Legacy of the Curse

by Deborah Grace White

  “Not always,” she admitted uncomfortably. “But it’s not generally instant.” She looked between the dragons in wonder for another moment, then gave a sudden chuckle. “Another contradiction, like your impossible speed. You have all the time in the world to find a pair, but you know the instant you lay eyes on them.”

  “Not all dragons have all the time in the world,” said Elddreki sadly, his eyes resting on Raqisa. “But I take your point, and I suppose there is a certain humor.” But Jocelyn could see no humor in his face, only the same sadness she had seen the day before, when he told her he regretted his choice. Her heart twisted on his behalf. Who would have imagined Elddreki was suffering his own dragon version of heartbreak? The thought was bizarre.

  “And you definitely can’t pair?” she asked tentatively.

  “Certainly not,” said both dragons, in a unified tone of stern disapproval.

  “I have already told you, Jocelyn,” Elddreki continued. “Unions between mortal and immortal dragons lead only to great grief and destruction. It is as unthinkable to make such a choice as it is to create an abomination. No dragon would do it, not for any consideration.”

  “Alas, if only that were true,” said Raqisa sadly. Both her dragon and human listeners turned to her, and this time Elddreki looked as astonished as Jocelyn.

  “What do you mean?” he asked warily.

  Raqisa looked back at him with eyes that seemed ancient, for all her relative youth. “You come from a colony of immortals, Elddreki,” she said. “You are the youngest and probably considered the least wise. But here you are older than half of our colony. Many of the dragons on these islands do not have a fraction of the wisdom or the experience you have come to think universal in dragons.”

  “You say that unions between mortals and immortals are sanctioned here?” Elddreki demanded in astonishment.

  “Of course not,” said Raqisa quickly. “We are taught the dangers as you have been. It is forbidden, as is the abomination of which you speak. But occasionally there is a dragon who questions the wisdom of the restriction.”

  Her eyes clouded over for a moment, and it was clearly with great effort that she continued.

  “There were two such dragons within my lifetime. One had only just made his choice of immortality when the other emerged from the confines of youth. Filled with the idea of nurturing a generation of dragonlings as she had herself been nurtured, she rushed toward her decision, not taking the proper time to let it craft itself within her being.” Raqisa’s voice was so filled with grief Jocelyn felt a sudden inexplicable desire to cry. “Then they met, and recognized one another,” the dragon finished. “The result was devastation.”

  “But surely they knew they could not pair,” protested Elddreki. “Surely they knew they must let their paths diverge, and wait patiently, and that in time each had great likelihood of recognizing another.”

  Raqisa turned a sad smile on him. “Patience is another of those traits not universal to dragons, my friend. They were both young, very young, and they did not follow the course of wisdom. They knew they ought not to pair, so they did so in secret.”

  “What happened?” Jocelyn asked, equal parts fascinated and unnerved. It was so contrary to everything she thought she knew of dragons to hear of them behaving like, well, human teenagers.

  “The pair once made could not be unmade,” Raqisa said simply. “The elders were grieved, but they did not attempt to separate the two. They knew they must let the tragedy run its course, and deal with the consequences when they came. We are doing so now.”

  Jocelyn glanced at Elddreki. He looked horrified, but she was still in the dark. “What do you mean?”

  Raqisa sighed. “In time, she passed into death, the vision of dragonlings that led her to make her initial choice never realized. And he lingered.” Raqisa frowned. “He lingers still. It must be so, whatever has been reported. I cannot believe he would forfeit his power, young though he still is. He may have played with the idea in his darker moments, but he knows as well as we all do how evil such a course would be.”

  “Where is he now?” Elddreki asked sharply.

  Raqisa gave a rippling shrug. “We do not know. He left to nurse his grief in privacy, and has not returned to the Dragon Realm for some time. But he must be lying low, wherever he is. There have not been sufficient reports of a dragon roaming the land to suggest he is showing himself abroad. At least,” she gave Elddreki a pointed look, “until the very recent reports of a dragon traveling across Valoria.”

  But Elddreki ignored this reference to himself. “You do not speak the whole truth that is in your mind, Raqisa,” he said firmly. “You speak as though you are trying to convince yourself, not us. What is it you are withholding?”

  Raqisa shook out her shoulders uncomfortably. “You are right, Elddreki. I am troubled by what I have heard, and I do not wish to believe it.” Her gaze transferred unexpectedly to Jocelyn. “The dragon who almost destroyed you yesterday had but just returned to our realm. Our elders had seen from afar certain rumors swirling among humans. They feared our missing dragon may be contemplating the worst of all crimes. Forfeiting his power to a human.”

  Elddreki drew in a sharp breath. “Surely no dragon would do so!”

  “So I keep telling myself,” said Raqisa heavily. “But as I have said, not all dragons are as wise or as restrained as those of Vasilisa. I cannot bring myself to believe he actually did so, but apparently the dragon who returned yesterday discovered that our kinsman has at least approached humans to discover if they would be willing.”

  Jocelyn gasped, the pieces suddenly falling into place. “The woman on the loch! The one who claimed a wyvern emerged from the water near her boat and offered to grant her greatest wish!”

  Raqisa inclined her head. “We are aware of the superstitions of the people who live on the mainland near our islands. We do not begrudge them their legends of sea monsters, or particularly wish to correct their understanding.”

  Jocelyn and Elddreki exchanged a look, and Jocelyn was sure her companion was also remembering their public declaration in Arinton’s central square. It might be a little late to keep the reality of wyverns a secret.

  “But we believe a true encounter did occur,” Raqisa was continuing. “The human in question did not accept the offer, of course. But you can understand why my kinsman was alarmed when he returned from his investigation to discover a human in our realm, one with magic.”

  Jocelyn nodded, shuddering at the memory of the heat that had licked her face as the dragon’s deadly fire had built within his core.

  “He thought this dragon, the one who’s grieving and wishes to die, had forfeited his power to me.”

  “He did,” Raqisa assented.

  “He should not have been so hasty in acting on his suspicions,” said Elddreki sternly. “He should have taken time to properly understand the situation.” But his severe expression soon subsided, replaced with amusement. “How turbulent must be the life of this colony, with so many young and impetuous dragons. It sounds…exciting.”

  Jocelyn smiled, accepting without rancor the ease with which her supposed protector dismissed the attempt on her life.

  “You know, Elddreki, if I really do carry your signature, then I think you probably have as big a part to play as my parents in the fact that my power is change.” She shook her head at him. “My father told me you seemed different from the other dragons of Vasilisa, and I can see it’s true. You obviously have some yearning for change within you that none of your fellows have. Has anyone else showed any interest in exploring beyond the mountains, or looking for another colony?”

  Elddreki fixed Jocelyn with a long look, his head tilted to the side as usual.

  “You make an interesting and perceptive observation, Jocelyn,” he said, and she tried not to be offended at the patent surprise in his tone.

  She turned back to Raqisa, who was watching Elddreki with a smile of her own. Looking more closely, Jocelyn could se
e the admiration in the younger dragon’s gaze. She was clearly still very taken with the newcomer, despite knowing they couldn’t have a future together.

  Jocelyn knew the feeling.

  “So would the human be like me then? If your missing dragon forfeited his power to them, I mean? Is that why the dragon yesterday thought that’s what I was?”

  Raqisa brought her gaze slowly back to Jocelyn’s face. “I do not know,” she said. “No one does, because no one has ever forfeited power to a human. Power was forfeited in the past, in our dark days, but always to less intelligent beasts. The idea of actually offering your power to a human, giving them the chance to choose what form it might take, is as novel as it is alarming. But I do not think the result would smell like you.”

  Jocelyn patted her hair uncomfortably. It had been days since she had properly bathed, and she wished dragons would fixate less on her smell. It was making her self-conscious.

  “A dragon who was not paying attention might not recognize it immediately,” Raqisa was continuing, “but I could tell as soon as I encountered you that your magic was woven through your core. You do not carry it like an artifact. A human who received forfeited power might reek of magic, but it would not be a part of him. Rather, he would be warped by it.”

  Jocelyn nodded, but Raqisa had one final comment to make.

  “The warped magic would also be finite. Yours, however, will not run out as long as you are alive, perhaps even beyond. Your power is defined, restricted to one function. But within that function, I truly believe its potential is limitless.”

  Raqisa’s startling pronouncement played over and over in Jocelyn’s mind throughout the day. There wasn’t much else to occupy her as she wandered through the outer circle of the Dragon Realm. The green grass and shady trees were pleasant, and dragonlings occasionally romped past, brightening the landscape. But Elddreki and Raqisa had returned to the inner circle of the island, where Jocelyn was not allowed, and where the adult dragons clearly spent most of their time. Jocelyn felt a little lonely, accustomed as she had been to her traveling companions. But she was also glad of the space to think. The last twenty-four hours had given her an overwhelming amount to think about.

  I truly believe its potential is limitless.

  The dragon’s words exhilarated and terrified Jocelyn in equal measure. Could it be true? And if Elddreki and Kincaid were right that change was nothing to fear, and that by extension her power was at its core an instrument for good, what did that mean? Could she actually help solve Kyona’s problems rather than making them worse? Could she change people’s minds about the freedmen, for example?

  Change. Change change change.

  Her thoughts always circled back to the concept, trying to figure out if Elddreki’s reflections on her deep dark fears were correct.

  Do not spurn the gift of change…to do so is to dishonor those who have it not. I cannot change, but if I could, I would do so without hesitation.

  Elddreki’s earlier words haunted her memory, reproaching her even more now she understood the full impact of his regret. They combined with Raqisa’s declaration to tickle an idea that had been slowly building in Jocelyn’s mind. It was such an outrageous idea that at first she refused even to explore it. It was surely impossible.

  But her mind kept coming back to it. She wanted so much to believe her power could be good. And she wanted to do something good with it. And the idea was so ridiculous it almost seemed like it would never have occurred to her if she didn’t know, somewhere deep in her consciousness, that she was capable of it.

  Elddreki was her kin, Raqisa had said, his signature mixed in with hers. Jocelyn’s power was limitless, Raqisa had said. And there was something about Elddreki in his own right. Something no other dragon in Vasilisa had. Something that had driven him to seek out this colony.

  But no. She was being fanciful.

  She almost laughed aloud at the thought. If she was being fanciful, she was right on target. What could be more fanciful than being here, in a hitherto unsuspected second Dragon Realm? What could be more fanciful than a magic connection to the memories of a long-dead half-Kyonan half-Valorian princess who wasn’t even her ancestor? What could be more fanciful than this entire quest?

  But she could think of several very likely outcomes of making the attempt, none of them good, and the most probable being that she would make a fool of herself. She sighed. That shouldn’t be too high a price to pay, if there was any chance of success.

  She wasn’t going to try. It would be crazy. But just in case, she practiced. All day she practiced, over and over. She practiced on the trees, on the rocks, on the dragonlings. Throwing out her net of power, pulling it back, throwing it out again. Telling herself over and over that change was good, change was necessary, change didn’t have to mean fear. She was mentally weary by the time the sun began to set, but perhaps Raqisa was right, because her well of power didn’t seem to have run dry.

  She ate a simple, solitary meal, glad of the provisions from the kind people of Arinton, since she had seen nothing in the Dragon Realm fit for a human to eat. Then she waited for Elddreki, who had said he would return to speak with her before nightfall.

  She wasn’t surprised when Raqisa accompanied him. She had begun to grow quite fond of the yellow dragon. Not as fond as Elddreki, judging by the occasional wistfulness she saw in his face as he looked at Raqisa.

  Good. He was halfway there all by himself, experiencing emotions and everything. Most unlike an immortal dragon.

  “You look…excited,” said Elddreki, after the appropriate greetings had been exchanged.

  “I was going to say nervous,” Raqisa offered.

  Jocelyn nodded. “I’m both,” she acknowledged. She turned to Elddreki. “I’ve been thinking about…well, everything. And I’ve been practicing. And I want to try something on you, if you’re willing to take the chance.”

  “Certainly I am willing,” said Elddreki, sounding indulgent.

  “First I need to ask you something, and I need a very serious answer from you.”

  Elddreki sat back on his haunches, his eyes curious. “I will endeavor to answer most solemnly,” he said, his voice grave.

  Jocelyn took a deep breath. “Did you mean it when you said you regret your decision? That you would change it if you could?”

  Elddreki’s eyes flicked to Raqisa before he responded. “To give a solemn answer, yes. I did mean it, Jocelyn.”

  “Good,” said Jocelyn, her heart beating a quick staccato. “Then hold still.”

  She didn’t know whether or not Elddreki obeyed, because she squeezed her eyes shut immediately. She took a moment to breathe deeply, trying to focus her mind. There was no rush—Elddreki was never in a hurry.

  Then she dug deep, deep within herself, drawing up every ounce of power she could find, gathering it in her core, sculpting it, crafting it, holding it back from releasing. She thought about Elddreki’s bright and curious eyes, his recognition of his own signature within her magic, his insatiable interest in the humans who the rest of the dragons were happy to ignore, his steady growth of emotion toward her.

  She thought about the longing in his voice when he spoke of dragonlings, the sadness in his eyes as they rested on Raqisa. He had said he couldn’t change, but he had said she’d begun to change him. The power was well-formed within her now, clear in its purpose, needing no words, awaiting release. She remembered the certainty of Elddreki’s declaration—I cannot change, but if I could, I would do so without hesitation.

  Then she cast her power out, making the physical gesture with her hands, and audibly breathing the word “change” just in case either helped. She felt her hands touch Elddreki’s scales, and she continued to pour out her power.

  She tried to visualize it as limitless, and indeed it kept coming and coming. The place where she was touching Elddreki began to burn, and her hands felt scorched, but she didn’t break contact. She could feel something shifting within him, feel it with an ext
ra sense she couldn’t possibly describe if someone asked. But it wasn’t enough, it needed more force.

  She reached deeper, putting every other consideration aside, reserving nothing for any other change, past, present, or future.

  “Jocelyn.” She heard the warning in Elddreki’s voice, but it sounded like he was on the other end of a long tunnel. “Take care, Jocelyn.”

  She squeezed her eyes tighter, ignoring his words. More power, more change. Something was wavering, something was ready to break, to be destroyed, to be created and remolded and changed. She took a shuddering gasp and refocused, drawing on the magic that was woven through her, a part of her consciousness since she first had consciousness. It was still coming. It hadn’t run out.

  But all of a sudden, she knew that she had.

  Just as she sensed some kind of flame roaring into life within the dragon under her hands, her palms feeling like they were immersed in the dragon fire that had nearly claimed her life the day before, she felt her mind suddenly give in, and she fell abruptly into blackness.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Jocelyn groaned as consciousness returned. Every inch of her ached, and she frowned, her eyes still closed, as she tried to remember who had beaten her and why. And what had happened to her hands? They stung as if she was grasping poisonous nettles.

  She would have thought Kincaid would have stopped someone from beating her senseless, she thought, disgruntled. But no. Kincaid was gone, wasn’t he? She couldn’t remember the details at that moment, but she was aware of a huge hole, an aching sense of loss, in the place where he should have been.

  Elddreki, then, she argued with herself. Wasn’t the dragon supposed to be keeping her safe? Where was he when she was being subjected to whatever had caused this body-wide bruise?

  Elddreki!

  She gasped, her eyes flying open as she shot up into a sitting position. Her limbs ached at the sudden movement, but other than an involuntary wince, she ignored it. She was on a makeshift bed on the springy turf of a copse, perhaps the same one she had woken up in last time. But the coverings beneath her were thicker now, and she was surrounded by a positive bower of blooms. Their scent wafted pleasantly over her, although she had a vaguely uneasy sense that her position resembled nothing so much as a funeral display.