A Kiss of Air & Fire (Darkstone Academy)

E ven after a twenty-year absence, surely there were still imperial staff here who remembered me!

“What proof do you require?” I let frustration spur my next words. “If you would only let the domina-regent see us, she would recognize me.” I spread my hands. “I grew up here. Ask me anything about the palace or the royal family twenty years ago.”

“I can vouch for Princess Jonquil and Princess Jacinthe,” Mage Armand said.

The inquisitor stared at him. “And who are you , pray tell?” she asked in an affronted tone.

My heart began pounding. But they summoned Mage Armand here. By name!

Is Mother playing some kind of game with us?

Mage Armand drew himself up proudly. He wore new black velvet robes, his golden mage-badge with the imperial eagle pinned over his heart. “I am former Chief Court Healer Niccolò Armand, now Infirmary Head at Darkstone Castle.”

The man wearing the herald’s badge huffed a disdainful laugh. “Oh, really? You really expect us to believe that the famous Mage Armand has returned from the dead, too?”

“Who said I died?” Armand sounded indignant.

“We’ll deal with you later,” the chamberlain’s official said.

Now I was sure that they were playing with us. But what did they hope to accomplish?

The inquisitor turned back to me. “Describe the painting hanging in the imperial family’s private dining room,” she demanded.

Ah, a trap! I thought.

“In my time here, there were two paintings in the dining room, one large and one small,” I replied. “The larger painting depicts the coronation of my many-times great grandfather, Dominus Victor Augustus the First. The smaller painting is a wedding portrait of the first dominus and his domina-consort, Duchess Oriana of Monteleno.”

“Hm.” My interrogator seemed displeased by my answer, but she didn’t deny it.

The portly chamberlain narrowed his eyes at me. “When Princess-Royal Jonquil was ten years old, a notable incident occurred in the Imperial Gardens. Describe the incident and explain how Their Imperial Highnesses reacted.”

That day was burned into my memory. “I noticed one of the swans in the pond had broken its wing. My powers awakened when I tried to heal it. Mother and Papa immediately summoned Chief Court Healer Armand.” I turned and smiled at my longtime mentor. “He tested me for mage potential. After that, Mother and Papa enrolled me under a false name at the Imperial Academy for the Magical Arts. There, I studied to become a mage-healer.”

The officials traded glances. The archivist spoke next. He was younger than the others, with thinning light brown hair. “Name at least three members of the imperial council who served during the Princess Jonquil’s lifetime.” He smiled thinly at me, and added, “And tell us which council member was forced to resign, and why.”

“Duke Cahill of Frankia, Duchess Renata of Monteleno, and Earl Murad of Demirkalé,” I answered promptly. “Earl Murad was dismissed from the council after Papa found out about his Fae mistress and half-Fae son. No one wanted the scandal to become public knowledge, so Earl Murad told everyone he resigned on account of ill health. He retired to his estate and received an imperial pension in return for his discretion.”

The archivist’s eyes widened. “That… that is correct.” He sounded surprised.

“It proves nothing !” the chamberlain snapped. “Anyone could’ve heard the gossip.”

“There was no gossip,” the archivist argued. “Those council records were sealed.”

The inquisitor turned her attention to Jacinthe, her lips pursing in disapproval as she surveyed my daughter’s foreign appearance.

“And this girl claims to be the domina-regent’s granddaughter?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “With that coloring? Preposterous.”

I saw Jacinthe flush with anger under her smooth brown skin and recognized the gathering fury in her eyes. Her exotic looks had been inherited from her father, and had always drawn attention, especially among the pale Western Islanders.

I shared her anger. “I assure you,” I said through gritted teeth, “my daughter is—”

“Some Southern Continent half-breed, at best,” interrupted the portly official, the ends of his waxed mustache quivering with disdain. “My lady Whoever-You-Are, how in the world did you expect anyone to believe your ridiculous charade?”

“Why not just use a truth spell on us?” Jacinthe blurted, visibly frustrated.

All the officials stared at us in horror.

I wondered what in the seven hells had happened to my daughter at Darkstone Academy that she would refer to black magic so casually.

“ What did you just say?” gasped the imperial inquisitor.

I had to do something, and fast. Trying to conceal my dismay, I turned to Jacinthe.

“Dearest, truth spells are considered coercion of free will,” I hurried to explain. “They’re illegal. You’ll learn all about things like that in your third-year Ethics of Magic class.”

“Oh,” she said, crestfallen. “Then how do we get these people to believe us?”

“You don’t,” the inquisitor scoffed. “The only reason you two weren’t arrested on the spot for impersonating a member of the imperial family is because of the aid you rendered Their Imperial Highnesses yesterday. But a few good deeds don’t make you royalty.”

An older man with kind eyes entered the salon with brisk steps. He wore a chamberlain’s badge, with the enamel flourish that identified him as Head Chamberlain. He looked familiar somehow, but I couldn’t place him.

As I racked my memories, trying to identify the newcomer, he stopped short and stared openly at Armand. “By the Twelve, is that really you, Mage Armand?”

Armand’s lined face broke into a rare smile.

“Chamberlain Lucius? It’s been far too long, old friend!”

Lucius? I stared at him in shock. He looked so old!

Slowly, the Lucius of my memories merged with the man standing before us now.

His gaze shifted to me, and his eyes widened. “And… Princess Jonquil? I heard a rumor about an imposter, but it’s really you!” He bowed deeply. “Welcome home, Your Imperial Highness!”

And with those words, he changed everything.

“Head Chamberlain Lucius, are you quite certain that this woman is truly the lost Princess-Royal?” asked the imperial inquisitor. Her gaze darted nervously between Lucius and me.

“Yes, Inquisitor Ricfrid,” Lucius replied, his gaze never leaving mine. “Come, Your Highness. Your imperial mother is waiting to see you.” He glanced at the portly chamberlain. “Osman, fetch our other guests. I’ll escort them to Her Imperial Majesty.”

* * *

My heart raced as we followed Chamberlain Lucius through a maze of familiar corridors, each step bringing us closer to my long-anticipated reunion with Mother.

Over the years, I’d heard so many rumors about Papa’s withdrawal from public life and his need for a regent. Was he still alive? And if so, was he in any shape to see me?

I thought my mask of calm dignity was firmly in place, but Jacinthe squeezed my hand, her skin warm against mine. “Breathe, Mama,” she whispered. “We’ve come this far.”

I nodded, but couldn’t summon words to reply.

Behind us, Menelaus’ presence was a steady warmth, while Mage Armand and Duke Fernan trailed at a respectful distance.

We paused before the entrance to the private audience chamber, the door set with the imperial eagle in solid gold.

My heart hammered painfully in my chest, each beat echoing with apprehension.

It had been twenty long, fraught years since I had last seen my parents.

Did Mother even want to see me? Our reception so far had been less than welcoming.

More importantly, will she find it in her heart to forgive me for breaking the law all those years ago?

Chamberlain Lucius knocked sharply, then opened the heavy door. He announced, “Your Majesty, may I present Princess-Royal Jonquil di Severieri and her daughter, Princess-Royal Jacinthe. They look forward to sharing a private moment with you. With them are King Menelaus of the Anemodareís, Duke Fernan de Norhas, and Mage-Healer Niccolò Armand.”

With a gesture, the chamberlain beckoned us forward. I couldn’t breathe as I stepped into the wood-paneled room where I’d spent so many hours learning the art of imperial diplomacy at Papa’s side.

My gaze immediately found the woman seated in the gilded chair of state at the far end of the room.

Mother! I couldn’t get the words out of my tight throat.

Two difficult decades had etched deep lines into her face and turned her dark hair to pure silver. My heart ached at seeing her look so careworn.

But it was her gaze that pinned me in place. She looked unsure of herself. Her hazel eyes, so like my own, were wide with shock.

“Jonquil, my dear? Is it—can it be? You’re alive?” Mother’s voice, normally so cool and composed, actually trembled with raw emotion, breaking slightly on the last word.

Her question shattered my hard-won control like fragile porcelain. Tears welled up, blurring my vision.

“Yes, Mother,” I managed, my voice barely more than a whisper. “I’ve come home hoping you’ve finally forgiven me.”

“Oh, my darling girl!” she cried, her voice breaking into a sob.

I stared at her in disbelief at this break in her self-control. She’d spent years training me never to reveal my emotions in front of outsiders.

And with Menelaus, Armand, and Fernan de Norhas in the room with us, this was hardly a private reunion.

My shock deepened as she pushed herself upright and rushed toward me with her arms wide open.

An instant later, I was wrapped in her embrace. Her familiar rose perfume enveloped me in a haze of nostalgia.

“Jonquil, my darling, how I’ve missed you!” she exclaimed. “I’m so, so sorry for driving you away. I’ve missed you so very much and I’m glad you’ve finally come home to us.”

My tears flowed freely. I wanted to believe in her whole-hearted welcome. I wanted to trust that I’d truly returned home after two decades in exile.

But some part of me wondered whether if Mother had planned this extravagant show of emotion to throw me off-balance. She’d always expertly manipulated Papa, the imperial council, the common people, and, of course, me.

Maybe all these things were true, but my heart didn’t care. I clung to her and felt her shaking body. Her tears soaked the shoulder of my borrowed gown.

Maybe this isn’t an act. Maybe she’s truly sorry for what she and Papa did.

There was only one way to find out.

I broke our embrace and wiped at my eyes, trying to gather my composure. I couldn’t let emotion overwhelm me when I needed my wits.

“Mother, I’d like you to meet someone.” I turned and extended my hand to Jacinthe, who stood looking at us, wide-eyed. “This is Jacinthe, my daughter. Her father is King Menelaus.”

I watched Mother’s expression, trying to gauge her reaction to her half-human granddaughter.

Jacinthe, her expression tight with anxiety, dipped into a wobbly curtsy.

Menelaus took my hand. I studied his profile and saw that he, too, was intently waiting for Mother’s reaction.

Mother opened her arms. “Jacinthe,” she breathed, her face lighting with a radiant smile. “My dear, dear granddaughter. How wonderful to meet you at last!”

I stood frozen with shock as she embraced Jacinthe.

“You have my eyes,” Mother said, stepping back and studying my daughter intently. “And your father’s coloring. You are beautiful, my dear.”

Jacinthe’s smile looked shaky. “Hello, Grandmother Jacinthe. It’s, ah, nice to meet you.”

Mother stroked her cheek with ringed fingers.

Mother’s smile disappeared as she looked up at Menelaus and me, standing side by side, our hands entwined.

“Jonquil, King Menelaus,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I have apologies to make to you both. I beg you both to forgive me and my husband, even though the hurt we caused you was unforgivable. We were wrong, so terribly wrong, back then. And I’ve bitterly regretted it for years.”

Her unexpected apology hit me like a blow. Twenty years ago, Mother would have never admitted to wrongdoing, much less apologized for it.

Is this some kind of trick? Menelaus and I traded disbelieving looks.

But she seemed sincere, shining tear-tracks marring the makeup on her cheeks. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of regret.

“We made so many mistakes,” she continued, her voice thick with grief. “But none greater than how we handled your love affair. As parents, we broke your trust. As rulers, we squandered a chance for lasting peace with the Dragon Kingdom.” She shook her head, silver hair and jewels catching the light. “We were short-sighted and foolish, blinded by our own prejudices and fears. I see that now.”

How often had I dreamed of a scenario just like this in my darkest hours after fleeing the capital and starting my new life in the Western Isles?

Now that it was actually happening, though, I didn’t feel vindicated. Or triumphant.

Just suspicious.

Years of pain warred with my longing for reconciliation.

Menelaus squeezed my hand and released it. I took a deep breath, debating whether Mother was truly sincere or playing some game, and made my decision.

I took Mother’s hands in mine. They were cold—perhaps from nerves, or simply from the poor circulation that often comes with age.

“Mother,” I croaked. I cleared my throat before continuing. “Thank you for your apology. And I—I forgive you.”

A tight knot of old pain loosened deep in my chest.

“And you, King Menelaus?” Mother asked, looking nervous. “Can you find it in your heart to forgive an old woman’s foolishness?”

I tensed, seeing his jaw muscles clench as his golden eyes narrowed. Then his expression softened.

“For Jonquil’s sake,” he rumbled, “and for the sake of peace between our peoples, I accept your apology.”

“Thank you. Humans and Wind-Walkers have been enemies for far too long,” Mother said, looking relieved. “You have our eternal gratitude for your aid in defending the capital yesterday. General Clovis reported your Wind-Walkers turned the tide and gave us victory.”

Menelaus grinned. “It was fun. It’s been years since I saw action like that! And you’re welcome,” he added.

Then she turned back to me with an air of renewed purpose.

My gut clenched. Here it comes. She wants something from me.

“Jonquil,” she said, her voice taking on a more formal tone. “In the interest of public stability, will you resume your role as Princess-Royal and heir to the throne?”

I’d been an only child. When I escaped the palace and went into hiding, I knew my disappearance would trigger a crisis. But I’d foolishly thought that the ambitious lords on the imperial council would keep each other in check until my parents decided on the succession and adopted an heir.

Instead, my parents had done nothing to ensure the succession. The council had eventually devolved into an open conspiracy between the powerful dukes of Frankia and Norhas.

“I…” I began, intending to refuse.

Then I had a horrifying epiphany. All the deaths and injuries in yesterday’s battle were partially my fault. If I hadn’t run away and gone into hiding all those years ago, then perhaps Frankia and Norhas wouldn’t have plotted to seize the throne.

Of course, then Jacinthe would’ve never been born.

If I refuse my duty now, how many more people will die?

“Yes, Mother,” I said, resigned.

She beamed at me approvingly. It was so odd to see her abandon the emotionless mask she’d worn all throughout my early life.

Menelaus made a sound deep in his throat. I glanced up at him with sudden guilt, and saw his dismay and hurt.

Oh, Divine Mother. I just made a life-changing decision without consulting the one who so faithfully kept the vows he’d made me so long ago.

I touched his arm. “We’ll talk later,” I whispered.

He nodded curtly. He was angry. As he had every right to be.

I saw Mother’s appraising glance return to Jacinthe. I could almost see her weighing my daughter’s worth as a backup heir against her half-human status.

“And you , Jacinthe,” she said, apparently reaching a decision. “As the second in line to the throne, you too have a vital role to play in securing the future of our Dominion.”

“I… I’m honored,” my daughter stammered, looking anything but pleased.

“You should be.” She smiled. “You shall be granted the traditional titles and estates befitting your station: Princess-Royal of the Imperial House, Duchess of the Western Isles, Countess of Felicitas Victoria, and Baroness of Tria Flumina.”

Jacinthe’s eyes widened. “I—I don’t know what to say,”

“There is, of course, a price for such power and privilege,” Mother said, her tone sharpening.

Ah yes, there it is at last: the hook set into the luscious bait.

It seemed Mother hadn’t changed as much as I’d hoped.

“We expect you to do your duty in securing the future of our dynasty,” Mother continued. “That means wedding a suitable candidate as soon as possible and bearing children to continue the imperial line.”

Jacinthe’s mouth pulled into a straight, displeased line reminiscent of Mother. I guessed she was thinking of Tama, Boreas, Gwydion, and Ilhan. I wondered if she was going to explain the unique relationship she shared with them.

“Your choice of the new Duke de Norhas as your betrothed is… interesting ,” Mother said. “Tell me, child, did you plan this marriage to secure the future loyalty of Norhas to the Dominion?”

Jacinthe and Fernan traded panicked glances.

“No, Grandmother Jacinthe,” she replied. “I was coerced into agreeing to the betrothal by Lady Erzabetta de Norhas, who was working on behalf of her uncle, the late Duke Beltrán de Norhas. I have no intention of marrying the present Duke de Norhas.”

Fernan cleared his throat. “And, if Your Imperial Majesty will pardon my honesty, I, too, was coerced into signing the betrothal contract. Princess Jacinthe and I have mutually agreed to nullify this contract. I… I wish to wed another. The Duke of Espola’s daughter.”

My grandmother nodded. “Good. Then that’s settled.” Her expectant gaze returned to Jacinthe. “Which leaves you still in need of a husband. And children.”

Had I just made a mistake in agreeing to step back into my old role as Princess-Royal? And would Menelaus and Jacinthe now both pay the price?