Chapter 44
Talisa
A short time later, after the mess of stone ruins had been cleared and the arena restored to an oval of pristine white sand, I stood beside Elio on a temporary dais erected at the arena’s center.
Every muscle in my body ached. A bruise throbbed on my elbow where I’d caught myself against a step. Stone dust gritted between my teeth, and my academic gown looked more gray than black.
But I couldn’t stop smiling. My face hurt from it.
Above us, Domina-Regent Jacinthe had vanished from the dignitaries’ box.
Now, trailed by Chatelaine Lirelle, Her Imperial Majesty entered the arena with the unhurried grace of someone who had spent decades in the public eye.
She had changed into the full formal academic regalia of the chancellor of the Imperial Academy—a heavy sapphire-blue velvet robe embroidered with golden imperial eagles, and a wide collar of jeweled golden plaques decorated with the academy’s crest draped around her shoulders.
The imperial diadem still gleamed in her silver hair.
The multi-colored jewels caught the sunlight as she climbed the short flight of stairs to the dais.
She and Chatelaine Lirelle halted in front of Elio and me.
Her Imperial Majesty’s voice carried effortlessly across the amphitheater when she spoke, warm and measured, the voice of a woman who had spent her life making speeches that people remembered.
“Students, faculty, honored guests.” She paused, and the silence that followed had weight. “Today, we witnessed something remarkable. Two first-year students, Mr. Elio Ferraro from the Province of Espola and Miss Talisa of Bernswick, from the Western Isles Province—”
This time, she had deigned to name us. Not that she could really avoid it.
“—have triumphed in the Aurelian Trials against competitors of superior rank, superior training, and, it must be said, superior expectations.”
A ripple of laughter moved through the commoner sections. The aristocratic benches remained quiet. Chatelaine Lirelle, standing at the Domina-Regent’s shoulder, wore an expression of perfect neutrality on her beautiful oval face.
“Their victory is a testament to the quality of education this academy offers,” the Domina-Regent continued. “And to the promise that His Imperial Majesty’s father of exalted memory made to nurture talent regardless of its origins. We congratulate our new champions.”
Her smile was flawless. Perfect teeth, perfect warmth, perfect composure.
But something in the set of her shoulders, in the careful way she did not glance toward Cresta’s frozen-faced parents or Bernardo’s equally rigid parents, told me this was not the speech she had prepared or the outcome Her Imperial Majesty had expected or wanted.
Two attendants approached, carrying blue velvet purses on engraved silver trays. The purses were each embroidered with the Imperial Academy’s crest in gold thread that caught the light like liquid fire.
The Domina-Regent took the first purse from its tray and held it out to me. As she lifted it, I heard the coins inside, heavy gold aurei clinking against each other with the sweetest sound I’d ever heard.
“Miss Bernswick. The Aurelian Champion’s Grant.”
Her gloved fingers brushed mine as she lowered the purse into my cupped hands. The velvet felt as soft as a kitten’s fur against my palm. The weight of it was heavier than I’d expected. Impossibly, wonderfully heavy.
One hundred and twenty-five gold aurei.
Enough to pay Assistant Chatelaine Julissa’s fine with money left over.
Enough to ensure my name on the academy’s second-year roster.
Enough to buy new books and clothes to replace those ruined by malicious pranks, and even bring thirteen or fourteen aurei home to Papa and Jacinthe this summer to ease the ache of Mama’s absence with the comfort of money.
“Thank you—” I began.
Then, to my shock and horror, my voice cracked. And with it, my defenses.
I broke down in a flood of tears.
I’d never been able to weep prettily like princesses in stories. This was ugly, undignified crying, the kind with sobs that shook my whole body and made my nose run with a waterfall of snot.
Worst of all, I couldn’t stop it. The floodgates of months of grief, misery, and stress had opened, and I could not jam them closed again.
“I—I’m—so sorry!” I hiccupped, wiping frantically at my eyes in a futile attempt to stop my tears and undignified sobs. “Your Majesty!”
The Domina-Regent’s expression softened.
For one startling moment, she looked less like an imperial ruler and more like a village grandmother.
The fine lines around her eyes deepened, and her mouth relaxed into a genuine and compassionate smile.
She reached out and gently patted my shoulder with her gloved hand.
The jewels stitched onto the thin, supple leather glittered through the blur of my tears.
“There, there, child,” she murmured, so that only I could hear. “I do hope those are tears of joy. You’ve earned every last one of these coins. Spend them wisely.”
And in that moment, with her hand on my shoulder and her hazel eyes holding mine, I was weirdly convinced that Mama was standing before me. There was something about the Domina-Regent’s eyes, which I suddenly noticed were the identical shade of hazel as Mama’s eyes… and mine.
And Her Imperial Majesty carried herself with the same straight-backed dignity that had carried Mama through sickrooms and poverty and the raising of four daughters without ever once bending under the weight.
Then, to my shock, she pulled a delicate, lace-edged handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it to me.
“Keep it as a memento of this joyous occasion,” she said, then turned to Elio.
As my pent-up emotions continued to drain out of me in a flood of stinging salt tears and an embarrassing river of snot, I buried my face in her handkerchief. The delicate scent of rose perfume surrounded me, and I was uncomfortably aware I was making a spectacle of myself.
But instead of shame, I felt a vast relief expanding inside my ribcage. It was as if a leaden weight had vanished, leaving me feeling light enough to float off the dais and up into the pale blue winter sky.
The fines. The ruined lab. The constant, grinding awareness of scarcity that had gnawed at my insides ever since the day the registrar had informed Mama that the promised scholarship had not arrived.
All of it was resolved now. For the first time in months, I drew a breath that didn’t feel like it was catching on something sharp.
Elio accepted his purse with a bow so graceful it would have made a courtier blush. His smile was unadulterated Ferraro charm—wide, genuine, and utterly disarming.
Domina-Regent Jacinthe smiled back at him, and for a heartbeat, I saw her public mask of graciousness slip once again into something real.
More honors followed.
The Stoles of Aurelian Merit were lengths of heavy blue silk edged with finely worked gold embroidery, with heavy gold tassels at each end.
Chatelaine Lirelle draped mine around my shoulders, and the weight of it settled against my collarbones as she announced we were expected to wear the stoles on formal occasions.
Elio’s stole looked absurdly formal against his torn, dusty academic gown, and I was sure mine looked no better. The juxtaposition made me giggle through my continuing tears and I was finally able to rein in my runaway emotions.
The Champion Badges were awarded next. They were the size of my palm, hung on a thick gold chain, and set with a circle of diamonds. Like the stoles, we were expected to wear them on formal occasions.
The Domina-Regent slipped the chain over my head and draped the badge over my gown with her own hands. The weight of it pulled at my neck.
Last came the Aurelian Trials trophy, hefted between a pair of young male attendants wearing formal court garb.
It was crystal and gold, nearly as tall as I was, and shaped like an abstract flame. A gilded plaque at its base was already engraved with our names above the list of previous winners.
This trophy would sit in the dining hall above the head table, where everyone would see it every day, at every meal.
Then the Domina-Regent turned away from us and addressed the spectators. “Now, let us congratulate the new champions of the Aurelian Trials!”
From the commoner sections in the upper tiers, where my sisters sat with Dante and Mavia and Alara and Varrix and all the others, came a roar.
They surged to their feet, arms raised, voices crashing together in a sustained thunder of approval that made the very stones of the amphitheater vibrate.
Banners waved. Feet stamped. Their acclaim washed over the dais in a warm, living tide.
From the aristocratic sections in the lower tiers, where Cresta and Bernardo sat with their heads bowed, and where Lukhan’s pale, stony face watched us with unsetting intensity, came a patter of lukewarm applause.
I recognized the sound of people clapping because the Domina-Regent had asked it, not because their hearts were in it. Some defied protocol and sat with their hands in their laps and their mouths set in disapproving lines.
Elio beamed through it all. His amber eyes swept the aristocratic sections with open delight, his grin growing wider at each frozen smile, each rigidly controlled expression of dismay. He threw his arm around my shoulder and drew me close.
“Look at them,” he murmured, his breath brushing my ear and raising a delightful shiver deep in my belly. “They’re dying inside. Every single one of them is feeling their soul shrivel a little right now, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
I fought the urge to giggle and cast an alarmed glance at the Domina-Regent. Had she heard him?
But she was already descending from the dais, Chatelaine Lirelle and a bevy of imperial attendants in tow.
The awards ceremony was over.