“Lord Randall! What are you doing? Let go of my sister!”
“It is noble of you to wish to shield her, Your Highness,” said Scanlon, his voice sounding sincere and sorrowful. “But I must protect you, whatever your feelings. She is assaulting you with some kind of illicit magic, can you truly not feel it? I don’t know how she comes to be in Kyona—when I left Valoria, she had been imprisoned for attempting to raise trouble there. And now she’s brought her lies and discord here.”
Jocelyn craned her neck in a fruitless attempt to look into the face of her accuser. She didn’t know whether to be infuriated or contemptuous. Did he really think he could turn her twin against her so easily? Surely he knew not all siblings had as little love for each other as there was between him and his sister. Eamon would never be brought to doubt her.
But she looked back at Eamon’s face, and her heart dropped into her stomach at the uncertainty there. Surely he wasn’t going to turn on her!
“Lord Randall,” said Eamon carefully. “I believe you must have been misinformed, or perhaps you’ve misunderstood.”
Jocelyn breathed a sigh of relief. Eamon’s uncertainty was not about her. It was about Scanlon—his initial shock at the nobleman’s actions was being challenged by the trust he still held in the man. He was searching for an explanation that would fit with both his unshakable knowledge of his sister, and his unnatural determination to think well of the Balenan.
But Jocelyn had no intention of waiting around for Scanlon to figure that out and find just such an explanation. Scanlon had clearly realized she was using her power to try to free Eamon from his grip, and he seemed to think that by physically removing her, he could stop the process. But putting her hands against Eamon was just a way to focus her mind. She remembered what Elddreki had said. Her power wasn’t in her touch any more than it was in her words. It was in her.
She ignored Scanlon, still oozing oily words to ensnare her brother, and again focused her energy on Eamon. Her shoulders sagged with the effort of pouring out more of her power, Scanlon’s grip unintentionally helping her to stay on her feet. But Jocelyn could feel the loosening within Eamon of Scanlon’s stranglehold. The process started by her initial efforts had only been expanded by Scanlon’s conduct, and it was being strengthened by every ounce of power she focused into it. Eamon’s own power was straining against the hold on it, reaching upward, trying to return to its upright path.
Her vision swam sickeningly, but she managed to drag her gaze up to her twin. His blue eyes, so different from the warm brown of Kincaid’s, locked with hers, and she saw the moment it happened as surely as she felt it with her extra sense. The unnatural link tethering him to Scanlon snapped, and the choking tendrils fell away. The prince’s mind changed course as rapidly as a sapling that had been bent down by a clinging creeper, and was suddenly released. His own familiar, potent certainty shot upright again, stretching eagerly toward the sun.
He gave a sharp and sudden inhale, and he had the look of a man emerging from deep water. He looked away from Jocelyn for a moment, taking in the scene of ongoing chaos in the clearing as if seeing it for the first time.
“What have I done?” he whispered, aghast, and even in the intensity of her relief, Jocelyn’s heart broke a little at the anguish in his voice. For a moment he seemed to have forgotten about her predicament, his focus on the guards he had unleashed on the peaceful settlement.
“STOP!” he shouted commandingly.
His clear voice carried across the clearing, and everywhere, movement ceased. Guards lowered their weapons, looking to their prince uncertainly.
“Let them go!” Eamon commanded the group of guards who were watching those children already loaded into a cart. “Return them to their families at once! No one is to be rounded up—there has been a terrible mistake!” Jocelyn could feel the way his power laced his words, and the guards, so confused only a moment before, sprang into action in response to his certainty.
Scanlon gave a hiss of fury, reminding Eamon of his presence. The prince turned back toward the man who was still gripping Jocelyn by the shoulders. Eamon’s eyes widened, then narrowed, and his sword was in his hand before Jocelyn could blink.
“Let go of my sister instantly, you snake!” he said, his voice ringing with power and certainty.
But Scanlon just laughed. “Your little act doesn’t work on me, boy.” Before Jocelyn knew what he was about, the Balenan had his own blade against her throat. “I should have killed your interfering little sister last time. Don’t think I won’t rectify my mistake if you give me the slightest provocation.”
“It doesn’t matter what you do to me, you cowardly dog,” Jocelyn spat. “You’ll never have power over him again. And you won’t tear Kyona apart.”
“You little hussy, how dare you speak to me like that?” Scanlon hissed. With one of his hands he kept his blade to Jocelyn’s throat, but with the other he reached up and again seized her by the hair, yanking her head up so forcefully, she let out a scream of pain.
Chapter Forty-Two
Jocelyn’s eyes were watering, and her vision still swam from her exertion, but she blinked rapidly at the roar of fury that answered her scream, trying to clear her sight enough to locate Kincaid. He was pushing his way through the now-milling crowd, his eyes on Scanlon, and his expression more enraged than she had ever seen it. In seconds he was alongside Eamon, his own sword drawn.
“Stop!” shouted Scanlon. “One more step, and I will slit her throat and drain every last drop of her worthless Kyonan blood.” Kincaid and Eamon both paused, their expressions furious but afraid. “Won’t that be a nice show for all these sweet little children?” Scanlon continued mockingly.
Following the direction of his gaze, Jocelyn saw that the children had emerged from the building now the fighting had stopped. She could see Benjy and Miles both watching her with wide, terrified eyes, one of Lucy’s hands resting protectively on each of their shoulders. She couldn’t bring herself to meet her best friend’s eyes, too afraid of the goodbye she might see there. Matheus, meanwhile, had drawn his small blade and moved forward to stand alongside Eamon. He was glaring at his uncle with an expression of determination.
“Stay back, all of you,” said Scanlon calmly. Across the other side of the clearing, Jocelyn caught a glimpse of movement, and realized Uncle Jonan and Aunt Scarlett were both rushing toward the action. She had no idea where they’d been—searching the forest for the missing Balenan most likely.
But Scanlon hadn’t seen his sister or her husband. His eyes were still fixed on the three young figures before him, weapons drawn and expressions murderous.
“If you come any closer, or if you try to follow us, she dies,” he said, and Jocelyn felt a chill go down her spine at the sincerity in his voice. He started to walk backward, dragging her with him. Jocelyn was so exhausted she could barely stay upright, and she stumbled as he pulled her. His blade nicked her neck, and she felt a dribble of warmth rolling down toward her chest.
Kincaid’s growl ripped audibly across the space, and Jocelyn tried to keep her expression even, knowing any sign of distress from her would likely tip him over the edge. But every muscle in her body felt like it was on fire, and her scalp screamed in protest as Scanlon continued to pull her backward by the hair. It was all she could do to stay on her feet, and she couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped her.
Involuntarily, her eyes flew to Kincaid’s, and she could see the same terror there that she’d heard in his voice when she’d been moments from being engulfed by dragon fire. He had raced toward her then, though he must have known as well as she did how futile it was. Even now, as he took a step toward Scanlon, she remembered how she had thought that all he would achieve would be to die with her. She was suddenly filled with a terrifying certainty that he was going to throw his own life away in an attempt to save her.
“Kincaid, stay back!” she shouted, and Scanlon laughed unpleasantly in her ear.
“Wouldn’t i
t comfort you to have your beloved join you in death, my dear?” he said, low enough only she could hear. “I can easily arrange for him to join you soon.” His voice turned menacing. “You may think you’ve won, and I can’t deny you’ve been more of a nuisance than I would have dreamed possible. But no matter. This little village is only the beginning. Already the edict has gone across the land. Kyona will tear itself apart, don’t worry. And today, tomorrow, next year—it doesn’t matter. I will destroy my traitor of a sister, and all of her half-breeds.”
They had reached the trees now, and in moments Jocelyn would lose sight of Kincaid and Eamon. She looked desperately between them, trying to memorize their faces as tears welled up at her powerlessness. Even if she had energy to spare, she knew there was no point trying to influence Scanlon. He was immune to her power.
All of a sudden, just before the clearing disappeared, she felt the blade drop from her throat. Scanlon’s form fell heavily to the forest floor behind her, and she swayed on the spot, unable to comprehend what was happening. With a shout, Kincaid raced forward, and she collapsed into his arms, no longer able to hold herself up. She felt unconsciousness tugging at her, but she forced it back with a supreme effort, determined to remain in the present.
“Jocelyn,” Kincaid was whispering over and over, his hand running shakily down her hair. Her scalp was still tender, and she winced slightly, but she didn’t tell him to stop. His touch was too comforting.
“Thank you,” said Kincaid earnestly. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I’ll never give you a hard time again.”
Jocelyn turned her head slowly to see who he was talking to. Henrik was standing nearby, his sword in his hand and his expression grim. Jocelyn looked dazedly from him to the figure on the forest floor several times before she understood what had happened. She hadn’t even realized the Valorian had been absent from the recent confrontation, but he must have circled behind, waiting for Scanlon to reach the trees.
“Thank you,” she said as well, her voice coming out a whisper. Henrik nodded, his usually charming smile gone, and a serious expression on his face.
“I wasn’t sure whether the Kyonans would want him alive for questioning, so I just knocked him out.”
Jocelyn nodded vaguely, and Kincaid seemed to be barely listening. He was holding Jocelyn so tightly, she suspected he never intended to let her go again. She didn’t mind.
“Joss.” Her brother’s shaken voice pulled her out of her semi-daze, her weary eyes searching for him. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” she said, trying to pull herself together. “Just exhausted.”
“I’m so sorry, Jocelyn,” Eamon said, his voice anguished. “I don’t understand what happened. I wish I could say I didn’t remember, or that I wasn’t in control of my own actions. But I remember everything, and I know I was the one making those decisions. But I can’t even recognize my own opinions. Things that make no sense at all now seemed perfectly clear and indisputable.”
“It’s all right, Eamon,” she said softly. “I know how you must be feeling, but…but it’s going to be all right.”
“Joss!” Luciana brushed past Eamon, embracing her friend enthusiastically, if a little awkwardly, given Kincaid’s arms were still around her. The Valorian made no move to let her go, so Lucy spoke around him.
“Are you all right? Oh, Joss, I thought he would kill you.”
“Is that really our uncle?”
Jocelyn looked down at the new voice. Benjy had followed his sister, Miles and Matheus not far behind, their parents still racing to catch up.
“Yes, Benjy, I think it is,” said Lucy softly. “He looks like Mother, don’t you think?”
“Of course not,” said Benjy, with all a ten-year-old’s disdain for the foolishness of grown ups. “He’s a man.”
Lucy rolled her eyes as Benjy stepped up to the inert form on the ground, leaning close to eye him appraisingly.
“His nose is crooked.”
“I think that’s my handiwork,” said Uncle Jonan with a note of pride, arriving at last, Aunt Scarlett just behind him. “I guess I did break his nose that time.”
“Don’t stand so close, Benjy,” said Aunt Scarlett sharply, a strange expression in her eyes as they rested on her brother’s unconscious form. Jocelyn couldn’t even imagine a world in which she and her brother had the kind of relationship Aunt Scarlett had with hers.
But the warning was too late. Just as Benjy looked up in response to his mother’s voice, the still form of Scanlon suddenly burst into motion. Startled cries rang around the group, but everyone who had started forward suddenly stopped dead as the nobleman pressed the tip of his blade into Benjy’s throat. Henrik had removed his sword, but Scanlon must have had a dagger hidden somewhere on his person.
Jocelyn felt Kincaid’s arms, still encircling her, harden with fury. She felt numb with horror, and she was so weak she didn’t think she could move her limbs even if she’d had any idea what to do with them. But her mind was sharp again, focused on the terrifying sight of Benjy’s pale face, wide eyed with shock.
“Scanlon, stop!” Aunt Scarlett’s anguished scream was worse than any sound Jocelyn had ever heard. “Let him go!”
“I don’t think so, sister,” said Scanlon, a very ugly look in his eye. “Ah, ah, ah,” he tsked, his eyes sliding across to Uncle Jonan, who had taken a step forward. “Don’t do anything rash, now, Kyonan. I know you were always…impulsive, but surely you’ve mellowed in your old age.” Uncle Jonan paused, his eyes blazing with such fire that Jocelyn wondered Scanlon didn’t quail before it.
But the nobleman seemed instead to be amused by the anguish of his sister and brother-in-law. He looked between them with a mocking smile. “Your youngest mongrel, is he?” he sneered, giving Benjy a little shake. His eyes settled on Aunt Scarlett. “Well, that’s quite appropriate. I swore a long time ago that I would annihilate your brood of half-breeds, and it’s not fair that the youngest always has to go last, is it Scarlett?”
Aunt Scarlett was trembling, her face drained of color, but Uncle Jonan was growing more furious by the second. Jocelyn could see his hand clenched on his sword, and knew he was longing to run the blade through the evil heart before him just as he had done many years ago to the former Lord Wrendal, when Aunt Scarlett’s father had been about to kill his own daughter.
But a sword was no good if you couldn’t get close enough to use it. Jocelyn reached her shaking arms up to Kincaid’s back, patting blindly at the fabric of his tunic. But he was no longer wearing the bow he had used to kill the man who had slapped her.
“Benjy.” Luciana’s voice had only a slight quiver, and her expression was steady. Every eye flicked to her, but she kept her gaze trained on her youngest brother. “Benjy, just like Master Tanner.”
The words made no sense to Jocelyn, but she saw the flicker of understanding that lit Benjy’s eyes the moment before he moved. Then his skinny little arm flashed backward with surprising speed, his elbow connecting with his uncle’s stomach. The Balenan was taken completely by surprise, his grip loosening as he grunted in pain.
Benjy didn’t waste the opening. He ducked down the moment Scanlon’s blade wasn’t flush against his throat, attempting to dart out of reach. But Scanlon was too quick. He reached out with lightning speed, gripping the boy by the arm.
“Not so fast, you little—”
The insult was destined to remain unfinished. Jocelyn saw a flash of silver pass through the air, then she found herself staring, dumbfounded, at the sight of Scanlon once again on the forest floor. This time his eyes were open and staring, and blood was pooling from the dagger buried in his heart.
Her eyes passed in shock to Lucy. Her friend was staring at the lifeless body of her uncle with an expression Jocelyn knew she would never forget. For a long moment she couldn’t even grasp that the threat was over. The only thought in her head was that Lucy—who in spite of her natural skill, didn’t even spar if she could avoid it—had just
thrown a knife into someone’s heart and killed him on the spot. And not just anyone—her own uncle.
All of this passed through Jocelyn’s head in the space of a second. She became dimly aware of people rushing toward them from the main clearing. She thought she heard Cody’s voice, and Bonnie’s, but she couldn’t tear her eyes from her best friend’s face to look. Then, in the heartbeat before anyone moved, Uncle Jonan suddenly sprang into motion. Jocelyn expected him to embrace his daughter, but instead he stepped in front of her, sweeping her behind him with one strong arm.
Aunt Scarlett raced forward to embrace Benjy, who was staring from his uncle’s body to his sister. Only his gaze now fell instead on his father. All of a sudden the space was filled with people, exclaiming and crying and shouting with relief. Many pairs of eyes shot from Scanlon’s body to Uncle Jonan’s tall, confident form, and suddenly Jocelyn understood.
Those of them who had been right there would always know, but to everyone else, it appeared as though it had been the older man who threw the knife, not the slim teenage girl. Her pale face and trembling form would be seen as a natural response just to witnessing the events that unfolded. No one need suspect she had actually killed the man herself.
People started shaking Uncle Jonan’s arm, expressing their relief and congratulating him on having neutralized the threat. He never confirmed it, but he didn’t protest, either. His steady gaze moved around the group who had actually witnessed the incident, wordlessly requesting their silence. Jocelyn nodded, tears in her eyes, and she felt Kincaid do the same, Henrik following suit.
She didn’t think Eamon even saw Uncle Jonan’s silent demand—his eyes were riveted on Lucy. Following his gaze, Jocelyn longed to run and put her arms around her friend, who seemed frozen to the spot. But Jocelyn’s limbs were no longer following her commands. Kincaid’s arms were still around her, and she leaned into him, letting him take most of her weight. She was just so very weary.
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