63. Perlustro
perlustrō ~āre ~āuī ~ātum, tr.
1. to purify
Today, there’s a screaming horde of people outside my chamber.
They vie with flailing arms and shouts and autograph books, triple the guards holding them back. My steps are careful toward a smiling Dravik.
“Leyda’s a skilled rider,” he says, “if a little overenthusiastic. She tends to favor her left side, considering she’s left-handed. Hasn’t learned to use the other one quite as well yet.”
“Riding is dangerous,” I argue.
“’Tis,” he agrees, smile unfading.
“Why does the king let her do it?”
“I suppose the same reason he let me all those years ago—guilt.”
I study his face. “Why didn’t you tell me? About what the nerve fluid really is?”
He quirks a brow. “Dangerous, you mean?”
“Alive.”
The prince laughs softly and repeats, “There are things in this universe that do not die, Synali; they only change their names.”
“Ladies and gentlefolk, a blessed morning to you all! It’s my pleasure to welcome you to yet another rousing day in the 22nd decennial Supernova Cup! I’m your host Gress, here with Bero, and we’re just thrilled to bring you the late-stage matchups today! This week’s fights will determine the quarterfinal seed, and we can’t wait to see who’ll fall honorably, who’ll rise honorably, and who’ll take their honor by the throat!”
“Well said, Gress—the excitement in the stadium is palpable! We’re packed to capacity, and fifteen million of you are watching on the vis Station-wide! I’d advise everyone to buckle in and buckle up, because we’re opening today with a very special match. That’s right, folks—His Majesty’s royal blood is coming onto the field!”
“A real treat, Bero!”
“That it is, Gress! We haven’t seen a royal rider get this far in a Supernova Cup since Prince Pelmor nearly a hundred years ago!”
I’m the first one in the arena.
Heavenbreaker and I hover, completely still. The cross hangs above us, shedding constant light into the hungry void of space.
God forgave them. I cannot.
The stars look no different today, the Station gray against Esther’s slow green rotation. Everything is the same, so why does the saddle feel different? Why does the nerve fluid tingle soft and insistent at my skin—an ache behind my eyes, as if I’m forgetting something?
Heavenbreaker hovers, asking, “afraid?”
no.
She considers my answer, and then: “sad?”
I stare into the distant sun. What good is sadness? What good is admitting to it?
“sad?” Heavenbreaker repeats, quieter this time. The possibilities have rotated in my mind all night—this voice I’m hearing, this steed that’s been with me through everything thus far… It’s either a true AI or… The hard-light net of the arena opens, then closes, letting in the lavender plasma trails of our opponent. I don’t need to speak in the steed. Here, Heavenbreaker understands me wordlessly. No matter what she is, she’s helped me like no one else in this world.
I think our jets on. Our blue plasma screams over the black of space, my answer screaming the soundless truth: without you, always sad.
“On the blue side, please welcome the Lady of the Crown and our hearts, the inheritor-presumpt of House Ressinimus and the Nova-King’s court—Crown Princess Leyda Esther de Ressinimus, riding for House Galbrinth on her steed, Maidenprayer!”
“House Galbrinth is the cloistered queen’s House, is it not?”
“Indeed it is, Bero—may Her Majesty find her health in the Lord’s grace. And may her daughter have His favor on the field today!”
The crowd’s roar rises to a fever pitch, and the princess meets me in the middle with a spritely maneuver. Maidenprayer is far prettier than a machine has any right to be, lithe and long in the torso with an S-curve to its spine. The arms are elegantly tilted in as if praying. Its hands are small but ready, two swathes of pleated metal arcing up from her elbows like wings. The entire thing is brushed pale lavender with silver accents, a silver swan outstretched on her breastplate, and its helmet looks much like a silver crown.
The holoscreen pops up, Leyda’s halo brightening the smile beneath her visor. “I’m kinda excited, Synali! I don’t get to ride against people like you very often.”
“People like me,” I repeat.
Her laugh trills. “Riders who know about the voice in the saddle! It’s usually just boring lance stuff, but this one might actually be fun!”
She’s not Dravik, but her voice rings the same: perfectly polite, perfectly kind, and yet ominous. She’s so young. is this how you felt fighting me, sevrith?
“I won’t hold back,” I say.
“Me neither!” she agrees happily.
“—and on the red side, we have a true dark horse who’s clawed her way up the ranks! With a grievous grit, a ferocious focus, and a white-hot bent to the chaotic in her moves, please welcome Synali von Hauteclare, riding for House Lithroi in her steed, Heavenbreaker!”
The crowd’s roar thunders, all-consuming.
“Riders, please proceed to your tilts!”
My jets cool as my back rivets to the sidereal hexagon and the grav-gen between us flares to life in brilliant blue—motions and colors like a recipe I know well now. I am no longer the girl I was when I first stepped onto the tilt five months ago.
“Let us begin the countdown to the first round—in the name of God, King, and Station!”
The crowd cries out invisibly for their cruel masters. “In the name of God, King, and Station!”
A silver lance in my hand. A silver lance in hers. I turn the comms on.
“Three!”
“Everything you said about the nerve fluid last night…about seeing your mother…” My voice starts soft. “Is it true?”
“Two!”
Jealousy that she gets to see her mother. Hope that I one day might.
“One!”
The princess’s smile is small. “Come see for yourself.”
Zero.