Chapter 41 #2
“We’re going to have to sprout wings and fly to complete this course.” He paused. “Do you think they teach fourth-years like Cresta and Bernardo shape-changing spells?”
I countered. “I’m wondering about those wind corridors—if we can use them instead of fighting them—”
“Later,” Elio said sharply, jerking his head.
I looked up and saw Cresta and Bernardo making their way down the shallow steps to our bench. Cresta’s black braids had been arranged in a simpler style today, dozens of diamond hair clips catching the light in dazzling pinpoints.
Bernardo followed half a step behind her, looking unbearably smug as usual.
Cresta studied me with open contempt, her blue-green eyes moving over my face, my gown, my practical island-made boots.
“Miss Fishwife.” Her voice carried just far enough to reach me and no further. “I hope you’ve prepared a concession speech. It would be a shame to waste such a historic occasion on mere silence.”
“Save your breath for the match, Lady Cresta,” I replied. “You’ll need it.”
She smiled, and her eyes gleamed with pure malice. “Your sister is looking well. For someone who took such a dramatic fall just a few days ago.”
I didn’t move. I held her gaze and let my surge of anger pass through me. Don’t let her rattle you, I told myself.
“Thank you for your concern,” I said, as coldly as I could. “Speaking of Juno, she sends her regards. She told me she and my other sister Mira are both looking forward to watching you lose today.”
Cresta’s smile deepened into dimples. “We’ll see.”
Behind her, Bernardo’s eyes were locked on Elio with the focused intensity of a man memorizing a target.
Elio, to his credit, grinned and offered a cheerful little wave.
Then the commotion started.
It began at the dignitaries’ box—a ripple of movement, heads turning, the packed ranks of imperial officials pushing back their chairs and scrambling to their feet to face the back of the box.
I saw Chatelaine Lirelle’s head come up sharply and Assistant Chatelaine Julissa half-rise from her seat, then spin to face the back of the box, her posture suddenly rigid.
The news reached us in fragments, passed from bench to bench by students leaning across the gaps, their voices hushed with excitement.
“The Domina-Regent, here?”
“—surprise appearance—”
“—usually just sends a representative—”
“—never attends academy functions—”
“—not since His Imperial Majesty withdrew from public appearances—”
I felt the blood drain from my face. Domina-Regent Jacinthe is really here?
Her name meant something different in the Western Isles than it did in the capital.
To us, she wasn’t the controversial domina-consort who’d cold-bloodedly seized power after His Imperial Majesty, Dominus Victor Augustus the Eighth, fell ill and withdrew from public life.
No, she was the beloved domina who’d sent imperial grain ships to the islands during the Great Famine thirty years ago, when the islanders would have starved without her intervention.
She was the domina who’d famously used her post-wedding Morning Gift money to rebuild Herrewick harbor after an iceberg hit the eastern jetty, collapsing the wall and wrecking half of Abbonay’s fishing fleet.
My older sister had been named after Domina-Consort—later Domina-Regent—Jacinthe, back when she’d been the most popular and admired woman in the Dominion.
And now Her Imperial Majesty was here. To watch me compete.
The unnatural calm that had carried me through the morning so far evaporated like morning mist. My heart hammered against my ribs, and it was suddenly hard to breathe.
Chatelaine Lirelle glided to the front of the dignitaries’ box. There was no dais on the arena floor today—the obstacle course occupied every inch of space—so she stood facing the arena with her hands resting on the carved marble railing of the box.
“Students, faculty, honored guests.” The silence was absolute as everyone waited in anticipation. “The Academy is deeply honored to welcome a most distinguished visitor today. Please rise for Her Imperial Majesty Domina-Regent Jacinthe and welcome her to the final day of the Aurelian Trials.”
Elio and I sprang to our feet together. Cresta and Bernardo rose with considerably more grace, their movements synchronized, their postures perfect.
All around us, three thousand people stood as one.
And then Domina-Regent Jacinthe swept into the dignitaries’ box from the hidden entrance at its back and appeared at Chatelaine Lirelle’s side.
She wore a velvet gown in her signature rose-red.
Its bodice and sleeves were thickly sewn with pearls, and the jewels in the imperial diadem set in her silver hair flashed blinding fire.
Smiling, she raised her white-gloved hand and waved to the crowd, and the amphitheater exploded into a deafening cacophony of cheers, whistles, and clapping hands.
The Domina-Regent stood with one hand resting lightly on the railing and graciously accepted the tribute offered by the adoring audience.
She looked older than the official imperial portraits that hung in every temple and office, the lines around her eyes deeper, the set of her mouth firmer. But her presence was compelling.
When her large, expressive hazel eyes moved across the crowd and met my gaze for an instant, I felt seen.
The applause went on and on until she finally raised her other hand.
Silence fell, immediate and total.
“Please, everyone, sit,” she urged. Her voice was warm and measured, carrying to every seat in the amphitheater without apparent effort.
We all obeyed.
Then she turned to the chatelaine, standing utterly overshadowed at her side.
“Thank you, Chatelaine Lirelle de Plons, for your gracious hospitality today.
And thank you, staff and students of the Imperial Academy, and all the guests here today, for the warmth of your welcome.
It has been too long since We walked these grounds.
“To all the students here, especially those with the courage to compete in these Trials, We acknowledge your bravery,” the Domina-Regent continued, “which is equal to what a battlefield might demand of you.” She let her gaze move slowly around the rows of seated spectators.
“There is great fortitude in stepping forward to be tested. Of being measured in the sight of your leaders, your instructors, and your peers, when every instinct tells you that failure here, in front of everyone who matters, might be the death of pride or something else you cannot afford to lose.” A brief pause.
“Every student who has competed in these Trials knows that feeling. We hope they also know that simply having stood in this arena—having volunteered to be tested—is itself a level of excellence that mere scores can never fully capture.”
My gaze searched the rows of seated aristocratic students and found Lukhan. He looked paler than usual today, and his expression was stony. Seated next to him, Damien looked equally stony, if less bleached out.
And then the Domina-Regent’s gaze landed on Cresta and Bernardo, and warmth infused her tone.
“Today, We have the pleasure of watching the children of two of the Dominion’s most dedicated servants compete.
Lady Cresta of Pomerado, whose father the Count of Pomerado serves as Our Imperial Treasurer with unwavering loyalty. ”
Cresta blushed dark red and bowed her head.
The Domina-Regent continued, “And Lord Bernardo de Espola, whose father the High Admiral commands Our Imperial Navy with the same courage and resolve that We hope to see in his son today.”
Bernardo bowed from his seated position, bending nearly double at the waist.
Then the Domina-Regent’s gaze swept over Elio and me, but did not linger.
Making it sound almost like an afterthought, she added, “We admire all the talented young mages who competed in this year’s Aurelian Trials, including the unexpected finalist team of our commoner students.
They have truly distinguished themselves in this year’s Trials, thus fulfilling the hopes of Our late father-in-law, Dominus Victor Augustus the Seventh when he decreed that all of our Dominion’s most promising mages be admitted to this august institution regardless of social status. May his memory be forever honored!”
The thunderous applause that followed her speech rolled through the amphitheater like summer thunder.
Cresta was beaming with joy. She rose to her feet and curtsied deeply in the Domina-Regent’s direction as Bernardo stood and bowed again, his smile nearly as wide as Cresta’s.
Elio and I rose and copied our opponents. Aware that everyone was looking at us, I forced myself to smile.
But instead of the joy I’d expected at seeing the Domina-Regent in person, my heart had sunk to the soles of my boots. My spirits curdled at watching my lifelong hero reveal herself as just another aristocratic snob.
Elio’s hand found mine. As always, his grip was firm and comforting.
“Well,” he commented dryly, his words camouflaged by the roar of applause rising all around us. “Consider us duly reminded of where we stand in the world.”
I nodded. My heart was breaking, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak.
Then I turned to him and said, “You know what this means, right?”
He nodded. “We have to win today. I want to see all of their expressions when they award us the grand prize.” Then he raised my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles with a warm, lingering brush of his lips. “Ready to conquer?”