A Kiss of Air & Fire (Darkstone Academy)

“T here’s something you need to know about me,” Jacinthe began, her voice trembling.

She put her hand on her belly. A twinge of dread shot through me. I’d seen the long scar that stretched from hip to hip beneath her clothing.

“Last summer, I nearly died after I was stabbed with a blade poisoned with a death curse. Because of it, I… I cannot bear children.”

I gasped. Jacinthe had told me of her brush with death and how it had bound her to her four companions. But I’d thought her completely recovered from the wound.

Damn Beltrán and his godforsaken family for blighting my daughter’s future!

“No!” Mother protested with genuine dismay.

“It’s unfortunately true, Your Imperial Majesty,” Mage Armand interjected, his weathered face etched with sorrow. “The damage the curse inflicted has rendered Princess Jacinthe unable to conceive.”

Mother’s expression hardened, her eyes flashing with frustration. Now she looked more like the stern parent I remembered.

Papa had been the easy-going one—until something roused his temper.

“This is unacceptable,” she snapped, as if her disapproval could cure scars. “Jacinthe, even if you cannot bear children, you must make a good match. The stability of the Dominion depends on it!”

I drew breath to protest this sudden demand, but Jacinthe countered before I could.

“What about Lord Ilhan of Parrish? He’s a dear friend. And as the son and heir of the Duke of Frankia, an alliance with him would surely help secure your control of the Dominion.”

Oh, Jacinthe, you clever girl! I thought approvingly.

A match with one of her soul-bound companions would be perfect.

Mother’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she considered the suggestion. I held my breath.

“That… might be acceptable,” she said at last, then added, “Though his father, the Duke of Frankia, is a traitor who conspired with Duke Beltrán. Let us think about it.”

Jacinthe nodded. “Grandmother, before you marry me off, I beg your permission to return to my studies at the academy.”

“Return to your studies?” Mother didn’t sound pleased. “But you’ve only just arrived, and there’s so much to be done here.”

Luckily, Jacinthe had inherited my mother’s stubbornness… and mine. “I understand, but I wish to complete my training as a mage-healer before taking up my royal duties.”

Mage Armand nodded approvingly.

Mother turned to him. “Mage Armand, are you absolutely certain that Princess Jacinthe is… is barren? That she will never bear children?”

Armand’s voice was solemn as he replied, “Yes, Your Imperial Highness. I’m sorry.”

Mother seemed to shrink under the weight of her elaborate robes. “Not as sorry as we are. If the imperial line ends with Jacinthe, we haven’t saved the Dominion, only delayed its death throes for a few more years.”

I heard genuine despair in her voice.

When I heard the news of Mother assuming the role of regent, I’d still been living in Bernswick. My first thought had been that Mother had finally achieved her dream of becoming a ruler rather than remaining a mere consort.

Now, I wondered if I’d misjudged her. It seemed she actually cared for the welfare of the Dominion’s people. Maybe her official statements that she assumed the regency only to prevent civil war had actually been true.

Her increased responsibilities had clearly aged her.

I decided to tell her something I’d deliberately omitted earlier when I introduced Jacinthe.

“Mother, I have three other daughters from a marriage made during my exile,” I confessed.

The relief in Mother’s face smoothed out many of her careworn lines. “ Three more daughters? The Divine Mother be thanked!”

“Talisa is the eldest after Jacinthe. She’ll come of age next year. The twins, Mira and Juno, are—” I stopped to think. I hadn’t seen my girls in a year and a half. “Nearly fifteen now. All three are currently enrolled as mage-students at the Imperial Academy here in Neapolis Capitola.”

“Very well, Jacinthe. You have our permission to return to your studies,” Mother said, smiling. “We will arrange your immediate transfer to the Imperial Academy for the Magical Arts. You’ll join your sisters here, in the capital.”

That would be ideal, I thought. Instead of being stuck at that remote, dreary reform academy alongside criminals and traitors.

But Jacinthe clearly had other ideas. “Thank you, Grandmother, for your generous offer. But I respectfully decline. I wish to continue at Darkstone Academy with my friends and complete my studies there.”

Mother wasn’t used to people telling her no, and it showed. Her mouth thinned. “You actually want to return to that desolate prison island?”

As much as I hated agreeing with Mother, she was right.

What on earth was my daughter thinking , to pass up an opportunity to attend the finest academy in the Dominion?

Jacinthe didn’t reply immediately. I saw her auburn brows draw together as she thought.

“But it could be so much more,” she said at last. “Meeting and befriending the diplomatic hostages there made me wonder if maybe Darkstone Academy could become a place where students—and teachers—from the supernatural nations mingle with human mage-students and mage-instructors.”

I was impressed by her suggestion.

At the same time, I understood why she was fighting so hard to return there… her unorthodox relationship with her four companions would be impossible at the Imperial Academy, which was barred to non-human students.

“What do you mean by ‘mingle’?” Mother asked, suspicion lacing her tone.

“During my time at Darkstone Academy, I’ve seen how Wind-Walkers, Fae and Djinni use magic in ways very different from how humans use it. We could learn so much from each other!” Jacinthe fairly glowed with excitement. “Instead of treating the island as a place to exile the unwanted, what if we— you —turned it into a haven for scholars and students from all over the world? They could share knowledge and work together to develop new spells and ways to help, well, everyone.”

“I think that’s a very interesting idea,” I said.

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the many injustices in our current system and longed to fix them.

“We’d need the right people to lead the change,” I added. “Take Adele, Lady Margrave, for example. She’s worked miracles reforming the public hospital system in the Western Isles. It was her idea to outfit ships as fully staffed traveling clinics and send them out to the remotest fishing villages.”

Mother nodded. “Hm. Our councilors have been telling us for years that Darkstone Castle is an unnecessary drain on the imperial treasury,” she said, sounding thoughtful. “But if we transform it into an elite center of learning, we could make it pay for itself by charging tuition and developing new and better ways to do things.” She smiled. “Yes, we are beginning to like this proposal of yours, Jacinthe. It has both potential and merit. We shall bring it up with the imperial council.”

“Thank you, Grandmother Jacinthe!” my daughter exclaimed.

“Speaking of the imperial council, Jonquil,” Mother said to me, “we hope you will take a seat there. With Duke Cahill of Frankia imprisoned and Duke Beltrán de Norhas dead, the Dominion needs you.”

Duke Fernan’s expression clouded at the mention of his late father. I wondered if Mother intended to appoint Fernan to the council, or whether his father’s treachery would cast a long shadow over the new duke.

I glanced up at Menelaus, who still looked unhappy. Inspiration struck me.

“Actually, Mother, I have a better idea. What if I became ambassador to the Dragon Kingdom of Kappadokia instead?”

“Yes!” exclaimed Menelaus.

Mother’s brows shot up. But she didn’t say no.

“Plus, from there, I could supervise the changes taking place at Darkstone Academy,” I continued, eager to plead my case. “The island is only a day’s flight on Dragon-back from Hierapolis.”

“Hm.” Mother didn’t look entirely convinced yet. But she hadn’t yet opposed the suggestion, either.

“Mage Armand, would you be willing to continue serving as Jacinthe’s mentor at Darkstone Academy?” I asked.

My old mentor’s face softened, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Your Highness, it would be my honor to continue teaching Princess Jacinthe,” he said gruffly. He added, “I have four very promising apprentices there, and I’ve grown rather fond of living on the island, with its fresh air and mild winters.”

Then we all waited anxiously as Mother pondered the issue. Finally, she let out a resigned sigh.

“Very well, Jonquil,” she said grumpily, waving a hand adorned with glittering rings. “We’ll appoint you as ambassador to the Dragon Kingdom.”

Menelaus’ expression cleared, and he grinned at her. I beamed at Mother.

She shook her head and added wryly, “If we said no, you’d find an excuse to travel there, anyway.”

“Thank you!” I couldn’t believe Mother had yielded without a fight.

After what just happened, she must be really desperate for official heirs.

“At least now we have three additional granddaughters to stand in line for the succession,” Mother said, as if consoling herself for having yielded to my wishes and Jacinthe’s. “We’ll be keeping a close eye on the girls, and monitoring their progress at the academy. We’ll see which of them proves to be the best candidate for the imperial heir.”

I felt a spurt of guilt for putting my daughters under the burden of an imperial heirdom. I worried about the pressure they would face.

I would go visit them at the academy tomorrow. After all Jacinthe and I had endured, I needed to know that my three youngest children were safe and doing well.

Mother now waved Fernan forward. He’d been waiting patiently for his turn to present his petition to restore his confiscated De Norhas ducal estates.

While Mother quizzed him about his loyalties and Fernan pleaded his case, I let my thoughts drift to the future.

What will it feel like not to have to live in hiding anymore?

Will I really be happy living among the Wind-Walkers in Kappadokia?

And can the priests and priestesses of Limnis really help me banish Beltrán’s poisonous specter from my bed, so that I can truly share my life with Menelaus?

Thoughts of the healing temple brought to mind Papa and his mysterious illness.

He’d vanished from public life years ago, and some of Beltrán’s followers had been convinced Papa was dead and Mother was hiding the truth to continue her reign as domina-regent.

When Mother had finished terrorizing Fernan before extracting an oath of fealty from the youth, I asked, “Might I see Papa? It’s been so long, and I’d like him to meet Jacinthe.”

The sadness that swept over her face made her look suddenly older, more vulnerable.

“Of course,” she said. “But we must warn you… your father has more bad days than good now. He may not recognize you.”

She looked at Fernan and Menelaus. “Will you wait for us here? The dominus is… fragile. He can’t deal with too many visitors.”

* * *

“Are you ready?” Mother asked a few minutes later.

We were deep inside the private wing of the palace, and Mother now stood in front of the door to Papa’s apartment.

I took a deep breath and braced myself for the worst. Mother hadn’t described Papa’s condition at all, which led me to believe it was dire.

She opened the door, revealing a sun-drenched sitting room.

Papa sat in a cushioned chair, looking vacantly out the window at the gardens below.

I hardly recognized him. Like Mother, he’d aged dramatically during the years I spent in exile. Gone was the tall, hearty man I’d adored. He looked skeletally thin and frail in his loose robe and sleeping trousers.

“Papa?” My voice cracked as I stepped forward.

Papa turned, and my heart broke at the confusion clouding his features. No wonder Mother didn’t want visitors to see him!

“Who…?” Then his eyes widened with recognition. “Jonquil? Is that you, my little flower?”

I rushed to him, falling to my knees beside his chair. “Yes, Papa, it’s me. I’m finally home.”

He cupped my face between his trembling hands and smiled down at me. It momentarily erased the terrible toll the years and illness had taken, and I was once again a child with her beloved papa.

In that moment, I forgave him for his anger when I asked to wed Menelaus, and for his cruel order to end my pregnancy.

Then his gaze dimmed. He frowned at me.

“Nurse?” he called, his gaze sliding past me and fixing on Mother. “Who are these people?”

Fresh tears welled up in my eyes. Trying to suppress the sobs tearing through me, I reached for Papa’s hand and clung to it.

“Princess Jonquil,” a soft voice interrupted me sometime later. I looked up to see Lucius standing in the doorway. His expression was carefully neutral. “When you’re ready, I can show you to your apartments.”

I examined Papa intently, but he was staring out the window now, lost once more in his mental haze. He seemed to have forgotten my presence at his knee.

I wiped my eyes and rose, only reluctantly releasing Papa’s bony hand.

“Yes, thank you.”

I saw my anguish reflected in Mother’s gaze. “I’ll give you both some time to settle in and rest before the midday meal. Someone will come to escort you to the private dining room to sup with me, King Menelaus, and Mage Armand.”

I couldn’t help casting one last glance at Papa as Lucius escorted us out of his sitting room, hoping against hope for another flash of recognition. It didn’t come.

* * *

Nothing had been changed in my palace apartments. They looked as if they’d been preserved like a museum exhibit after I escaped. I showed Jacinthe around my old rooms. Her wide-eyed reaction to the luxury I’d taken for granted back then simultaneously amused and saddened me.

Jacinthe had grown up in a comfortable but humble three-story half-timbered house in Bernswick, a prosperous but humble village on the Island of Abbonay, the largest island in the province.

Even visiting the lovely ducal palace in Baleares couldn’t have prepared my daughter for the splendor of the imperial seat.

After I’d regained my tattered composure and written a note to Talisa, Mira, and Juno, letting them know I was alive and coming to visit them, Lucius returned to escort Jacinthe and me to the family dining room.

It was a far cry from the vast grandeur of the formal banquet halls in the public wings of the palace. Tall, graceful windows along one wall looked out over the meticulously palace tended gardens.

The high ceiling showcased exquisite plasterwork, molded into delicate garlands and painted medallions that celebrated famous landmarks from around the Dominion.

The walls, painted in soft shades of duck-egg blue and cream, were adorned with the ancestral portraits I’d been quizzed on earlier.

In the center of the dining room stood a polished mahogany dining table, gracefully curved and modestly sized for family gatherings. Elegant chairs upholstered in embroidered silk with delicate floral motifs surrounded it.

The table was set for the midday meal with fine porcelain plates rimmed in gold, sparkling crystal goblets, and elegant silverware precisely arranged, reflecting the refinement expected at even the simplest imperial family meals.

Mother was waiting for us at the head of the table, with Menelaus and Mage Armand seated in places of honor.

Fernan was nowhere to be seen—presumably, Mother had given him leave to depart after granting his petition.

“Why the game this morning with the sham interrogation?” I asked when the servants had served the first course and withdrawn, leaving the five of us alone.

By coincidence or design, the kitchen had prepared my favorite asparagus soup, garnished with crème fra?che and edible flower petals. It was accompanied by a selection of freshly baked bread rolls and herb butter.

Mother drew herself up indignantly at my question.

“Sham interrogation? Game?” she demanded. “You know I couldn’t just take the word of two strangers who claimed to be my long-lost daughter and granddaughter!”

I gave her the same look I used on my daughters when I caught them in a stupid lie. “Oh, I understand. So why not send Head Chamberlain Lucius—or anyone else who actually knew me—to question me, instead of a gaggle of ignorant underlings?” I shook my head. “Speaking of Chamberlain Lucius, did you order him to stage that dramatic rescue, or did he take pity on us and intervene?”

Her lips pressed together in a displeased line, but her gaze darted away guiltily.

Caught her! I thought.

Menelaus growled softly.

“I had to be absolutely sure,” Mother insisted.

“And it wasn’t because you chafed at owing me a debt for saving you from the Duke de Norhas?” I shot back. “With the aid of Wind-Walkers? ”

Mother’s face colored. She said nothing.

Thought so.

“I mean, I understand how having your dead daughter lead enemy troops to save your throne might be a little politically awkward for you,” I said, doing my best to radiate sympathy as glee bubbled up inside me.

Menelaus bellowed a laugh.

Mother’s eye twitched a little at my dig, then she countered.

“Speaking of Wind-Walkers, please tell me you weren’t serious about wanting to abandon me to live among them? You have responsibilities here, Jonquil, and I need to prepare you properly for them.”

I thought we’d already settled this! I’d forgotten Mother’s habit of trying to renegotiate anything unfavorable to her until she wore down her opponent.

I stared at her with all the coldness I could muster. I’d already made all the concessions I was willing to make. She wouldn’t get better terms from me.

Menelaus’ fingers tightened on his spoon, and I saw the silver handle bend. I reached over and covered his hand with my own.

“Mother, stop it. I’m not staying here,” I told her flatly. “Tell the people whatever you like—you’re good at that, Mother—but I’m leaving with Menelaus. The Wind-Walkers have much to teach me about how to rule with the consent of the governed,” I added snidely.

Mother’s cheeks went pink.

But I was serious.

Returning to the imperial palace after spending so many years living as a villager had given me a sense of perspective.

If Mother was serious about making me as the Dominion’s first ruling domina, then I needed to consider what changes to make.

If our current system of rulership was so fragile that a single family’s reproductive misfortunes could cause the entire government to tear itself apart, then we needed a more stable structure.

Her gaze moved to Jacinthe, who was watching us with fascination.

“And you, child?” Mother asked. “Once you finish your studies, will you return to us and learn how to rule? We won’t live forever, you know. Nor will your mama.”

Jacinthe blinked. Not quite a flinch, but close to it. “I—I need to think about it. Becoming domina… that’s an enormous responsibility. What if I get it wrong? People might die.”

“But isn’t that also true of working as a mage-healer?” Mother asked shrewdly. “Your patients won’t always survive.”

“It’s different when you send an army to their deaths, versus losing a single patient,” I pointed out.

“The battle yesterday—I don’t know if I could take responsibility for ordering something like that,” Jacinthe added.

“Not even to save a city from being slaughtered?” Mother put down her spoon and stared at us fiercely. “The casualties at yesterday’s battle were high, yes. But they were mostly on the enemy’s side. We lost five hundred troops, with another thousand injured. That’s a tiny fraction of the number of people living in Neapolis Capitola.”

Jacinthe’s cheeks flushed. She looked down at her pale green soup.

Mother added in a softer tone, “Believe me, child, I regret the sacrifices my troops had to make, but with over eight hundred thousand unarmed souls in my capital to protect, I would make the same decision again tomorrow.”

“I agree,” rumbled Menelaus, unexpectedly.

I looked at him in surprise.

“I’d order every adult Wind-Walker to fight to the death to protect the hatchlings and fledglings in our aeries,” he continued. “And for the greater good, they’d go happily into battle.”

“Also, they’re Dragons ,” I said dryly. “They love fighting.”

“That, too,” Menelaus agreed, flashing me a toothy smile.

“I need to think about it,” Jacinthe repeated. “I don’t really want to become the domina. But if there’s no other choice…”

“A famous philosopher once observed that the best rulers are forged from the reluctant steel rather than ambitious metal,” Mother countered. “If you truly feel yourself unsuited—or if my councilors oppose your elevation as heir on, ah, certain grounds—” Her gaze flicked to Menelaus. “We have your sisters as backup. They’re fully human, are they not?”

I thought of Talisa, Mira, and Juno, and shuddered. They were far too young to take on a burden like Imperial Heir without preparation. It had been hard for me, and I’d been raised in the palace and trained from early childhood in the duties that awaited me as an adult.

“We’ll see what the future brings,” I said as neutrally as I could. “You’re still in good health and vigor, Mother. We have time.”

“But not forever,” she warned. “Don’t wait too long. It’s vital we set up a smooth transition of power. Or there will be another Duke Beltrán to tear this realm apart.”