Legacy of the Curse

by Deborah Grace White

  She turned to glance at Elddreki and jumped dramatically. The dragon was still curled up in his usual sleeping position, but his eyes were wide open and fixed on her in unabashed observation.

  “Elddreki!” hissed Jocelyn, putting a hand to her heart. “You startled me.”

  “How peculiar,” said Elddreki. “I neither moved nor spoke.”

  Jocelyn disregarded the comment. “How long have you been watching me?” she asked accusingly.

  “Quite some time,” said Elddreki, his tone conversational. “Since before you awoke.” He tilted his head to the side. “Is that unnerving?”

  “Yes,” said Jocelyn shortly. “And not very polite.”

  “But you were just watching Kincaid while he slept,” Elddreki pointed out.

  Jocelyn colored. The observation was so unanswerable she made no attempt to answer it.

  “You have a curious look in your eyes when you watch him,” mused Elddreki. Jocelyn squirmed in place, not at all pleased with the direction the conversation was taking. She chanced a glance at Kincaid, but fortunately he seemed to still be fast asleep.

  “Something emanates from you when you interact with Kincaid, sometimes,” Elddreki persisted. “Something that I sense from you often, in fact. It reminds me of your power, and yet it is not a natural part of your power, I think.”

  Jocelyn frowned. “Is it confusion?” she asked, remembering her previous characterization of her power.

  “No,” said Elddreki pensively. “It is not confusion.”

  Jocelyn had no further suggestions, and they fell silent. After a couple of minutes, Jocelyn grew used to Elddreki’s unwavering scrutiny, and stopped feeling self-conscious.

  “Do you remember when you showed us the story in the fire?” she asked suddenly, and the dragon tilted his head toward her. “When you told us about the dragon war?”

  “Of course.”

  “You didn’t just show us dragon history,” she said. “You showed us glimpses of what was happening in Kyona. I even saw Uncle Jonan.” She paused, but Elddreki remained silent. “Was that something you’d witnessed in the past? Or was it happening at the time you showed us?”

  “At the time,” Elddreki answered. “I projected images from my farsight.”

  “Farsight?” Jocelyn frowned. “What’s that?”

  “You are not familiar with it?” asked Elddreki. “I suppose, then, it is not an aspect of dragon magic that was transferred to you.”

  “It’s hard for me to comment on that,” said Jocelyn dryly, “since I still have no idea what it is.”

  “Farsight is an ability common to all dragons,” explained Elddreki. “We can see things from afar, follow events not within our physical range of sight.”

  “You mean,” Jocelyn frowned, “you can see anything, anywhere?”

  Elddreki chuckled. “It’s not quite as open as that. Distance is relevant. Only the most powerful dragons can see what occurs across the sea, for example. And we don’t see just anything. Over our lifetimes, we form connections with places, or in the case of a few of us, with people. It is much easier to use farsight on those places or people. And, to put it in simple terms, the more we cultivate those connections, the more we see. For example, I saw what your father’s friend was doing in his forest home on that other occasion, because I have taken an interest in him since we met in the mountains. But I have followed your parents’ lives much more closely, so should I choose to watch them, I can see more clearly.”

  “Is that how my father communicated with you, just after we crossed the border?” Jocelyn asked, fascinated.

  “No,” said Elddreki. “Farsight does not involve two-way communication. Your father is not aware of it when I watch him from afar. He used a different means of contacting me.”

  “You still don’t intend to tell me what that is, do you?” Jocelyn asked, resigned.

  “I do not.”

  There was a moment of silence. “So…so if you wanted to, could you see what my parents are doing right now?”

  “Certainly.”

  Jocelyn shifted, opening her mouth and then closing it again.

  “Do you wish me to?” Elddreki asked, watching her with a familiar lively interest in his eyes. “You have my magic in your blood—perhaps you could even share the vision.”

  Jocelyn turned to him, wide eyed. “Is that possible?”

  Elddreki’s scales rippled in a shrug. “Not that I am aware of, but I would have said the same about you before I met you.”

  She hesitated for a moment. Part of her wasn’t sure she wanted to know how her parents were reacting to her disappearance, but she told herself that was cowardly. “Yes. I would like to try.”

  “Place your hand on my scales, near my core.” The dragon shuffled forward until he was within her reach. He didn’t get up, just shifted his limbs in what should have been an awkward wriggle. But somehow he made the movement graceful.

  Jocelyn wasn’t really sure what he meant by his core, but she reached a tentative hand toward the region of his heart. Despite the chill of the morning, his scales felt warm under her palm.

  Immediately, her vision rippled and blurred. She shut her eyes, overwhelmed by the onslaught of familiar images. She could feel her body still seated on the hard ground, but her mind was no longer there. It was in her father’s private suite, watching her mother approach, yawning at the early hour.

  The king sat at an elegant writing desk by the window. The vista below him stretched south, toward the rest of the kingdom, and Jocelyn had often heard her mother describe it as his “thinking spot”.

  “And what are we thinking about now?” the queen said, as if echoing her far-off daughter’s thoughts. She reached her husband, wrapping her arms around him from behind and resting her head on his shoulder. “Or, I’d hazard a guess, worrying more than thinking.”

  The king let out a long sigh, looking more vulnerable than Jocelyn had ever seen him as he leaned his head against his wife’s. She felt a twinge of guilt at spying on her parents like this, but it was too fascinating an opportunity to pass up.

  “I was worrying,” he admitted. “About Jo, and the others. I don’t think a diplomatic solution will be easy to find, somehow. There’s something I’m missing, and until I can figure out where all this came from, I don’t think I’ll be able to resolve it. And you know the nature of these things. Every day it doesn’t get fixed is a day it gets worse.”

  “I wish I had the answer,” said the queen softly. “Are you worried Jo will do something reckless in response to the escalation?”

  “Only if provoked,” said the king dryly. “Which means, yes, I am worried.”

  “Oh, Cal.” It was her mother’s turn to sound vulnerable and lost, most unlike the strong and collected queen Jocelyn usually saw. “I thought we’d gotten past all this prejudice. We weathered it so well. So many people said you were too young, too inexperienced when the slaves came back, that you wouldn’t be able to handle the inevitable upheaval. But I thought we’d proved them wrong.”

  “So did I,” said Jocelyn’s father heavily. “What does Constance say?”

  The queen frowned thoughtfully at the mention of her older sister. “She doesn’t understand where it’s coming from any more than we do.” She sighed. “She tries to hold it in when she’s talking to me, but she’s angry, Cal. I can tell. Jo isn’t the only one who’s in danger of being pushed over the edge into rash retaliation.”

  Jocelyn leaned forward unconsciously, as if she would be able to hear better that way. Retaliation for what? What was the latest escalation? Of course her parents didn’t say, presumably both well aware of developments. It was maddening to be cut off, so far from the crisis looming in her own kingdom.

  “Yes, well, people tend to become less reasonable when those they care about are threatened,” said King Calinnae wearily. “And I have to say, I sympathize.”

  His wife shook her head, the hint of a smile on her face as she ran her thumb down the k
ing’s temple. “I thought you were wearing your worried father face, not your burdened king one. You were really thinking about Jocelyn, weren’t you?”

  The daughter in question started at the mention of her name, feeling more uncomfortable than ever to be listening unobserved. But she made no effort to pull away.

  “Do you really think she’s with Elddreki?” her father asked anxiously.

  “If Elddreki said she is, I’m sure he was telling the truth,” said the queen simply.

  “I hope so,” the king answered, sounding rueful. “It wouldn’t be the first time he’d intentionally deceived me, would it?”

  His wife shook her head. “This is different, Cal. He was testing you last time, and he revealed the truth almost immediately.”

  Jocelyn’s father sighed. “I suppose that’s true. It’s not that I mistrust Elddreki’s intentions…it’s just always hard to know with dragons. Their purposes don’t always align with ours.” He drummed his fingers absently on the desk in front of him. “Do you think she’s all right? Honestly, Elnora, twenty-three hours out of the day, I’m this close to just leaving our bickering populace to their own devices and riding to Valoria to find her. It terrifies me to think of her wandering the countryside somewhere.”

  “What about the other hour?” his wife quipped.

  The king shrugged. “Even kings have to sleep sometime I suppose. If I’d imagined for a second something like this would happen, I would never have let her go at all.”

  His wife sighed. “Actually, I think ‘something like this’ is exactly what you imagined, and is why you didn’t want to let her go.” She straightened, giving her husband’s shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “I’m worried about her too, Cal, but it’s hard to imagine her coming to any serious harm while she’s under the protection of a dragon.”

  Jocelyn grimaced. Hopefully her parents never found out how loosely Elddreki had recognized that protection at the start of their journey.

  A sharp knock at the door made Jocelyn turn her head, forgetting for a moment that she wasn’t physically in the room with her parents. At the king’s curt order, a page boy entered, looking apologetic.

  “I have a message from the steward, Your Majesty. He says at least a dozen more people have sought audiences with you, claiming grievances against freedmen.”

  Jocelyn could only imagine the sinking in her father’s heart at the prospect, but it didn’t show on his face. He began to respond to the page’s message, but another curt knock cut across his words.

  The new arrival was an errand boy, one Jocelyn had seen running messages between the barracks and the castle on a number of occasions.

  “I’m sorry to intrude, Your Majesty, but it’s an urgent message from the captain of your guard. He’s just received word of two more attacks.”

  “Where?” asked the king, standing up at once.

  “One was a small skirmish in Pravat, no bloodshed, but the soldiers had to step in to break up the riot. The other was in Kerr. A group of freedmen were traveling through, and a fight broke out. They fought back, and there were deaths on both sides.”

  Jocelyn’s father ran a hand through his hair, exchanging a look with his wife before he turned back to the errand boy. “Tell the captain I will see him immediately.”

  Jocelyn pulled her hand away from Elddreki’s flank, not wishing to see any more. She was horrified at how much the problem seemed to have escalated in her absence, and a rush of anger passed over her at her own uselessness. If only her power was beneficial, like Eamon’s, she could be there helping, instead of far away and no good to anyone. Even if she could just be without her power, then at least she could have stayed and contributed to the negotiations in the normal way.

  “Did you see what you wanted to see?” the dragon asked placidly, not seeming to grasp the distressing nature of the information they had overheard.

  “I wouldn’t exactly say that,” said Jocelyn. Her flare of anger had subsided, leaving her feeling cold and guilty for the worry she was bringing on her parents in the midst of all this chaos. She shook herself slightly, trying to remember her manners. “But thank you for sharing your sight with me. I don’t think I would want to have that ability normally, but it was certainly fascinating.”

  “Why wouldn’t you want it?” Elddreki asked curiously, but Jocelyn just shook her head. She didn’t think she would be able to explain the complexities of her feelings regarding magical eavesdropping to the unemotional dragon.

  Her companion accepted her refusal to answer without comment, and they sat for another minute in silence. Kincaid stirred, but didn’t open his eyes, simply rolling onto his side and continuing to sleep.

  “Elddreki?” Jocelyn’s eyes were on the water, her thoughts swirling around in her head, centered on the familiar theme of her power.

  “Yes, Jocelyn?” The dragon’s voice was calm, and his orb-like eyes didn’t shift from her countenance.

  “You said, didn’t you, that dragons aren’t taught how to forfeit your power, that you don’t actually know how it’s done?”

  “I did say that,” Elddreki acknowledged. “It is the truth.”

  There was another long moment of silence. Kincaid was still on his side, his back to Jocelyn, unmoving and silent.

  “So you don’t have any idea how it works? Not even a guess?”

  Elddreki gave her a penetrating look. “Why would you ask me such a thing, Jocelyn?”

  Jocelyn didn’t answer immediately. The topic had been sitting uncomfortably in the back of her mind since her disastrous final session of training with Kincaid. His words the night before, when he confessed that her suggestion was still impacting him powerfully, had brought it more sharply to the front.

  “When you spoke about the unicorns, and those other animals, it sounded to me like you were saying that only dragons should have magic. That anything else is unnatural.”

  She waited for Elddreki to confirm or deny her interpretation of his words, but he remained silent.

  “But I have magic.”

  “Hm,” said Elddreki, lifting his head and extending his neck toward her.

  “Hm?”

  “You have it now, swirling about you,” explained the dragon.

  Jocelyn frowned in confusion. “Magic, you mean?”

  Elddreki shook his head slowly from side to side. “No, I am not speaking of your power. I am speaking of that quality I mentioned before, the one that emanates from you so often.”

  “Oh.” Jocelyn wasn’t sure how to respond. She tried to examine herself, to identify what Elddreki was talking about. She felt hyped up, on edge about the question she wanted to ask.

  “But you were saying something,” Elddreki prompted her. “If I understood you correctly, you were saying you formed the impression it was unnatural for any creature but a dragon to have magic, and then you commented that you have magic.”

  “That’s right,” said Jocelyn, shifting nervously.

  “What is the thought behind your words, Jocelyn?” asked Elddreki, patiently.

  Jocelyn took a deep breath. “If it’s unnatural for me to have power, if I was never supposed to have it…”

  She trailed off, nervous about articulating her thought. Elddreki waited silently, as patient as ever, not prodding her to speak.

  “I know it would be wrong for you to do it,” she tried again. “But if I were to learn how to do it—if I were to forfeit my power—would it really be such an abomination?”

  “Yes.”

  She knew without looking around that the answer hadn’t come from Elddreki. The voice was too impassioned, the emotion too strong. Plus, she would know it anywhere.

  She turned with a huff of annoyance. Kincaid had pushed himself to a sitting position, and he was frowning at her.

  “Good morning to you, too,” she said lightly, but Kincaid was not to be distracted.

  “It would be the worst kind of abomination, Jocelyn, you know it would. How could you consider that, even for a
moment?”

  She glared back. “I wasn’t asking you.” She turned her attention back to Elddreki, her eyebrows raised in a question.

  He regarded her in silence for a long moment before replying. “On this occasion, Jocelyn, Kincaid is right,” he said at last.

  Her shoulders slumped, disheartened but not surprised. She hadn’t really expected Elddreki to condone the idea.

  “But why? I shouldn’t have the magic in the first place.”

  “So you have said, more than once,” Elddreki said in his usual measured way. “But it is not clear to me how you have reached that conclusion.” He tilted his head to the side, studying her carefully. “You were born with your power, Jocelyn. You didn’t steal it, or even borrow it. It is part of you.”

  Jocelyn turned away, her throat tight. “So I will never be free of it,” she said, her words little more than a whisper.

  “No,” Elddreki agreed calmly. “You will carry it to your grave. Whether it will continue beyond your lifetime—whether you will pass it to your offspring—I cannot predict. As I told you and Kincaid previously, that process seems to change depending on the creature.”

  Jocelyn turned quickly to face him, a startled gasp escaping her before she could stop it. She stared at him wildly, saying nothing. Her power might pass to her children? The thought had never even occurred to her, even during the earlier conversation around the fire. Would she taint Valoria’s royal line if she married Prince Ormond? Was there no escape from this nightmare, even after she died?

  “Intriguing,” said Elddreki quietly, sniffing gently at Jocelyn’s face, his snout now so close to her, his breath ruffled her hair. “That substance, whatever it is, is pouring from you in torrents now.” After another moment of observation, the dragon pulled his head back slightly, his voice even.

  “Discard the idea of forfeiting your power, Jocelyn. It is not an option you should even consider. And there is not a dragon in the world who would tell you how to do it, even if they knew.” He glanced at his other human companion, who was still frowning at Jocelyn. “If you wish to remove yourself from the mastery you seem to feel your magic has over you, then you should follow Kincaid’s advice and train with it, learn to control it.” Elddreki cocked his head to the side, as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Or I suppose you could end your life. That is always an option for humans, is it not? You would just need to ensure you died childless.”