Legacy of the Curse

by Deborah Grace White

  “Don’t think I don’t admire your fighting spirit,” said Kincaid gently. “But is that really how these things work? That they’ll just have to accept it?”

  Jocelyn deflated slightly. “No, it’s not really how it works.”

  “So how can they be together?” Kincaid pressed.

  “They can be together.” Jocelyn squared her shoulders. “We’ll just have to appease the more fastidious courtiers some…some other way.”

  “Some other way?”

  She could feel Kincaid’s eyes boring into her, and she kept her face straight ahead, refusing to meet his gaze. But his sudden intake of breath told her he knew what she was leaving unsaid.

  “Some other way like your marriage to Valoria’s crown prince, you mean,” he said quietly. She didn’t respond, aware he was still staring at her. “Even though you don’t want to marry Prince Ormond. You don’t even want to leave Kyona. You think if you sacrifice your happiness, you can help secure your brother’s.”

  The silence stretched uncomfortably, and Jocelyn felt compelled to speak. “Who says I’d be sacrificing my happiness?” She spoke lightly. “Apparently Prince Ormond is tall and fair and the ladies swoon over him.”

  There was no answering chuckle. “Would you really do it for such a reason as that?” Kincaid asked quietly, and she knew he wasn’t talking about Prince Ormond’s looks.

  Jocelyn didn’t hesitate. “Of course.” Her voice became harder. “I won’t let people’s prejudice separate Eamon and Lucy. I won’t.”

  She gave a mirthless laugh. “Besides, marriage alliances are what princesses are for. Haven’t you been paying any attention to Princess Sarai’s story?”

  Kincaid didn’t respond, and Jocelyn pushed her horse forward into a canter. The sound of the other horse’s hooves faded, and she snuck a look back. Kincaid was right where she’d left him, staring after her with an unreadable expression in his eyes, and his hand clenched into a fist on the reins.

  She looked quickly ahead again. She had begun to accept long before now that she had little choice but to go through with the marriage alliance. It wasn’t a new idea.

  But just how much of a mess was she going to leave behind when she did?

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Concentrate, Jocelyn! You’re not focusing.”

  Jocelyn groaned. “You concentrate for a while. You’ve had me at this for an hour, and my head feels like a sack of potatoes.”

  “I once saw a human whose head was completely bald, and it looked like a potato,” interjected Elddreki conversationally.

  Jocelyn shot the dragon a look. “You’re not helping, Elddreki.”

  “Of course I am helping. Kincaid and I are both helping you in your attempt to train your power, and you do not appear to me to be very grateful for our assistance.”

  Jocelyn sighed, rubbing the back of her neck and shifting her feet on the tussock of grass where she stood. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re right frustratingly often?”

  Elddreki looked surprised. “Of course I am right. But why would that be frustrating?”

  Kincaid chuckled. “I think she was trying to apologize.”

  Elddreki looked at Jocelyn in bewilderment. “That is the strangest apology I have ever heard.”

  Jocelyn grimaced in acknowledgment, her eyes cast down at the dry golden grass of summer, whipping gently at her skirts in the breeze. “Yes it was. But Kincaid was right. I am grateful you want to help me. But it’s a waste of time. We’re not getting anywhere.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” said Elddreki. “We can learn as much from your failures as from your successes, if we’re paying attention. More, perhaps.”

  “Then we should be learning enough to fill a library.”

  “Enough chatting,” said Kincaid curtly. He nodded imperiously at Jocelyn. “Try again.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, her irritation returning. “Winter is so much more pleasant than summer,” she said half-heartedly, her tone devoid of emotion. “Think of cozy evenings around a roaring fire.”

  “Jocelyn.” Kincaid was unimpressed.

  “Did it work?” she asked unenthusiastically. She knew the answer. She had not felt any power leave her. “Did I change your mind?”

  “Of course not. You’re not even trying.”

  “I’ve been trying, every day! And it’s pointless. It’s as unpredictable as ever.”

  This wasn’t strictly true. Understanding her power as change had helped her to be more aware of when her words were and weren’t having the desired effect. But that early breakthrough felt like forever ago. Whether it was because Kincaid was becoming immune from exposure to her, or because she was getting worse in her attempts, she was succeeding less and less in impacting his opinions.

  She rubbed the back of her neck again, glancing over at the horses, who were grazing unconcernedly nearby. In the days since they had acquired their steeds, she had begun to dread stopping for the midday meal. It wasn’t the food she disliked, just what inevitably followed. The soreness in her muscles from so many hours in the saddle was nothing to the aching in her head.

  “Do we really have to do this every day? Can’t we just keep riding? We could probably be at the coast by now.”

  “No,” said Kincaid firmly. “This training is just as important as Elddreki’s quest.”

  Jocelyn glanced at the dragon, expecting him to disagree, but he was silent. His eyes were on her, and he seemed deep in thought.

  “Try again, Jocelyn,” he said, and somehow the command didn’t irk her as much coming from the dragon.

  She sighed, thinking for a moment as she turned to face Kincaid again. He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

  “As a child I hated the cold weather,” she said, focusing her thoughts on the idea of changing Kincaid’s mind about his preferred time of year. “Because it was dark for so much longer each day. Now I don’t mind it. I suppose I simply had to outgrow my childish fears.”

  Again, she felt nothing. Well, nothing but irritation as Kincaid snorted at her weak attempt.

  “I can sense the potential of your power,” Elddreki mused. “But there’s something blocking it. It’s like you’re at war with yourself.”

  “No, I’m at war with Kincaid,” Jocelyn muttered. Kincaid grinned at that, but Jocelyn wasn’t in the mood to be mollified by humor.

  “Come on, Joss,” said Kincaid, looking at her indulgently. “Did you really think you were going to change my mind by shaming me into thinking that if I don’t like winter better it means I’m afraid of the dark?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with disliking the dark,” snapped Jocelyn, stung. She was certain he was thinking of her panic in the cave. “It’s the normal reaction of any responsible, level-headed person.”

  Kincaid raised an eyebrow, clearly starting to get annoyed himself. “So you think I’m irresponsible, do you?”

  “Not at all,” said Jocelyn, crushingly polite. “I’m sure whatever responsibilities you left in order to join us will wait patiently and not suffer for your absence. After all, who would expect you to think about such things when presented with the opportunity to chase after a dragon adventure and ingratiate yourself with an unguarded princess?”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them, and not just because they were unkind and unfair. The surge of power, which she had not intended to access, was much stronger than anything Kincaid had been exposed to before, with the exception of the dance in Montego.

  He had frozen at her words, and he now stood staring at her, his mouth slightly open. He didn’t wear the look of confusion she had so often seen on her listeners’ faces, but there was no doubt he had been affected. He looked unsettled, almost like he was in pain.

  “Kincaid—”

  “I am irresponsible,” he cut her off, his voice hardly above a whisper. “More than you even realize. And I have taken advantage of your vulnerability. I even pretended I didn’t know who you were.”

>   “Kincaid, no,” said Jocelyn, tears starting to her eyes.

  She took a step toward him, her hand outstretched, but he stepped back, the movement seeming involuntary. She dropped her hand, turning her face away in an attempt to hide the tears welling up. She had known this was a terrible idea. She had said it all along.

  “Excellent,” said Elddreki brightly, apparently oblivious to the anguish of his human companions. “We are getting somewhere. Now we just need to understand why the dam burst.”

  Kincaid blinked unsteadily, focusing on the dragon with an apparent effort. “What do you mean?” he asked. His gaze returned to Jocelyn, who quickly averted her face again. But not before she saw the sudden understanding leap into his eyes.

  “That was it, wasn’t it?” he said, sounding dazed. “You used your power. That’s why your comment had such a big impact on me.”

  “Not on purpose,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry, Kincaid.”

  “You don’t need to apologize,” he said, his voice still not quite steady. “I’m the one who told you to practice on me.” He took a deep breath, making a heroic attempt to return to his normal tone. “Elddreki’s right, it’s a good thing you were able to access your power that time.”

  “No,” Jocelyn choked out. “It’s not a good thing, because I didn’t mean to access it. I wasn’t even thinking about it. This is what I’ve been telling you all along. It’s unpredictable, and dangerous. If I could choose when to use it or not use it, I wouldn’t have spent most of my life keeping my words to myself.”

  “So you really weren’t trying to experiment with your power when you said that?” Kincaid asked. Jocelyn shook her head, not quite able to read his tone. Kincaid tried to chuckle, but it was a woeful sound. “So you genuinely do think I’m irresponsible, then?”

  “No!” said Jocelyn, looking up quickly. “No, Kincaid, truly I don’t. I spoke in anger, and I know it was unfair. I may not have been able to control my power, but I can control my words, and I should never have said that.”

  “You weren’t wrong,” said Kincaid ruefully. “I was running away from my responsibilities when I decided to spend the summer wandering Kyona.”

  “Don’t let my power get in your head, Kincaid,” said Jocelyn earnestly. “I said I’m sorry, and I meant it. I don’t think you’re irresponsible, honestly.”

  “But do you…” Kincaid suddenly seemed unable to meet her eyes. “Do you truly think I’ve been taking advantage of your isolation…that I’ve been trying to…to ingratiate myself with you because you’re royalty?”

  “Of course not!” said Jocelyn, tears once again pricking her eyes.

  “Good,” said Kincaid, looking up at her again, his expression difficult to read. “Because I haven’t been. At least,” he chuckled grimly, still looking a little off balance, “I don’t think I have.”

  “Of course you haven’t,” said Jocelyn firmly.

  Kincaid took another deep breath, looking like he was emerging from a deep sleep. “It’s a strange feeling,” he said, almost to himself. “I’ve never felt it with that intensity before. It really does get inside your head.” He blinked rapidly, then shook his head, his expression determined.

  “Well, let’s go again. I couldn’t recognize your power while it was happening that time, but I think I can capture the feeling now it’s over. I’m hoping next time I’ll be able to feel it in the moment. That will help you identify it, and maybe help me withstand it.”

  He looked up at Jocelyn, his expression expectant, and raised an eyebrow at the look on her face. “What?”

  “Go again?” she repeated incredulously. “Are you mad? We’re not doing that again. Not ever.”

  “Nonsense, Joss,” said Kincaid briskly. “How can you make progress if we don’t build on what we just learned?”

  “He’s right,” said Elddreki placidly. “If we stop now, when you have finally released your power with real potency, we will be losing a valuable opportunity to identify the nature of the blockage I mentioned, which you seem to have burst through for a moment.”

  “No,” said Jocelyn firmly, keeping her words few.

  “But Joss—”

  “I said no.”

  “I’m fine, Jocelyn, honestly,” Kincaid pushed. “I don’t mind you trying again on me. We might be right on the edge of figuring something out. I can handle it.”

  Jocelyn didn’t respond, her mouth clamped firmly shut. She began to gather the remains of their meal, repacking them into the damaged rucksack lying nearby.

  “Jocelyn, what are you doing?” Kincaid sounded uneasy. She remained silent, beginning to untie her horse from the branch of a nearby tree.

  “Jocelyn, stop.” Kincaid seized her arm, startling her with his nearness. “I know that look. Don’t you dare clam up again.”

  She turned to look at him, fire in her eyes, but her mouth still uncompromisingly closed.

  “You can’t go back to bottling it all up, Joss,” he said, his expression strangely fearful. “Not after how free you’ve been. You’ll go mad, or I will.”

  “No more training.”

  She spoke clearly and distinctly, and she knew he understood the alternatives she was offering without the need for further explanation. Which was good, because she could feel her power swirling so unsteadily within her that even those three words felt like a risk.

  Kincaid met her eyes for a long moment, his expression keen and searching, then he nodded. “All right. No more training.”

  Elddreki gave a small humph of resignation, but Jocelyn ignored him. She let out a long breath, her shoulders relaxing, and she instantly felt the power ebb away within her. Kincaid’s expression softened.

  “I pushed you too hard,” he said gently. “I’m sorry.”

  “I told you it was a bad idea,” she whispered, the anguish of her recent slip creeping into her voice.

  Kincaid shook his head. “I’m not going to press you to try again, but I still don’t think it was a bad idea. I really can handle it. I’m not afraid for you to take the risk on me.”

  “It’s not just you who would suffer,” said Jocelyn, still whispering. “You should have seen the way you looked at me.” She stopped, taking a deep shuddering breath. “I’ve spent my whole life afraid that if I really let myself out, everyone I know, everyone I care about, would look at me just like that. I can’t bear it if you—” She cut herself off, not wanting to look too closely at the depth of agony she had felt when Kincaid had pulled away from her.

  Suddenly Kincaid’s hand was on her face, compelling her to look up at him. His eyes were searching hers, filled with remorse and understanding. Without warning, he pulled her against him, and she pressed her face into his chest. One of his strong arms went around her, holding her firmly, making her feel safe and secure in a way she hadn’t since childhood.

  “I’m sorry, Jocelyn. I should have listened to you instead of pushing you to do something you weren’t comfortable doing. I was trying to help you, but I can see I was wrong to push so hard.” He pulled back, holding her by one shoulder as he again looked into her eyes. “I just wanted so much for you to figure out how to control it, so you could see you don’t need to be afraid of it.”

  Jocelyn smiled half-heartedly. Even after what had just happened, Kincaid seemed determined to be blind. But nothing could have more clearly confirmed to Jocelyn that her power was something to be afraid of.

  “It’s all right,” she said aloud. “I know you were trying to help.”

  And she did know it. She bore Kincaid no ill will for the inevitable disaster his training exercise had turned into. But she was determined to be firmer this time. She would not be trying to use her power on him again.

  They rode in silence for an hour or two, Elddreki most unusually choosing to join them on the ground, even though they were cantering. He had to maintain a slow run to keep up with the horses, and he placed himself alongside Jocelyn’s mare. She tried to tolerate his constant searching looks and exper
imental sniffs patiently. It was clear he was trying to figure her out while the moment was fresh, still reluctant to waste the opportunity afforded by her loss of control.

  It had been only the day before that Jocelyn had told Kincaid about Eamon and Lucy, but already the landscape had changed significantly. It was beginning to look rugged again, but it had none of the menacing quality of the North Wilds.

  The grass was mostly dry in the summer sun, the golden blanket punctuated here and there by patches of green grass or dense clumps of small trees, their leaves already brown, although autumn was far away. The ground was uneven, boulders protruding from the turf every so often. The ground sloped steadily upward, and to the north Jocelyn could see a line of low-lying mountains marching east to west, the golden-brown of their slopes giving way halfway up to streaks of white snow against gray rock, even in the summer. And in fact it was starting to feel less like summer, the air growing colder the further they traveled and the more elevated the ground became.

  They were coming into the eastern district at last.

  The afternoon was well-advanced when they slowed to a walk to get a better look at what was ahead. It didn’t look like a town to Jocelyn, but there was clearly some kind of gathering going on. She squinted as they approached it, taking in the wooden stalls, rough material stretched over the tops for protection against the weather.

  “It must be a market day!” said Kincaid brightly. “That’s lucky. We need more food, and I’ve been thinking we should get traveling cloaks, just simple ones, before we go too much further east. It’s going to be cold by the coast.”

  “Do you have any coins left?” asked Jocelyn skeptically.

  “A couple that I saved for emergencies,” said Kincaid, as cheerful as ever. “And now that it’s getting colder, I think we can manage without the second water skin. That will get us a bit of food, at least.”

  They had turned toward the market, and Jocelyn suddenly remembered Elddreki. She looked over at the dragon quickly. “Should you—?”

  But it was too late. The familiar sound of a startled cry told them someone had already spotted the dragon. Jocelyn sighed, bracing herself for the inevitable disbanding of the market, and the loss of any opportunity to buy supplies.