“Yes,” said Kincaid cautiously.
Jocelyn laughed aloud. “Princess Sarai may not be my ancestor, but she’s yours!”
“She is,” said Kincaid, with a barely concealed grin. “I had a hard time pretending I didn’t really know who you were talking about. I had to learn the names of every king and queen in our history as a child, and I knew perfectly well that King Germain’s queen was a Valorian princess named Sarai.”
Jocelyn shook her head, trying and failing to look reproachful. “That’s why you got a hint of her memories when we were in Dragoncave, and again on the island,” she said. “Because her blood is in you.” She laughed again at another realization. “So all that talk about having mountain blood in your family, generations back, was just a cover! Your ancestor with the mountain blood is the same as mine! Queen Jacqueline—King Cael’s wife, and Princess Sarai’s mother.” She shook her head in amazement. “We’re some kind of distant kin.”
“I suppose we are,” said Kincaid, looking slightly alarmed. “That doesn’t count against me, does it?”
Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “Of course not. It was hundreds of years ago.” She smiled up at him. “You don’t have to win me over anymore, Kincaid. I’m already convinced.” Her expression fell. “Although your family probably all think I’m out of my mind.”
“Of course they don’t!” Kincaid protested. He grinned. “Lavinia at least thinks you’re great. I mean, I was ready to push her into the fishpond when she told me I would have liked you as a sister, but of course she didn’t know any better.” His expression grew serious. “She can be impossible sometimes, but she was nothing but helpful today. I’m forever grateful to her for being the only one to realize there might be a connection between your disappearance and your conversation with Lord Randall.”
He frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually spoken to the man myself. One of the benefits of being the spare is you can get out of entertaining foreign diplomats if you’re clever. But everyone else sure seems to think the world of him. But I knew if you thought he was up to something, he couldn’t be all everyone thought he was. The trouble was that by then the trail wasn’t fresh. All we knew was what direction he’d taken. I didn’t even really know what I was looking for. I wouldn’t have turned off the main road at this unremarkable farmhouse if there hadn’t been such an obvious commotion.”
Jocelyn shuddered at how close she had come to not being found. But there was a note of pride in her voice as she said, “I wasn’t supposed to be in sight, obviously. They’d been holding me in the vegetable cellar all day, but I stabbed one of the men with my dagger, and started running.”
Kincaid chuckled, his eyes warm with affection and amusement. “That’s my girl.”
She looked up at him, gratitude brimming in her own eyes. “I wouldn’t have made it far without you, though.”
His arms tightened around her again. “I would have turned the entire kingdom upside down to find you, Jocelyn. I would never have stopped looking.” He scowled suddenly. “How dare they lock you in a cellar? Did they hurt you?”
She shrugged. “Not really. My wrists are sore, and my head ached from the drug they used to knock me out, but that’s all.” She considered for a moment. “Plus I’m hungry, of course. And my scalp is a little tender from being picked up by the hair.”
“What?!” Kincaid’s scowl had been getting progressively blacker as she spoke, and the last comment was too much for him. “I’ll see them all hanged!”
“Honestly, it’s the least of my concerns, Kincaid,” said Jocelyn seriously. She rolled her shoulders stiffly. “I can’t deny I’m sore all over, but that was already the case.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Kincaid. “And what happened to your hands?”
“I did something, Kincaid,” Jocelyn said, excitement tinging her words. “Something big. I did what you always said I should do.”
“What did you do?” Kincaid sounded wary.
“I changed Elddreki,” she said matter-of-factly. “Using my power, like you told me to.”
“Changed him how?”
“He said he regretted his choice. He wanted to settle down and have a family of dragonlings with Raqisa, that yellow dragon, can you believe it? They were practically star-crossed lovers!” Jocelyn was becoming enthusiastic. “But they couldn’t because she was mortal and he was immortal. So I changed him.”
“You mean, you—”
“Made him mortal, yes.”
For perhaps twenty seconds Kincaid just stared at her.
“You made an immortal dragon mortal using just your words?” he asked finally, his voice sounding strange.
Jocelyn shook her head. “It wasn’t my words. It was my power. I’ve been learning how to use it, and it doesn’t always have to be words.” She paused, considering. “Although I suspect that will always be the way I find easiest. But I put my hands on him and just sort of…threw the magic.”
“Jocelyn, that’s…unbelievable,” said Kincaid, his tone hushed. His eyes dropped to her hands, and he took one of them gently in his own. “And that’s how your palms got burned.”
She nodded. “I’m afraid I overextended myself a little, and I’m still paying for it. I’m not sure human bodies can handle that level of magic, really. I probably shouldn’t try it again.” She grimaced. “I was unconscious for a week—Elddreki and Raqisa were worried I wouldn’t wake up. And I still feel a bit like I’ve been trampled by a cart horse. But like I said, that truly is the least of my worries right now.”
Kincaid’s expression was back to being horrified. “It’s not the least of mine!” he protested. “Jocelyn, you could have died! It sounds like you almost did! That’s not at all what I meant when I suggested you practice with your power. I meant try to change my mind about my favorite color, not kill yourself remolding mythical beasts!”
Jocelyn shrugged. “All’s well that ends well,” she said brightly.
“I can’t believe you were unconscious for a week!” Kincaid still sounded horrified, and he clearly wasn’t listening to her. “And I wasn’t there! I should never have left.”
“What would you have done?” Jocelyn asked, amused. “Entertain my unconscious body with fables?”
Kincaid gave her the ghost of a grin. “I would have woken the princess with true love’s kiss, of course.”
“I’m feeling quite sleepy now,” she suggested innocently.
But before Kincaid could do more than lean toward her, the door behind him opened, and an attractive young man with a slim build and dark hair stepped through. He raised his eyebrows at the sight of Jocelyn in Kincaid’s arms, and she flushed, stepping back.
There was lingering amusement in the knight’s eyes as he swept her an elegant bow. “Princess Jocelyn of Kyona, I gather.” His glance flicked to Kincaid. “Aren’t you going to introduce me, Kincaid?”
Kincaid huffed, still looking put out about the interruption. “Jocelyn, this is Henrik.”
“Ah.” Jocelyn’s face cleared, and she looked at the young man with increased interest. “So you’re Henrik.”
“Lord Henrik, Your Highness,” he corrected, shooting a reproachful glance at his friend. “And I’m not sure whether to be flattered or alarmed that my fame has preceded me.”
Jocelyn smiled, choosing not to enlighten him. From all Kincaid had told her, it wouldn’t do the overconfident young man any harm to squirm a little.
Kincaid appeared to have already dismissed his friend from his mind, turning back to Jocelyn. “What happened though, Jocelyn? After you left the gala last night.”
“You haven’t even asked her what happened yet?” protested Henrik. “What have you been doing all this time? There’s only so long I can distract the whole squadron, you know.”
Kincaid scowled at him. “We had a lot of catching up to do.”
“Is that what you call it?” Henrik muttered, but Kincaid silenced him with a glare and turned back to Jocelyn.
“Wa
s Lavinia right? Was it Lord Randall who took you?”
“Yes and no,” said Jocelyn grimly. “His name isn’t Randall, it’s Wrendal. He’s Lucy’s uncle.”
“Lucy’s uncle?” Kincaid repeated, startled. “So you knew him already?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I’d never seen him before last night. It’s a long story, and I’ll tell you,” her gaze flicked momentarily to their audience of one, “later.” Kincaid nodded, seeming to understand that she couldn’t say what she needed to say in front of Henrik. “Suffice it to say, he’s up to something, and it’s not good.”
“That much we’d figured out,” said Kincaid darkly. He glanced at Henrik. “It’s unfortunate he’s not still here. Hopefully your story will be enough to convince my parents.” He met Jocelyn’s questioning look and grimaced. “This is my squadron, and they rode out on my command. But I’m afraid our little rescue mission wasn’t exactly…sanctioned. No one else believed you hadn’t left of your own free will. And everyone was offended by the very suggestion Lord Randall might have had a hand in it all.”
Jocelyn nodded slowly, not surprised. Scanlon had invested some time into making a haven for himself in Bryford, it seemed. “So it was all you. You really did save my life,” she said softly, meeting Kincaid’s eyes. “Yet again.”
His own eyes were warm as they looked at her, their expression saying all that was needed. “You must be exhausted,” he said aloud. “And your injuries need attention. There’ll be time enough for you to tell me the rest of the story when I have you safely back in Bryford.”
“What?” said Jocelyn, startled. “I’m not going back to Bryford.”
Kincaid frowned. “It will be all right, Joss, don’t worry. My parents won’t hold this against you, not once they understand you were abducted. And if you’re worried about what they’ll think about you and me, I don’t think it will take much to convince them the alliance can just as easily be made through us as through you and Ormond.”
“No, no, it’s not that,” said Jocelyn distractedly. “We don’t have time to go back to Bryford. I’ve lingered too long as it is. Scanlon left this morning, and if I’m going to stop him, I need to go, now.”
“Go where?” asked Kincaid, nonplussed.
“Kyona, of course,” said Jocelyn. “I need to go home.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Jocelyn looked down at the vista below, her heart soaring for a moment in spite of her constant nagging fear that they might be too late.
Kyona.
It felt like a year she’d been gone. But there was no time to dwell on the homecoming, not if she was going to save Kyona, and Eamon, from whatever Scanlon had set in motion. Her horse fidgeted under her, seeming to feel her tension. Kynton was still so far away.
“We’ll get there in time.” Kincaid’s confident voice reassured her, even though he couldn’t possibly know for sure. “Don’t worry.”
She sighed. “I wonder if we should’ve gone through Montego after all. It was further south to the highway than I realized. We’re backtracking so far.”
“Don’t second guess yourself now,” said Kincaid firmly. “We would’ve reached the other side without horses if we’d gone through Montego. The southern highway was the smartest route, especially since Lord Wrendal’s men had helpfully taken you halfway there.”
“So helpful of them,” she agreed dryly.
Kincaid glanced back over his shoulder, toward Bryford, out of sight beyond the mountains. “The rest of the knights have probably taken them back to the capital by now.” He scowled. “I hope Father has them all flogged for what they did to you. At the very least.”
“I’m fine, Kincaid,” said Jocelyn impatiently. And she did feel better. She had been unimpressed at the time, but now she had to admit Kincaid had been right to insist she eat a proper meal from her captors’ supplies before they left, and stop for a few hours of sleep along the road.
“You should’ve slept for longer,” he said now. His eyes were worried as they rested on her. “You’re still exhausted, don’t try to deny it.”
“I’m fine,” she repeated dismissively. She turned her eyes southwest, toward Alezae. “Where’s that squire?”
“I’m here, Your Highness.” The boy’s eager voice almost made her smile. She wished time permitted her to alert her parents to the crisis herself, but she didn’t begrudge the squire his excitement about being chosen to carry the message. And there was no way she was going to sidetrack to Alezae. Scanlon already had too big a head start.
She pulled the sealed parchment from her saddlebag and handed it to him.
“Only to King Calinnae or Queen Elnora, understand?” Kincaid said sternly. “To no one else.”
The boy nodded solemnly, tucking the letter inside his tunic. Then he peeled away, urging his mount to a gallop within seconds, and racing across the grassy terrain as if his life depended on it.
“He’s a good kid,” said Kincaid indulgently, a faint smile on his face as he watched the squire disappear. “He’ll make a loyal knight.”
Jocelyn hid a smile at his paternal tone, but Kincaid seemed to catch her amusement.
“It’s kind of my province,” he explained. “I’m involved in training the knights. I’m being trained myself, to take over as their commander one day.”
“I’m sure you’ll be excellent,” said Jocelyn warmly.
“Enough of that.” Henrik’s unimpressed voice broke in on their moment as he pulled his horse up alongside Jocelyn’s. “His ego doesn’t need any help.”
“Why are you here again, instead of taking the prisoners back to the castle with the rest of the knights?” asked Kincaid, irritated.
“Making sure you keep the line, of course,” said Henrik innocently. “Now your dragon chaperone is gone, you need me around to protect the princess’s reputation.”
Jocelyn barely held back her snort. Somehow she didn’t think anyone would consider the charming young man a suitable chaperone. But with the fate of her kingdom possibly at stake, that was the last of her concerns.
“We need to get moving,” she said tersely. “It will take us days to get to Kynton.”
In fact it took three days of very hard riding, by the end of which Jocelyn’s nerves were frayed almost past endurance. Her ruined ballgown hung limply from her, and the supplies they had taken from Scanlon’s men had almost run out, but neither of those things was what had her on edge. Even the night they spent at a less than reputable inn in Kerr, the most notorious of Kyona’s cities—Kincaid’s tension rising with every man who glanced too long at Jocelyn in her disheveled finery—hadn’t been enough to distract her. Her mind kept running through all the possible catastrophes Scanlon could be inflicting on Eamon—or worse, inflicting on Kyona through Eamon—and she could hardly bear her own powerlessness.
To her relief, Kincaid, while astonished, hadn’t hesitated to believe her account of what she had discovered about the Balenan nobleman. She was more grateful than she could say that Kincaid hadn’t come much in Scanlon’s way on the man’s previous visit to Bryford. She thought it would have crushed her if Kincaid had been as convinced of the man’s good intentions as everyone else, and as unwilling to give credit to her suspicions. But as it was, he was as horrified as she was to learn Scanlon had used forfeited dragon magic to charm the entire Valorian court, his own family included, and to spread lies and discontent regarding the freedmen.
“I knew it couldn’t be coming from nowhere,” Jocelyn muttered now, for at least the tenth time. “I knew someone had to be behind it. But I would never have guessed it was Aunt Scarlett’s brother. I would never have believed he would dare to come to the North Lands himself. Let alone have the nerve to install himself in the castle at Bryford!”
“Speaking of castles,” Kincaid said, nudging his horse up alongside hers. “Look.”
She looked up, and her breath caught in her throat. They had just reached the top of a small rise, and suddenly Kynton was visible b
efore them. The sight of her home city, the castle walls rising impressively, tall and strong and familiar, almost brought tears to her eyes.
“It’s beautiful,” said Kincaid, admiration clear in his voice. Jocelyn nodded, but didn’t respond. This wasn’t the time for sentiment.
“Come on,” she said instead, spurring her horse into a canter.
They crossed the ground quickly now their destination was finally in sight. Jocelyn could tell the moment they passed through the city gates that something was wrong. There was a buzz of activity in the air, but it had a definite edge of tension to it, nothing like the happy buzz of a market bazaar, or a tournament.
A shout went up when she rode through the gates, and someone hurried forward from the guardhouse to intercept them. Jocelyn had clearly been recognized, and she pulled up impatiently. She remembered with grim humor how reluctant Kincaid had been about the idea of passing through Bryford when he was trying to keep his identity a secret.
“Your Highness!” the guard said, his wide eyes traveling from Jocelyn’s tattered gown to her two companions. “Is all well?”
“Has a Balenan nobleman arrived to visit my brother at the castle?” Jocelyn asked, ignoring his question. She spoke curtly, keeping her power restrained within her with difficulty.
The man looked surprised at the authoritative question, but he replied without hesitation.
“Yes, he arrived late yesterday afternoon, Your Highness.”
“We will go to the castle without delay,” said Jocelyn, fear swirling within her.
“But, Your Highness, he’s not—” The man’s words were lost as Jocelyn spurred her horse forward. There was no time for explanations. She rode through the cobbled streets of Kynton at an unsafe speed, pedestrians shouting as they dove out of her way. Kincaid and Henrik followed close behind her.
When they reached the castle, she dismounted before her horse was fully stationary, sprinting up the castle steps without pausing to speak to the startled groom who ran forward to take her mount. The guards standing at attention at either side of the intricately carved wooden front doors were as astonished to see her as the gatekeeper had been.
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