“Your parents have never spoken to you about your birth?” Elddreki pressed.
“Oh, that.” Jocelyn considered the point. “Well, yes they have, actually.” She looked up to see the dragon watching her expectantly. “Well, I’m a twin, like I told you,” she said with a shrug. “So it was always going to be a complicated birth. But we both arrived safely, and my mother was all right.”
She grimaced. “Although from what she says it wasn’t the smoothest delivery. She said she felt like we were running circles inside her, like we were jostling for position as to who would come out first.” She smiled humorously. “My father always says that’s why they called me Jocelyn, but I’m fairly sure he’s joking.”
“And who was born first?” asked Elddreki, watching her keenly.
“Eamon,” said Jocelyn. “By eight minutes.”
“Interesting,” breathed Elddreki. “That is telling, I think.”
“What do you mean?” Jocelyn frowned.
Instead of answering, Elddreki posed another question. “Do you remember I told you your power felt familiar to me?”
Jocelyn nodded. “That was why you were confident it was dragon magic.”
“Not just dragon magic,” Elddreki said. “It feels like my magic. Not entirely of course. It is your own. But, still…I can sense my signature mixed in with everything else.”
“What does that mean?” asked Kincaid, stepping closer to Jocelyn. But the dragon wasn’t looking at him.
“Do you truly not know why I am interested to discover that your brother was born first and you second?” he asked Jocelyn, and she nodded. “Hm. I wonder if your father doesn’t know this part of his history, or if he chose not to tell you in case you didn’t like the information.”
“I can’t answer that,” said Jocelyn shortly, “but if you think you’re getting away this time with saying that if he hasn’t told me, you’re not going to—”
“I wasn’t going to say that,” Elddreki cut her off with a chuckle. “Do you know that the dragons have gifted your house with certain protections?”
Jocelyn nodded. “Yes. The storytelling, the unnaturally good memory, the unbroken line, even through the generations of the throne’s corruption.”
“The unbroken line, indeed,” said Elddreki. “The bloodline has passed father to son, without fail, for many generations. It is part of that story that, in Kyona’s royal bloodline, once a son is born, there are no more children.”
“What do you mean?” Jocelyn frowned. “I know my father had no siblings, but that hasn’t always been the case. Didn’t King Cael and Queen Jacqueline have five children?”
“Indeed.” Elddreki inclined his head. “But the only son was the fifth child. Once an heir was born, no more children were given to the king and queen. The same has been true since then.” His eyes bored into Jocelyn’s. “Until now.”
Jocelyn stared back, her mind reeling.
“That’s surprising,” said Kincaid. “I would have thought most rulers would want to have more sons, to secure the succession in case something happened to the first one. You’re saying no Kyonan monarch has thought that way?”
“It is not a matter of choice,” said Elddreki. “It is not that they do not want to have more children. It is just that they…don’t.”
Jocelyn swallowed. “Until me.”
“Until you,” Elddreki agreed.
She turned away, trying to master the rush of emotion threatening to overpower her. She could feel Kincaid’s eyes on her, and she stared frantically at the landscape around them, desperate to turn his attention away.
“Look,” she said, gesturing to the east. Her throat felt dry, and the word came out as a rasp. “There’s another town up ahead. We can look for horses.”
“Oh good!” Kincaid was instantly distracted, sounding eager as he followed her gaze toward the huddle of buildings just visible in the distance. “Hopefully they won’t be horned, magic-carrying abominations,” he joked.
Jocelyn tried to laugh, but she choked on the sound. There was a creek running nearby, and she waved desperately toward it. “I’d better freshen up first,” she managed to say. “There’s still some dried blood on me from yesterday.”
Then she fled.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Jocelyn!”
She heard Kincaid’s bewildered shout behind her, but she ignored it, racing toward the stream as if she could outrun the tears beginning to spill down her cheeks. She dropped to her knees beside the running water, plunging her hands into its flow and rubbing them frantically, trying to wash away the bloodstains still clinging to her skin.
She was a stain. A stain on the dragons. A stain on her royal house. A small sob escaped her.
“Jocelyn.”
She jumped at Kincaid’s soft voice, so close behind her. She hadn’t even realized he had followed. She swiped quickly at her eyes, but he was on his knees beside her in a moment, his hands capturing hers in a firm but gentle clasp.
“What is it, Jocelyn? What’s wrong? Don’t say it’s your injury, because I won’t believe you.”
“I’m what’s wrong,” she said unsteadily, the kindness in Kincaid’s voice making her emotions even harder to hold in. “Everything about me, from my birth onward. You heard what Elddreki said! I’m an abomination!”
“You are not an abomination,” said Kincaid firmly. “Don’t you ever say that again!”
“But I am!” A tear escaped in spite of Jocelyn’s best efforts. Kincaid’s thumb was suddenly there, wiping it away, but she couldn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know why Elddreki isn’t more concerned about…what I am, but if the other dragons found out about me, they’d hunt me down and destroy me!” She pulled her hands from his. “And they wouldn’t be wrong.”
“Jocelyn, what are you talking about?” Kincaid sounded thoroughly alarmed now.
“You know what I’m talking about,” she said dully. “My power isn’t natural. Only dragons are supposed to have magic. Elddreki said it warps the receiver as well as the giver.” She drew a shuddering breath. “At least, because there were two of us, I seem to have somehow taken all the bad. Maybe Eamon has escaped being warped.”
“Jocelyn, stop it.”
She looked up, startled by the anger in Kincaid’s voice.
“Stop talking like that, like there’s something wrong with you, like you’re evil. You’re letting your imagination run wild.”
“You don’t understand, Kincaid,” she said quietly. “For some reason I can’t explain, you’re barely affected by my power. But this person,” she gestured between them, indicating the ease of their conversation, “this isn’t who I am. This isn’t what my life is really like. I hardly open my mouth outside my own family, and usually when I do, something bad happens. Most of the court in Kynton think poorly of me, and half of them are so uncomfortable in my presence they can barely meet my eyes.”
“Then they’re all imbeciles,” said Kincaid, with feeling. “No wonder you were willing to brave a loveless marriage with Prince Ormond in order to get away.”
Jocelyn gave a hollow laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “I didn’t want to get away. You think I want to leave Kyona? I love Kyona. I agreed to leave because of the crisis with the freedmen.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kincaid, frowning. “How does the crisis endanger you?”
“It doesn’t endanger me,” said Jocelyn in exasperation. “I endanger it. The kingdom is suddenly ill at ease, and no one understands why. I thought if I stayed at Kynton, where all the negotiations are going to happen, and all the decisions are going to be made, the risk of me making a bad situation worse would be too high.”
“You exiled yourself in some kind of attempt to protect your kingdom?” Kincaid’s voice vibrated with anger, and on reflection, Jocelyn couldn’t blame him.
She released a long breath, her shoulders slumping. “In a manner of speaking. But I’m realizing now how unfair that is to Valoria. I shouldn�
�t inflict myself on the court at Bryford just to protect the court at Kynton.”
“Jocelyn, that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard,” said Kincaid. She looked up quickly at him, and saw that there was steel in his eyes to match that in his voice.
“It’s not,” she said quietly. “I’ve been doing damage to Kyona’s royal house for as long as I’ve been alive. You heard Elddreki. I shouldn’t even exist. I wasn’t supposed to be born.” She held up a hand to forestall him as he opened his mouth. “It might seem foolish to you, but it’s not. Kyona’s royal bloodline is steeped in traditions, many of them magical. The one Elddreki just described about royal children is just an example. But that particular one, like many others, has survived for countless generations, even through a two hundred year exile from the throne! And then I come along and destroy it.”
Kincaid was staring at her like she was crazy, and it was beginning to irk her.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she snapped. “You heard Elddreki, the same as I did.”
“Yes, I heard everything Elddreki said,” Kincaid agreed. “And I don’t know where you’re getting all of this. He never said you’re an abomination.”
“That’s true, I didn’t.” Elddreki’s voice made both humans jump. Jocelyn looked over her shoulder, wondering how a creature so large could be so stealthy. Elddreki was sitting quite at his ease, making her wonder how long he had been there, silently observing her vulnerable moment.
“Not in as many words,” she acknowledged. “But you said creatures who end up with dragon magic create an almighty mess. That sounds a lot like me. You also said they had to be destroyed.”
“So they did, and we destroyed them,” said Elddreki placidly. “They are all gone now. You are not one of them. As I told you, no dragon would give power to a human.”
“But Elddreki…” Jocelyn forced herself to say the words, “you used your power on a human. You used it on my mother.”
“Indeed,” affirmed Elddreki.
Kincaid shot Jocelyn a questioning look, and she remembered he didn’t know the story. As briefly as possible, she explained how her mother had sustained an injury that should have been fatal when she fell from a great height in the mountains, and how Elddreki had used his magic to heal her. At least, he had done so after making her father believe he would have to exchange his own life for the healing to take place, as some kind of grueling dragon test of his character.
“That’s right,” said Elddreki placidly, having listened to her tale in silence. “But what I did was a simple use of my magic. I didn’t pour it into her. At least,” he paused, looking at Jocelyn intently, “I didn’t intend to.” His eyes glazed over for a moment, but then he shook his head.
“No. I have considered the possibility already, and there is no way I forfeited my power to your mother. I didn’t lose any of my capacity—I merely used the effects of my magic to right the damage in her body. Besides,” he swung his head around, turning the full beam of his gaze on Jocelyn, “I told you when we first met, your power doesn’t hang about you, carried on your person like a cloak. It emanates from you. Any dragon would be able to recognize that you are not one of the creatures created by the forfeiting of power. Your magic is not borrowed—it is a part of you.”
Jocelyn rocked back on her heels, thinking over the dragon’s words. “But you said it feels like your signature. Doesn’t that mean I’ve borrowed it from you somehow? From when you healed my mother?”
“I said I could sense my signature mixed in,” Elddreki corrected. “You really must stop misquoting me. I believe my use of my magic to heal your mother is a critical part of the mystery behind you and your brother being born with dragon magic within you. But it is only one factor. The very fact of both your parents’ entrance into the Dragon Realm—an incredibly rare occurrence for any human—may have just as significant a part to play.”
Jocelyn considered this for a moment. Then she craned her neck, looking full into the beast’s face. “Do you really believe my power isn’t warped?”
He frowned at her. “Of course. You are not an abomination, Jocelyn. That is a strange and illogical interpretation of my words.”
“As I said,” Kincaid cut in, with a touch of humor. “And I never heard Elddreki say anything about you destroying ancient royal traditions, either.”
“He said—”
“I know what he said,” Kincaid cut her off. “I was standing right next to you. He said it’s always been the case that no more children come after the heir is born, until your appearance. Now something new is happening, something different. He never said anything about chaos or destruction or loss.”
“But it is a loss,” said Jocelyn dully.
Kincaid shrugged. “Most gains come with some kind of loss. Traditions change, Jocelyn, even ancient ones. Everything must change with time. Imagine how boring and predictable and stuck a kingdom would be without change.”
“You say that because you’re Valorian,” said Jocelyn with a sigh. “Kyona has had as much change as a kingdom can handle, and more, these last few decades. My father’s dramatic ascent to the throne might be an exciting story to you, but it’s a reality for Kyona. Of course I’m glad he restored the crown, but the ramifications of such a sudden shift are huge. We’re still feeling them now.”
“And the kingdom wouldn’t still be feeling the ramifications if the false king remained on the throne?” Kincaid challenged. “Your reactions make no sense to me, Jocelyn. Why do you hear mention of change and choose to interpret it as destruction? Couldn’t it just as easily be interpreted as the creation of something new?”
Jocelyn couldn’t think of a response, but she was saved the necessity. Elddreki was doing something strange, and both humans stopped their conversation to look up at him. He drew a deep breath, then let it out in a slow rumbling rattle, starting deep in his core and ending with the tiniest flicker of flame coming out of his nostrils.
“Remarkable,” he said, apparently to himself. He glanced down to see the two of them, kneeling on the grass by the river, staring up at him blankly. His eyes focused on Kincaid.
“You have impressed me, Valorian,” he said. “For one so foolish and hotheaded, you see to the heart of the matter in a way I would not have expected.”
“Thank…you?” Kincaid’s lilt turned the hesitant words into a question. He looked as confused as Jocelyn felt.
“Change,” said Elddreki simply. Jocelyn and Kincaid glanced at each other, brows furrowed.
“What?”
“Change,” the dragon repeated.
Jocelyn looked down at her dress, brand new the day before, but already ripped and stained with blood. Was he telling her to change her clothes? It would be the first time the creature had ever shown an interest in such a detail.
“Change what?” she asked warily.
“Change is your power.” Elddreki spoke confidently, clearly sure of his conclusion. “I suddenly understood when I heard Kincaid’s reflections. He is quite right. What I said about the effect of your birth need not have been interpreted as destruction. Just as your power need not be seen as evil. It is a change, certainly, and a dramatic one. But change in itself is neither good nor bad. And I believe Kincaid is right that change is necessary. If I did not believe that, I wouldn’t have left my own home to search for another colony of my kind, in the hope someone else chose differently from us, and new dragons are still being born somewhere out there.”
He narrowed his eyes, leaning closer to Jocelyn. As comfortable as she had become with the fearsome beast, his proximity still made her nervous. Or perhaps it was the intensity in his gaze.
“Dragons do not change easily, especially those of us who have chosen immortality. Nor do we feel emotions keenly the way humans do. But I felt anger on your behalf yesterday. It is almost as though your power of change is starting to have its impact even on me.”
“But…” Jocelyn was dumbfounded. “I didn’t use my words—”
“Like the dance in Montego,” said Kincaid suddenly. “You weren’t speaking then, and you definitely let out a surge of power. Even I felt it, although I didn’t understand what was going on at the time.”
“Yes, it felt like my words in action form,” acknowledged Jocelyn. “It terrified me. Nothing like it had ever happened before. Just like my words confuse people’s thoughts, my dance confused everyone’s movements.”
“Not confused, changed,” said Kincaid, sounding excited. “They’d probably been doing that dance the same way for a hundred years, but when you joined the dance, it changed.” He thought for a moment. “That’s why you’re good at changing people’s minds. And it’s why the power of suggestion is better than telling someone outright what to do. Change comes slowly, and subtly, not all at once.”
Jocelyn was silent, trying to wrap her mind around the idea of her power as change rather than confusion. It was a fascinating and terrifying thought, the idea that she had been wrong in her understanding of it for so long. She wasn’t entirely sure that it was better, really, but it was still overwhelming to try to re-learn her own essence. Still, the dragon’s words felt right somehow, as though she had been looking out of a dirty window, and he had wiped it clean. She saw the same things as before, but much more clearly.
It made sense. Her parents’ ascension to Kyona’s throne had been a dramatic event, and it had heralded great change for Kyona. Even the nature of her parents’ relationship was a matter of momentous change.
“I wonder what your brother’s power is,” Elddreki mused. “Without witnessing it myself, it would be difficult to form a conclusion.”
“Boringness?” suggested Kincaid, shooting Jocelyn an impudent look. “Uptightness?”
Jocelyn ignored him. She thought about it for a moment, picturing change on one side of the coin, and the steadiness and security that hung about Eamon on the other side.
Legacy of the Curse Page 26