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SILENT SPECTATOR
Cassia must wear Segetiancolors. She could not give Lio her blood mark or even wave a banner bearing his name.
But her blood mark was in his veins. Her banner was her heart, and it was down there on the sand with him.
One moment, he and Lyros stood as still as only Hesperines could. The next instant, Lyros disappeared as surely as if he had conjured a veil around himself. Then Lio spun into a blur of motion. He and Lyros both flashed on Cassia’s vision for the blink of an eye, before they were invisible again.
Hesperines needed no magic in the gymnasium. Their every motion was a spell.
The ring appeared empty for one, two, three heartbeats. Lio and Lyros came into sight again right below Cassia’s seat and rolled onto the sand, locked in combat. The embassy started around her, and the Hesperine crowd let out a cheer. Lio and Lyros sprang to their feet again and into oblivion.
With bated breath, Cassia cast her glance back and forth around the ring, watching for every lightning strike of motion. Every time she caught a glimpse of the fight, her heart leapt. Each time they disappeared, it skipped a beat.
There is no art my people do not love…She recalled Lio’s words, which she saw before her now.
Fangs flashed white. Jewel-blue fabric whirled. Muscle rippled down a long, pale leg. Lio was a disjointed dream playing out on the sand below.
…That includes the art of the body.
The Hesperines’ gazes tracked across the sand with certainty. They must see all that mortal eyes were too slow to perceive. They must be able to hear the thunder before the lightning struck. Cassia followed their gazes, letting them guide her to where the battle now raged.
A few more glimpses rewarded her. But not enough to help her judge how well Lio was holding out against his Trial brother. The crowd was a powerful current around her, calling her into Blood Union. But if she closed her eyes, she would hear only noise.
Close your eyes, the voices seemed to chant.
But she dare not blink, lest she miss a glimpse of the battle.
Join us,the current summoned.
In the ocean of feeling and the crash of voices came a flash of awareness—of Lio. She felt his mind. It was his presence that called to her. Her lips parted, she caught a breath, and she shut her eyes, giving herself up to the lure.
“Don’t close your eyes!” Perita’s voice receded. “You’ll miss something!”
“Too tense for you, eh, my lady?” Callen sounded far away.
All sound went silent, then the roar of the crowd burst on her hearing like a deafening crack of thunder.
“Watch the fight from down here,” her mind mage whispered.
Sound and sight were so loud and bright as to mean nothing. Sensation took their place, silent and vivid. Sand caressed the bottoms of his feet. Air was a precise instrument that measured the changes in his opponent. Heat and cold were his allies, sounding the alarm of another body near or not where it had been an instant before.
Cotton was his weightless armor, his second skin. There was no blood to be smelled, only the blood inside him, his strength. There was no pain, only the instant responses of his supple, powerful body. There was no rage, no fire of battle. Only the satisfaction of a move well executed and the thrill of moving into the next.
As swiftly as she had flown down to him, she felt herself tossed back up and into her own vapid mortal frame. Her limbs felt weak. The enormous gymnasium felt smaller, the crowd quieter, the figures on the sand below too far out of reach.
All her mortal eyes showed her was a single set of heavy footprints across the sand. She fell forward, bracing herself on the railing, and followed the erratic path with her gaze from one end of the gymnasium to the other.
Lio came into view—because he was moving slower. He raised his arms to fend off a blow from his unseen opponent. Then he doubled over.
REAL WARRIORS
The connection with Cassiaslipped from Lio’s grasp. Their deep Union snapped. He gritted his teeth in frustration, but defending himself now demanded all his concentration.
He turned his blunder into a crouch and hooked his arm around Lyros’s lower leg. The Weight of the World robbed Lyros of his balance as surely as he had intended to do to Lio in the first instant of the match.
Lyros went down on his back, but his heel shot up and dealt a Fang Breaker to Lio’s chin. That move could leave Hesperine opponents regrowing their teeth and humans dead. The expertly controlled blow only tapped Lio’s teeth together and tossed his head back, foiling him without causing him injury.
This was a real fight. Real skill was achieving victory without needless pain. Real strength was self-control. These were the tenets of the Hesperine battle arts, which Lyros taught in action, the warrior’s language, as eloquent as words.
