The clock reached zero, and the magtran began to pull ahead of them, racing down the line while their capsule swung off and coasted uphill into the station. It stopped at the boarding area with a slight hiss of pressurized air.
By the time they made their way through the crowds to the exit, Vellmar was more than ready for midmeal. The restaurant was easy to find, but things didn’t look promising when they arrived and found a line of people waiting outside.
“Shall we try somewhere else?” she asked.
Linzine grinned at her. “Let me show you something about being a Games medalist. Wait here.”
She walked past the people in line, gave her name to the manager, then pointed at Vellmar. The manager nodded and motioned them forward.
“This is the one time in the cycle when I can do this,” Linzine said as they followed the manager to the back of the restaurant. “And it’s even better now with you here.”
Midmeal was just as delicious as Salomen had told her to expect, and even Jerran was on his best behavior. Vellmar was startled to learn that he had taken and passed the pilot’s certification for flying rescue missions at sea.
“But you had to have studied for at least a cycle,” she said. “Why haven’t I heard about this?”
“He asked us not to say anything.” Linzine sprinkled grainstem powder on her bread. “Oh, Fahla, even the bread is sublime.”
“I didn’t want you to put a cloud of bad luck on me,” Jerran said.
“How would I—”
“Because somehow you always do. If you’re watching, I can’t do it.”
Her jaw was slack. “That is the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard. I left home how many cycles ago and you’re still blaming me for your life?”
“Jerran, we’ve talked about this,” Khasa said.
“I know, but it worked, didn’t it? She didn’t know, and I passed.”
She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and reached out for the bottle of spirits in the center of their table. After topping off everyone’s glasses, she raised hers and said, “To Jerran’s success as a pilot. Well done, brother.”
Jerran was not a high enough empath to conceal his stronger emotions from her. He was stunned by her gesture and did not know how to respond. But when their mothers echoed the toast, he picked up his glass and drank. “Thanks, VC.”
Vellmar chuckled. “There’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”
He grinned at her. “Maybe I’ll mention that to Gehrain if I see him again.”
“That would be a very bad idea.”
She was about to say more when both Jerran and Khasa froze in place, staring at something behind her.
“Hello, Fianna,” said a low voice. She would have recognized it anywhere.
“Lanaril.” She rose from her seat, the smile coming unbidden at the sight of Lanaril in her ceremonial garb. Her high-collared tunic was a dark blue verging on black, the better to set off the silver molwyn tree embroidered on her chest. Its branches reached up to her collarbones, and their pattern was repeated in gray embroidery on her black pants. She wore polished boots with a heel high enough to close much of the difference in their height, and Vellmar had to clench her hands to keep them from misbehaving. The urge to reach up and brush back that wavy hair, to cup her hand around the curve of her jaw, was nearly irresistible. But this was not her right any longer.
“It’s good to see you,” she said, holding up her hand for a palm touch instead. “You look…very official.”
Lanaril’s smile was as warm as ever. “That was the intent.” She rested their hands together.
Vellmar could not resist interlacing their fingers, and Lanaril did not stop her. They had both enjoyed the look of their different skin tones together, Vellmar’s light skin complementing Lanaril’s rich shannel.
“I had the honor of opening the Games this morning,” Lanaril continued. Her pleasure at their meeting came through her skin, warming Vellmar right to the tips of her toes. “I stayed until the midmeal break because there was a certain warrior competing in the short-blade event. Congratulations on your medal; your performance was very impressive. I’m only sorry I missed yesterday’s event, though I did see it replayed last night.” She pulled her hand away and looked around Vellmar’s shoulder. “Will you introduce me to your family?”
“Of course. This is my birthmother, Linzine Vellmar; my bondmother, Khasa Londin; and my brother, Jerran Londin. Everyone, please greet Lanaril Satran, Lead Templar of Blacksun.”
Her family members each stood at the mention of their name; now they all exchanged palm touches. Lanaril congratulated Linzine and made polite conversation, but Vellmar had never seen her family so uncharacteristically short on words. At last Lanaril bid them farewell and departed, leaving Vellmar to watch her all the way out.
When she sat back down, she met three expectant stares.
“She called you Fianna,” Linzine said.
“And you called her Lanaril,” Khasa added. “You’re on a first-name basis with the Lead Templar of Blacksun?”
Oh, shek. She had no way out of this one.
Jerran’s grin lit up his face. “You landed that? You always did set your goals high, but Great Mother!”
“I didn’t land her,” Vellmar began, but then stopped. She really had. It just sounded so…crass when Jerran said it.
Her mothers were exchanging looks.
“Fianna,” Khasa said sternly, “is this what you meant by learning to swim?”
“No! Ba, it’s not like that. Lanaril is…we were…augh.” She grabbed her glass and downed a gulp of spirits that were meant to be sipped. Setting it back on the table, she said, “I was with Lancer Tal on her bonding break, and Lanaril was there as part of her family, and…we just worked. Until we left.”
“As part of the Lancer’s family!” Linzine looked horrified. “What are you doing? Fianna, you risk everything by inserting yourself at that level. These people—”
“Stop right there, Bai.” Vellmar held up her hand. Surprisingly, both of her mothers sat back in their chairs. It was only then that she realized she had used her Lead Guard voice. Well, if that was an advantage, she would take it.
“Lanaril is not ‘these people.’ She is a warm, wonderful, giving person who would never willingly cause harm, because it’s not in her nature. And if anyone at this table speaks another judgmental word against her, despite having just met her and knowing nothing about her—” She glared around the table, making her irritation clear. “Then I will take insult on her behalf.”
Their eyes widened. That was a strong statement, but she would not back down from it.
Jerran looked at her thoughtfully. “She dropped you, didn’t she?”
She had not been this close to striking her brother since before her Rite of Ascension. “We weren’t looking for the same thing,” she said instead.
“Did someone finally pin you to the mat? And then she didn’t even want you?”
“Jerran,” their mothers scolded simultaneously.
“Show your upbringing,” Khasa said. “That was not worthy of it.”
“I’m just amazed that VC finally lost at something. I didn’t think it was possible.”
Vellmar pushed her chair back and stood. “Thank you for treating me to midmeal. I’d like to return the favor before you leave, but in the meantime, I need to get back to the State House.” Without another word, she turned and left.
CHAPTER 11:
Adult things
“Ugh, this part again,” Harren said. “Adult things.”
“You just don’t like it because you’re young,” Milena informed her one-cycle-younger brother. “When you get to be my age, you’ll understand.”
“But no one ever explains it. Why didn’t Vellmar and Lead Templar Satran just stay together after they met?”
Jandahar was not prepared to explain the difference between a vacation joining and a real relationship to his son. That, he had long ago concluded, would be his bondmate’s job.
“Sometimes people don’t know what they truly want,” he said. “Sometimes it takes them longer to understand themselves.”
Harren’s expression would have communicated his opinion even had his emotions not been crystal clear. “But they did know what they wanted. That’s why they joined during Lancer Tal’s bonding break.”
“How do you know they joined?” He was certain he had never mentioned that little tidbit.
“Of course they joined,” Milena said with all of an elder sister’s wisdom. “Everyone knows that. But they couldn’t be together then because Lead Templar Satran never thought she could be with a warrior. Vellmar had to prove her wrong.”
Did girls of nine cycles discuss this at school? He would have to speak with his bondmate. That special talk might be happening sooner than he had thought.
“Well, Vellmar had a chance to prove something the next day,” he said. “Though what she ended up proving was not what she had intended.”
CHAPTER 12:
The Games II
Linzine called later to apologize for Jerran, but Vellmar was having none of it. If Jerran couldn’t be warrior enough to apologize for himself, she had no interest in hearing anyone else do it for him.
Jerran vanished that evening to enjoy the Blacksun nightlife, so Vellmar was able to treat her mothers to an evenmeal earlier than she had hoped. She wondered if Jerran had been encouraged to absent himself, but if that were so, her mothers were not saying a word about it. The result was a meal with a great deal of reminiscing and laughter, which went a long way toward making up for the aborted midmeal. By the time they kissed each other’s cheeks and retired to their separate quarters, she felt loose and happy once more. She loved being around her mothers, even if they still had that inexplicable ability to make her feel like a child.
The third day of the Global Games was the most difficult, with the final two short-blade events scheduled on the same day. Linzine had warned her that this would be when the pressure really landed, and she felt it the moment she stepped into the competitor’s box.
Before she lined up for her first throw, she glanced around the field and was stopped by the enormous holograms at each end, which cycled between showing the competitors and selected spectators. In that moment, the holograms were sweeping across the dignitary section of the stands, showing the caste Primes. She waited to see if the one person she most wished for would be there.
The view moved past the Prime Crafter to show Salomen, then Lancer Tal, then Captain Serrado and Lhyn Rivers. Her breath caught in her throat as Lanaril came into sight, sitting next to Dr. Rivers. She was leaning forward, watching intently with a small smile, and Vellmar remembered another time when she had competed with Lanaril as an audience. Though the memory was bittersweet now, she chose to focus on how it had made her feel then. Turning toward the dignitary section, she raised her knife over her head and held the salute for three pipticks. Then she turned back, lined herself up, and nodded at the event referee.
The bell rang, signaling the start of a five-piptick timer. Twenty paces away, a circle the size of the red zone began moving around the target. There was no pattern to its movements, no way to accurately anticipate where it would be. It was an extremely difficult event to practice for, but also the most prestigious to win.
She let her blade fly, stopping the circle almost in the center, and smiled in triumph. This was going to be a good contest.
Linzine stopped her circle as well, and the battle was on.
The moving-target event differed from the static one in that precision was given a secondary score in the judging, with the primary points awarded on the basis of whether or not the circle was stopped. In most Games, the skill required to stop the circles multiple times without missing was demanding enough to separate the competitors; the precision points were needed only rarely to separate first, second, and third placements.
But most Games did not have both Vellmars competing.
They fought their way through the event, neither giving the other any room to win. Nearly all of the other competitors had missed by the sixth throw, though one lasted until the eighth. Vellmar and her mother made every one and matched their precision points as well.
A tie was declared for the red medal, throwing the crowd into a frenzy. The announcer’s voice boomed over the stands, informing all who could hear that a tie-breaker round had not been required in this event for thirty-eight cycles. Vellmar felt a burst of pride. Even if she lost the next round, she and her birthmother had made history.
Several of the other events scheduled that day had to be moved back, since no one had anticipated the need for extra time at the end of this one. The competitors were given a break period to rest and prepare themselves, and before she was quite ready, Vellmar found herself at the line again. She was nervous, given what the referee had told them during the break. For a tie-breaker round, the circles would increase their speed by twenty percent.
She set her foot in place, drew up her arm, and waited.
When the bell rang, she watched the circle for four pipticks, getting a feel for the increased speed. At the last possible piptick, she threw her blade and stopped the circle dead center.
The crowd roared.
The remainder of her throws were never as clean as that one, but neither were her mother’s. Their precision point difference went back and forth with each throw, but on the ninth, Linzine’s blade landed just outside the circle, earning her a dismal score for the throw. The noise from the crowd was deafening.
Vellmar stepped up for her tenth and final effort. All she had to do now was stop the circle; the precision didn’t even matter.
The bell rang. Not one full piptick later, she let her blade fly without allowing herself to overthink it. Either she would win, or they would have another tie-breaker round, but she could not hold on to the blade until she was sure of her throw. This event was as much instinct as it was skill.
When her blade landed in the top left quadrant of the circle, she leaped straight up, punching at the air in sheer jubilation. Upon landing, she dropped to her knees, thrust her fists skyward, and shouted her triumph to the whole world. The announcer was saying something she could not make out, her birthmother ran over and pounded her on the back, and she wanted to freeze this moment in time and keep it forever.
“Look, Fianna, look!” Linzine pointed to the stands.
Vellmar watched in amazement as a wave rippled through the spectators, every one of them standing up to applaud. “And they were cheering for me to lose yesterday,” she said with a laugh.
“Not today, daughter.” Linzine held up both palms. “Simply spectacular. Well done, so well done!”
They stood hand to hand, grinning wildly at each other, and in her peripheral vision Vellmar could see that they were the sole focus of the field holograms.
Linzine grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her in for a forehead touch. “I am so proud,” she said fiercely. “You worked hard and you earned it.” Then she smiled and added, “But you still have one event to go.”
Vellmar pushed her away playfully. “I have two reds, Bai. Three would just be one more.”
“Insolent child! The forty-pace moving target is my specialty, or have you forgotten?”
She had not forgotten. In fact, the last event was the one she had found most difficult to practice for, and she had little expectation of winning it. But she was flush with victory, and Lanaril had seen her win in a tie-breaker. Anything was possible.
The medal ceremony passed in a near blur. Vellmar’s spirits were so high that it seemed her brain was overloaded, leaving her with passing impressions of standing beneath the red banner and thanking the volunteer who pinned on her second re
d medal. But she would never forget the moment when the holograms panned over the dignitaries as the final music played. Though she had only a glimpse of Lanaril, one detail stood out: Lanaril was holding her fist over her heart. It was a warrior’s salute, a personal tribute to her skill, and it meant as much to Vellmar as the red medal shining on her chest.
Fortunately, Linzine was looking elsewhere and did not notice.
The final event would not be for another two hanticks, so they retired to the competitors’ tent to rehydrate and find a snack. Khasa was waiting for them just outside. With a cry of joy, she held up both palms, then pulled Vellmar in and kissed her cheek.
“What a pair you make!” she said, her smile threatening to overtake her ears. “And such a pleasure for me, to have two of my favorite women to cheer for rather than just one.”
“Where is Jerran?” Linzine asked.
“He went to meet someone. But he sends his congratulations, Fianna.”
Vellmar did not believe that for a moment. And if he was meeting Gehrain, she would make sure he regretted it for a long time.
They strolled around the grounds for the next hantick and seventy, enjoying each other’s company and the loud, colorful, vibrant community the Games created. There were snack stands of all varieties and vendors selling every conceivable trinket and craft. The spirits producers had their own aisle of tents, as did the weapons makers. Naturally, they gravitated toward the blademakers, where they spent more than half a hantick comparing blades and commenting on the features. Though Vellmar was saving every cintek for the Yulsintoh sword she wanted, she couldn’t resist picking up a beautifully engraved boot knife and its equally gorgeous sheath. When the vendor offered to gift wrap it for her, she shook her head and clipped the sheath to her boot, then slid the knife in, enjoying its perfect, smooth motion.
She straightened to find her birthmother holding up the knife’s twin.
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