyn felt heat rising up her neck at the implication that Kincaid thought she was beautiful, but at the word “unclaimed”, she raised an eyebrow, pulling her hand out of his.

  He just grinned at her, unrepentant. “You know what I mean.” She didn’t reply, and his expression turned serious. “I’m afraid around here that’s how people would see it. I thought it was better to ‘claim’ you, so to speak. Just temporarily,” he added hastily, when her expression didn’t soften. “And just as a pretense.” He hesitated, seeming less sure of himself the longer she drew out the moment. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  Jocelyn finally released him from her glare, a small smile tugging up the corner of her mouth. It was cruel, perhaps, but it had been fun to watch him squirm, just a little. He was always so sure of himself. It would be so satisfying to tease him, just good naturedly, if only she could let her tongue have free rein.

  Kincaid chuckled, his spirits instantly restored. “Phew, you were making me sweat. You really have that haughty princess glare perfected, you know.” He grinned at her. “But I didn’t think you’d really be so stiff as to be offended.”

  He was looking at her, his eyes full of laughter, his vigilance relaxed. Jocelyn glanced at him a moment too late. He clearly saw her eyes widen as her gaze slid over his shoulder, but he had only half turned, his hand flying toward his hilt, when he was swarmed. Several pairs of hands grabbed him, and his sword was wrested from his grip before it was fully unsheathed. Jocelyn started toward him with a gasp, but before she could reach for her dagger, she was seized from behind, her arms snapped against her back in a vise-like grip.

  She looked around frantically, but there was no source of help. There were only men, burly and leering, too many for Kincaid to fight off, even if his arms were free.

  They were in trouble.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the travelers.”

  The inn-keeper strolled forward into the space between the two captives, who had been dragged backward, away from each other. Kincaid, struggling wildly, snarled at the man, who smiled pleasantly back.

  “It was very rude of you to prefer the open moor to my inn, you know.” His eyes passed over Kincaid’s livid face and settled on Jocelyn, trying fruitlessly to free her arms from the grip of the man holding her. “Especially when your lovely wife was so obviously reluctant to brave the dangers of the wilds.” He smiled mockingly at her. “You were right to be concerned, my dear. There are dangerous men about.”

  Jocelyn narrowed her eyes, ignoring the guffaws that greeted this speech.

  “I should apologize for suggesting you needed powdered dragon scales for your hair, though,” the man persisted. He spoke to Jocelyn, but his eyes kept flicking to Kincaid, clearly baiting him. He reached out and ran his hand slowly and deliberately down her hair, from the crown of her head to the tip of her braid. It was like he was patting
a dog. “It’s already perfection.”

  “Don’t touch her,” choked Kincaid, and Jocelyn was startled by the fury on his face.

  “Oh, my interest is purely mercenary,” the inn-keeper assured him, still holding the end of Jocelyn’s braid as if it was a leash. “You’d be surprised at the price this braid could fetch, if you know the right buyers.” He smiled. “Which I do.”

  “Look at this, boss,” grunted one of the men standing near Kincaid. He held out Kincaid’s sword, and the inn-keeper gave a low whistle.

  “That is a very nice sword, young man. Now that will fetch a very pretty price.”

  “The only function that sword will serve you will be to run you through, when it’s back in my hands,” Kincaid growled.

  “Tut tut,” chuckled the inn-keeper, an amused smile on his face. “That’s no way to speak to the man who has you in his power.”

  Power. The word jolted Jocelyn’s mind out of its immobility. She needed to use her power, and quickly. Kincaid had murder written across his face, and things were going to escalate rapidly. But what to say? What words would do the job most effectively while still being subtle? She swallowed nervously, her throat suddenly dry. She had never tried to use her words on this many people at once.

  “Did you really expect no one to notice how much money you just threw around the market?” the ringleader was continuing. “And you can clearly afford to buy your wife expensive finery. Selfishness is a terrible fault, you know. Wealth like that should be shared. Now, where were we?” He turned back to Jocelyn.

  Kincaid had been glaring at a man who was rifling through the contents of his pack, but Jocelyn saw his attention snap quickly back to her at the inn-keeper’s next words.

  “You are very pretty, my dear, so don’t be too disheartened. Even without your hair, and your fine dress,” he grasped her skirt with a lazy hand and lifted the fabric so that her hem rose a few inches above the ground, “you will still turn heads.”

  Kincaid let out another snarl, struggling furiously against the men who held him. But he was securely restrained. Jocelyn ignored the flurry of movement, settling on what to say. She raised her eyes. If she could make them think the two of them weren’t traveling alone…