Page 10 of A Kiss of Healing & Honor (Darkstone Academy #4)

Sand shifted beneath my boots as I scanned the cloudless sky, searching for any sign of Boreas’ majestic form soaring towards us, Jacinthe safely astride his back. Alondra stood rigidly straight next to me, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Gwydion paced restlessly along the waterline, his silver eyes narrowed against the glare.

“They should’ve returned by now,” he said, speaking aloud what we were all thinking. “Something’s gone wrong.”

Castellan Guisbald grunted in agreement, his weathered face grim. “The Duke de Norhas is a formidable mage, and his ships are armed with at least a dozen cannons. Not much good against our castle’s walls, but more than enough to take down a lone Dragon and a merman.”

I clenched my jaw, refusing to voice the dark fears that coiled in my gut like venomous serpents.

Jacinthe will be back shortly, I told myself.

She was both resourceful and resilient. I suspected the Duke de Norhas had his hands full with his prisoner right now. She had already survived ordeals I could scarcely imagine.

And Boreas and Tama in their natural forms were a force to be reckoned with.

But as the long minutes stretched into an hour, then two, the weight of our collective worry bore down upon us.

Gwydion’s restless pacing slowed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Alondra’s defiant posture wilted. Even Castellan Guisbald’s stoic fa?ade cracked, revealing the depth of his concern.

Then something bobbing in the water just outside the entrance to the cove caught my eye. I shaded my eyes and peered at the sea, hope surging through my veins like wildfire.

It was Tama, holding Boreas’ enormous head above the water as he towed the Dragon’s limp, bleeding bulk.

No sign of Jacinthe anywhere.

I felt sick. “Vesta preserve Boreas!”

“Is he—is he dead?” Alondra’s voice fractured like shattered glass.

As Tama drew closer, the extent of the Dragon’s injuries became horribly evident. Deep gashes marred his waterlogged plumage. His right wing trailed in the water at an unnatural angle.

And Jacinthe was nowhere to be seen.

Shark fins sliced through the crystal-clear water like gray steel blades, circling the pair as Tama swam into Harbor Cove.

With a snarl, Tama dragged Boreas into the shallows, then turned and dove. His pale, sleek form arrowed through the clear turquoise waters of the cove.

As Gwydion, Alondra, Castellan Guisbald, and I raced to Boreas’ side, I saw the water churning violently. Moments later, plumes of scarlet bloomed like macabre flowers on the surface as Tama dispatched the sharks one by one with brutal efficiency.

When the merman surfaced again, there was no triumph in his bearing, no glint of satisfaction in his obsidian eyes. Only a hollowness that mirrored the void in my chest.

I fell to my knees next to Boreas’ head. A faint gust of sulfur-scented breath from his nostrils assured me he still lived.

I exhaled in relief and demanded, “Tama, where is Jacinthe?”

Tama met my gaze, his expression bleak. “She lives,” he replied tersely. “But De Norhas still holds her captive aboard his ship.”

Trickster curse the duke! I thought angrily.

“Oh, wonderful,” I said sarcastically. “With winds this favorable, it won’t take them long to get to the mainland.”

I stared down at Boreas’ broken and bleeding body. I was afraid something like this would happen when those two raced off without an actual plan!

But saying “I told you so,” would serve no purpose now.

My mind raced, grasping for a plan to rescue Jacinthe without ships or a Dragon’s aid, but each idea slipped through my fingers like sand.

“I made sure that those ships aren’t going anywhere,” Tama said flatly. “I destroyed all the rudders and punched holes in their hulls. And Boreas burned many of their sails before the humans shot him out of the air with their cannons.”

Alondra gasped in horror. “Boreas was hit by a cannonball?”

“And also by spears of ice thrown by the duke’s mages,” Tama replied helpfully.

I felt sickened. From graphic drawings in my surgery textbooks, I knew what kind of damage artillery could inflict on living bodies.

“Do not worry,” Tama assured us. “The ships will go nowhere as long as I live and swim. I will not allow the Drylanders to make repairs or depart.”

“Just don’t sink the ship that Jacinthe is on,” I said.

Tama shot me a haughty glare.

I blew out a breath. “All right. But without ships of our own—or a Dragon—we’re not going anywhere, either.”

Tama shrugged. “Then I will return to the fleet and convince Jacinthe to jump overboard, even if her mother refuses to escape.”

Jacinthe’s mother is on board the duke’s ship, too? I thought incredulously.

Tama continued, “Jacinthe almost escaped, but then stopped to plead with her mother to come with her. I saw the duke’s men seize her and drag her away from the ship’s railing.”

He turned, presumably to swim back out into the open ocean.

“Wait!” I called. “Don’t go. I’ll come up with a plan to rescue both of them. But we’ll need your help.”

Frowning, Tama considered this for a long moment.

I waited. If he was determined to set out on his own again, I wouldn’t be able to stop him.

“Very well,” he said finally, though he didn’t look pleased. “I will return to this cove at intervals over the next two days. Heal Boreas.”

“We’ll do our best. And thank you,” I said. Gwydion and Alondra echoed my words.

Tama nodded curtly and sank out of sight beneath the surface, presumably to go harass the duke’s ships.

“Now we need to get Boreas onto dry land,” Gwydion said, his voice strained.

My fellow apprentice stood waist-deep in the water, his slender arms buried elbow-deep in Boreas’ sodden feathers as he probed for wounds. “His injuries are grave, and we need to stop the bleeding.”

I nodded.

“Even if you’re able to haul him out of the water, how do we treat him?” asked Mage Armand from the beach. The old man squinted as he surveyed Boreas. “He’s too large to carry on a wagon. And he can’t possibly fit in the infirmary.”

As if in answer to our prayers, a gust of wind swirled around us, carrying with it the scents of brimstone and sandalwood.

Prince Arslan descended from the sky, his silken robes and jeweled cap glinting in the sunlight, flanked by his sisters, Princess Karima and Princess Layla.

“Allow us to assist you, Mage Armand,” Arslan said, his voice rich and commanding as the three Djinni touched down lightly on the beach. “We can summon the spirits of the Air to lift and carry the Wind-Walker wherever you wish.”

Relief flooded through me, tempered by a flicker of apprehension. What price will they demand for their help?

Like the Fae, the Djinni believed in a balance of payment for their favors.

As if reading my thoughts, Arslan smiled. “We owe you healers a life-debt. Let us make partial repayment by aiding you now.”

“Thank you!” Alondra exclaimed. She turned to Mage Armand. “Let’s put Boreas in the courtyard outside the infirmary. We can tend to him there.”

The old man nodded. “An excellent idea, apprentice.” He turned to Arslan and his sisters. “We are most grateful for your offer, Your Highnesses.”

Together, the three Djinni raised their hands, their eyes flickering with otherworldly flames. A shimmering vortex of air engulfed Boreas, lifting his battered body from the crimson-tinged waves.

As Boreas rose higher, torrents of seawater pink with blood streamed from his limp form. The sight of my once-indomitable Dragon friend, so broken and vulnerable, chilled me to my core.

With a sweeping gesture, his wide scarlet sleeves billowing like pennons, Arslan directed Boreas’ unconscious form toward the castle gates.

∞∞∞

Once Boreas had been gently deposited in the infirmary courtyard, it quickly became a hive of frenzied activity.

Mage-Healer Armand took command, his weathered face etched with grim determination. Gwydion made his report of Boreas’ injuries, and Armand issued me orders for various first-aid supplies. Alondra was sent to the kitchens to fetch raw meat and broth to give Boreas the energy to heal.

We hurried to obey his instructions.

To my dismay, curious onlookers flocked to the courtyard. Mage-Instructors and students alike crowded against the walls, chattering with excitement as they gawked at the sight of an unconscious Dragon sprawled across the flagstones.

It was difficult to triage Boreas’ injuries with a mob of curious mage-students yelling inane questions at us.

“What happened?”

“Is that really Prince Boreas?”

“Is the Dragon dead?” and so on.

To my relief, Castellan Guisbald quickly arrived, cleared everyone out, and posted several guards to shoo away any further curiosity seekers.

When I returned from the infirmary storerooms, my arms piled high with boxes of suturing supplies, jugs of wound wash, and clean sheets to use as oversized bandages, I found Mage-Instructor Bevitrice at Mage Armand’s side.

Both of them were conducting a careful head-to-toe inspection of our gargantuan patient. I noticed Armand was wearing his gold-rimmed reading spectacles for the examination.

Meanwhile, Gwydion was already at work, suturing some of the deep gashes in Boreas’ side.

“It’s fortunate that the seawater already cleansed his wounds. It will lower the risk of infection,” Mage Bevitrice told Mage Armand. “But that wing will require extensive reconstruction. Do you have any books on Dragon anatomy we could use as a reference?”

“I believe so,” Armand replied. He turned to me. “Ah, Senior Apprentice Ilhan. Please assist Senior Apprentice Gwydion in stitching up the wounds on the Dragon’s torso. Don’t touch his wing yet—Mage Bevitrice and I need to work out a surgical plan first.”

The challenge of healing Boreas clearly energized the old man. I hadn’t seen my mentor this excited about anything in months.

Up close, Boreas’ injuries were even worse than I’d suspected. His right wing was a mass of bloodstained feathers. A jagged hole in the middle of the wing was surrounded by splinters of shattered bone sticking out from the shredded flesh beneath.

I grimaced in sympathy.

“Don’t worry, we’ll heal him,” Armand assured us in a confident tone, “but Mage Bevitrice and I will need your strength and the other apprentices’, too. In my experience, reconstructive work like this requires many spells and several mage-healers.”

“Of course,” I croaked, my throat tight with emotion. “Whatever I can do to help, I’ll do it.”

Gwydion looked up from his suturing. “And I, as well.” His beautiful Fae features were drawn but resolute. He added, “I only wish Jacinthe was here to help.”

As did I. And not only because she could draw on a vast store of Wood magic to power healing spells.

Jacinthe. I dropped my load of medical supplies onto a wooden worktable I’d dragged out into the courtyard earlier, and braced my palms on the smooth surface.

For months, I’d been trying to close my soul-bond with her. To regain my precious privacy, and to shut out the constant, disturbing flow of emotions we shared.

Now, the Trickster had granted my wish. And like all his gifts, it wasn’t what I truly wanted.

The absence of our soul-bond was like a physical ache, a hollow space in my chest that nothing could fill. I needed the warmth of her presence burning like a steady candle in my head. Without it, I now felt incomplete. And terribly lonely.

Gwydion approached me and laid a hand on my shoulder.

“You’re in love with Jacinthe, aren’t you?” he murmured in a voice free of its usual mocking cadence.

Part Two

Band of Brothers