Chapter 7
A s we took to the skies once more, I saw the Wind-Walkers had continued their devastating aerial assault on the Duke de Norhas’ forces. Their blasts of Dragon-fire reduced cannons to molten slag and mowed down entire centuries of legionaries.
Ahead, I saw Boreas’ sleek green-and-gold form join the fray with Jacinthe, Ilhan, Tama, and Gwydion on his back.
She was still visibly weak from her brush with death. I was terrified for her safety. Nearly losing her just now had ripped me apart inside.
Menelaus dipped and banked sharply to avoid the chaotic crisscross of arrows and artillery fire where the remaining cannons fired wildly in our direction. All around us, dozens of Wind-Walkers were attacking the surviving rebels with fire and claw.
I could see the desperation in the turncoat legionaries’ faces as Menelaus dove and took out the last wagon-mounted cannon in a burst of Dragon-fire.
The massed Wind-Walkers terrified the troops into a panicked retreat. Within minutes, even the staunchest of the rebels broke ranks and scattered, casting away their weapons as they fled the field.
The bodies of fallen men, horses, and mules littered the ground beneath us. The cold spring wind was heavy with the stench of brimstone and burning flesh. I felt sick at the carnage.
Then a cluster of blue banners with the golden imperial eagle caught my eye.
“Down there!” I called, pointing. “That’s the standard of the Supreme General of the Imperial Legions.”
“I hope they thank us for saving their asses,” Boreas called, flying over to join Menelaus as we banked and descended to land near a group of uniformed men gathered beneath the eagle banner.
A man wearing a splendid plumed helmet and gilded armor, both stained with blood and soot, approached us.
With a shock, I recognized Gundo Clovis, former captain of the palace guard.
I’d occasionally wondered if he’d been demoted and punished when my faked suicide came to light. If so, his career had recovered in the most spectacular way if he now held command over all the remaining legions.
Before I could greet him, Boreas bellowed, “Bow, earthworms, before Their Imperial Highnesses, Princess Jonquil and Princess Jacinthe!”
Oh no . That was not the way I’d planned to introduce myself to Mother’s commanders.
I looked over at Jacinthe and saw her wince.
General Clovis scowled. “While my fellow commanders and I are grateful for your aid, your joke goes too far, Lord Dragon!”
“Joke? I’m King Menelaus of the Wind-Walkers!” rumbled the Dragon beneath me. “Do you question the identity of my mate?”
Time for me to intervene. I slid out of Menelaus’ saddle, and drew myself up, trying to look as regal as I could in with my wind-whipped hair and travel-stained clothing.
“General Clovis, I congratulate you on your promotion,” I said. “The last time we met, you were the captain of the palace guard. Papa always said you would go far.”
Clovis gave me a hard, assessing stare. Then his eyes widened.
“Divine Mother preserve us! It’s truly you, P-princess Jonquil! Back from the dead!” He hastily unbuckled the chin strap on his plumed helmet and swept it off his head before bowing deeply.
His companions gaped at me for a moment, then hastily echoed his gesture.
At least I wouldn’t have to waste precious time trying to convince these men of my true identity.
“What news, General?” I asked eagerly. “Have you captured the Duke de Norhas yet?”
Clovis’ expression turned grim. “Your Imperial Highness, I regret to inform you that the Duke de Norhas fled the field. My men report he was last seen riding hell for leather toward his camp.”
“We can’t let him escape!” My chest tightened with incipient panic.
As long as Beltrán de Norhas walked free, I’d never know a moment of true peace.
I turned to Menelaus. Only then did I see that his shining black chest feathers were dulled and crusted with rusty red. As I watched, fresh blood dripped onto the grass beneath him.
As he shifted his weight and prepared to rise, I saw a gash deep enough to show a gleam of bone.
At least one shot aimed at us had found its mark.
“Don’t,” I whispered, put my hand on his stiff plumage. “You’re hurt.”
He glared down at me. “Say nothing of this.”
Jacinthe hadn’t yet noticed her father’s wound, but Boreas had. We traded quick, horrified glances.
“Leave it to us!” Boreas boomed. “We’ll capture him and put an end to this, once and for all.”
“No—” I began.
“Let the fledglings prove themselves.” Menelaus’ tone was pure steel.
“But—”
“The more we protest, the more we insult them.” He held my gaze with a silent plea not to humble him in front of our daughter.
Menelaus couldn’t take to the air again, not with a wound like that. But if we did nothing, Beltrán would go free.
I swallowed hard and forced out the words. “Very well. But be careful, all of you. We may have defeated Duke Beltrán, but he’s still a powerful mage.”
Jacinthe nodded. Her features were stark with fatigue beneath her smooth brown complexion, but her eyes were fierce. Her companions looked worried but steadfast.
With a roar, Boreas surged skyward, his powerful wings raising a windstorm around us.
Divine Mother, protect them. I’d almost lost Jacinthe once already.
She was the most powerful mage I’d ever encountered, but right now, she was weak in the curse’s aftermath.
If Boreas tracked down the duke, would she and her friends be strong enough to defeat Beltrán’s spells?
I’d spent months observing Beltrán. His powers were strong, but more importantly, he was well-trained and experienced in combat magic.
How could a young Wind-Walker and a group of exhausted students prevail against him?
“Have faith,” rumbled Menelaus, who was still watching me.
I nodded, but still watched anxiously until Jacinthe and her friends had dwindled to a tiny speck.
When I turned back to Menelaus, I realized how fatigued I was in the aftermath of the purifying spell to dispel the death curse.
But I couldn’t let myself fall apart. Not yet. I still had work to do.
I turned to Menelaus. “Your injury. Let me examine it.”
“Let us work together,” called Mage Armand, who was still seated on Menelaus’ back.
“Your Highness, if there’s anything we can do to help—” Clovis began.
“Bring me a medic’s kit,” I snapped, and went to help Mage Armand down from the saddle.
* * *
The work of stitching together torn muscle and skin, followed by a healing spell that drained my power to the dregs, kept me from thinking and worrying about Jacinthe and her friends.
When it was done, Armand and I both sagged gratefully onto a pair of camp stools. A young aide-de-camp brought us restorative mugs of steaming beef broth.
My heart leaped as a shout alerted me to Boreas’ return. I rose to my feet and peered at his approaching shape, anxiously counting his passengers.
All present. And no one was visibly wounded.
Relief washed over me like cool water on a hot day.
“The Duke de Norhas is dead,” Boreas announced as soon as his scaly, taloned feet touched the ground.
“He killed himself before we arrived,” Jacinthe added.
“Probably wanted to avoid arrest and public execution,” commented Prince Gwydion.
Fernan, his face bleached and his expression ravaged, said in a bitter tone, “My father was a fool and a traitor. It didn’t have to come to this.”
Unwilling sympathy for Beltrán’s son and heir snaked through me. No one should have to see their parent dead and bleeding.
Lord Ilhan asked, “Have his legionary commanders surrendered yet?”
Then Boreas’ words finally sank in. Beltrán de Norhas is dead. Dead.
Dead .
My head was filled with a sound like the tolling of a gigantic bell and my mind went blank. I couldn’t believe it.
Over the last year and a half, Beltrán had dominated my waking hours and haunted my nightmares.
“I—I need to see for myself,” I croaked.
“I’ll take you,” Boreas offered.
“No. I’ll take my mate,” Menelaus’ tone was pure steel.
I watched apprehensively as he slowly unfurled his huge, scarlet-edged wings and stretched them to their full length. Normally, I would’ve advised a patient to take things easy for at least a week following a severe injury.
But I knew Menelaus wouldn’t be deterred.
And coward that I was, I didn’t want to face my greatest enemy, even dead, without Menelaus.
Boreas gave us directions, and I climbed back into Menelaus’ saddle.
He crouched and sprang smoothly into the air. I detected no weakness in the strong downbeats that carried us up and up.
When we reached the rebel camp, I saw a round pavilion cut from crimson fabric standing at the center of neat rows of tents. The roof of the pavilion had been torn away, exposing the luxuriously furnished interior, but the black-and-silver double-mountain banner of Norhas still flew defiantly above the entrance.
My stomach clenched in dread. Was Beltrán really dead?
My rational mind assured me that Boreas and Jacinthe wouldn’t have made a mistake.
But my heart still couldn’t comprehend that the ambitious, ruthless, energetic and oddly charismatic man who’d held me prisoner for so many months was simply… gone .
As Menelaus swooped low and circled the pavilion, I peered down and spotted Beltrán de Norhas, still wearing his gilded armor, slumped over a wide wooden desk.
A blood-stained dagger lay between his head and his limp hand. A wide pool of drying blood haloed his dark hair and chiseled profile, drowning the scattered papers and maps on the desktop.
“Do you want me to land?” Menelaus asked, snaking his head back to look at me.
“Yes.”
Neither of us spoke again until he’d landed in front of the damaged red pavilion and I’d dismounted.
“Do you want me to come with you?” he asked.
“I—I need to do this alone,” I said.
He didn’t argue with me. “I’ll wait here. I won’t leave you.”
The quiet certainty in his voice made me feel a flicker of warmth.
I drew in a deep breath and walked toward the roofless pavilion. My legs felt unsteady, and my mind felt detached from reality, as if I was performing a play.
The last part of my long, painful journey was just steps away.
I pushed through the entrance flap and stepped inside.
A strange, clinical detachment took hold of me as I looked at Beltrán’s corpse. The harsh afternoon sunlight picked out every detail.
I thought I would feel relief. That I would feel something. Some kind of catharsis.
But nothing happened. The numbness and detachment remained firmly in place.
I stared at his body for a while longer.
How many times had I fantasized about spitting on his corpse?
But Beltrán de Norhas was gone, leaving behind an empty body.
When I realized no miraculous revelation was forthcoming, I walked forward.
Steeling myself against the touch of his cooling flesh, I lifted his left hand and pulled the ducal signet ring from his finger.
It was proof of death. And as the new Duke de Norhas, Fernan would want and need it.
Then I turned away and left the pavilion.
Menelaus was curled on the bare ground in front of the tent, waiting patiently for me.
“It’s him,” I said, still numb. “And he’s dead. He’s really dead.”
“And?” Menelaus asked, his eyes searching mine.
I wanted to tell him everything was better now. That I was healed because Beltrán’s death had released me from the bonds of my long captivity.
But the words stuck in my throat.
“I need time,” I said finally.
Menelaus looked at me for a long moment, his great golden eyes studying me intently.
“Then you shall have it, my heart,” he said. “As much as you need.”
But I didn’t want time. I wanted my freedom from Beltrán de Norhas. I wanted to feel like my old self again.
“I thought seeing him dead would make me feel better.”
“It will.” Menelaus stretched out his black-feathered neck and gently touched me with his nose.
I opened my arms and embraced his scaly muzzle, then just leaned against him. His hot, brimstone-scented breath washed over me, filling me with the warmth that I couldn’t seem to find on my own.
Tired. I was just so tired.
“Is there anything else you wish, my mate, before we return to the others?” he asked at last.
I raised my head and looked around, trying to force my fatigued mind to think.
“Take the banner,” I replied, pointing at the length of cloth still flapping forlornly over the pavilion’s entrance. “It’ll convince the remaining rebel commanders to surrender once they see it.”
“Then you’ll rest, my mate?” he asked.
He snaked his long neck forward and snapped the banner pole between his jaws.
I shook my head. “Not until I’ve seen the wounded triaged and tended to.”
* * *
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur as I worked alongside Mage Armand and his apprentices to triage and treat the wounded.
We were assisted by a cadre of military healer-mages and their assistants, but the unending flow of casualties, many of them suffering from horrific burns, stretched our capabilities and resources to the limit.
As the hours passed and the news of our victory spread through the city, we were joined by civilian healer mages and other helpers. Wind-Walkers air-lifted the most critically wounded to nearby hospitals.
At sunset, General Clovis, looking as tired as I felt, entered the infirmary tent. He walked up and down the rows of cots, pausing to exchange a few words with each of the wounded loyalist legionaries.
Then he approached Jacinthe and me and waited as we finished sewing up a gash. We’d long since exhausted our powers, and were concentrating on preparing the injured so that fresher mage-healers could work the spells.
“Your Imperial Highnesses,” he said, once we were done with our patient. “The legionary commanders and I request the honor of your presence at our victory banquet tonight.”
Aching with fatigue, I wanted nothing more than to bathe and then to sleep.
“It would mean the world to my legionary commanders and their officers,” Clovis implored when I hesitated. “Princess Jacinthe and her companions are invited, also… and the, uh, Dragons, too.”
“Thank you for your kind invitation,” I forced myself to say. How quickly my palace training had returned! “We’d be delighted to attend.”
Jacinthe looked ready to protest, but I shot her a warning look. As imperial princesses, we had a solemn duty to represent the dominus and domina in public.
Even if I hadn’t seen my parents in twenty years, and Jacinthe had never met them. But the general and his men deserved our best effort.
“I’ll escort you all to the legionary headquarters,” Clovis said, smiling now.
Swallowing a sigh, I looked down at my blood-stained healer’s apron and the tattered, soiled remains of my green silk skirts beneath it. Right now, I looked the furthest thing from an imperial princess.
“I’ll go tell Ilhan and the others,” Jacinthe said, sounding resigned.
* * *
The vast dining hall of the imperial legionary headquarters echoed with loud music and shouted conversations.
The kitchens had produced a surprisingly lavish feast on short notice, and the trestle tables stretching the length of the dining hall were laden with platters of meats and vegetables, baskets of bread, and soup tureens the size of bathtubs, interspersed with steaming pitchers of mulled wine.
Menelaus, who had transformed into his human shape, was seated at my side. We shared the head table with General Clovis and his commanders.
The other Wind-Walkers, now a crowd of boisterous young men, crowded the long tables, elbow to elbow with human military officers and nobles. Jacinthe and her companions sat just below us.
I was starving, and ate my fill unabashedly. Mother would’ve been appalled to see me accept a second helping, and then a third.
When the dessert course appeared, I hoped it meant the banquet would soon end. General Clovis had invited our little group to stay at his mansion in the city, and I was desperate for a bath and sleep.
Beneath the table, Menelaus found and squeezed my hand.
Then the music stopped.
A moment later, an imperial messenger dressed in palace livery strode into the dining hall and approached the head table.
A murmur of speculative comments rose.
“By order of Her Imperial Highness Domina-Regent Jacinthe and the imperial council, the supposed Princess-Royal Jonquil and her companion, one Apprentice Jacinthe of Bernswick, who dares calls herself ‘Princess Jacinthe,’ are summoned to present themselves at the imperial court at noon tomorrow. Their claims will be examined, and the truth of their identities determined.”
So, my reunion with Mother would come sooner than I thought.
I wonder if she’s changed at all? The weight of my fatigue crushed any apprehension. I just wanted to get it over with.
The messenger continued, “Be warned, those found to impersonate an imperial official or member of the imperial family face severe penalties under the law.”
“We shall attend Her Imperial Highness as summoned,” I said, hiding my true feelings just like Mother had taught me.