39. Spira

spīra ~ae, f.

1. a twist, coil

RAX: Are you alive, Hauteclare?

RAX: Hauteclare? Hello?

RAX: You took one helluva beating out there. Probably broke some ribs at least

RAX: Fucking Olric—he’s always been a shitty little prick. Sorry, Hauteclare. Riders aren’t supposed to be as bad as him.

RAX: Okay, so, the vis said you survived. Which is good. Not a lot of riding you can do when you’re dead.

RAX: Do me a favor and be more careful out there, yeah?

Rax Istra-Velrayd spins his wineglass in his fingers idly, the low light of the redwood office catching in the pale liquor and sparkling over Olric von Westriani’s horrified face. Rax is sure Earika de Trentoch’s father won’t mind if they use his office for this little rendezvous, especially as a much more destructive twenty-first birthday party for his daughter rages outside the door in muffled lute music and shrieking. Rax looks up from the wineglass all at once and shoots a friendly smile at Olric.

“Do you get it yet, Westriani?”

Olric manages words through clenched teeth. “You can’t. You wouldn’t—”

“Why not?” Rax laughs. “You know who I am. You know what I can do. It sounds kinda fun. No one’s tried the Vitruvius maneuver in a while.”

“Because it disembowels—”

“‘Disembowels’ is a little dramatic.” Rax laughs. “It’s a fifty-fifty survival rate on the receiving end. The older maneuvers were so weird, weren’t they? I really should try it against someone, just to keep it alive in the databases. Not in the Supernova Cup, obviously, but in another tournament.”

Olric swallows. Rax takes a sip of wine and smacks his lips, satisfied. In the bare holocandlelight, his redwood eyes glow bloody.

“And you know…I think I’d save it until I faced you. You seem like a hardy guy. You’d survive it, I bet.”

“Wh-What do you want, Velrayd?”

It’s satisfying, to hear a shake in Olric’s voice after all the hours Rax has spent in the last few days staring at the last image he’d seen of Synali—lifeless ice eyes, covered in her own blood, speared through the shoulder by this shithead’s comparatively gargantuan lance. Rax stands and walks over to the bigger boy, handing him the wineglass. Olric takes it, the shake in his massive fingers obvious as Rax puts a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“You’re gonna retire from riding, Westriani, or I’ll retire you myself.”