Veyla had begun the course exactly as Nyra expected her to, approaching each platform with the same measured attention she might have given unfamiliar terrain. She watched the movement beneath her feet, adjusted her balance before committing her weight, and kept the tray centered between her hands as she moved from one obstacle to the next. For the first few platforms, it worked remarkably well.
Then Nyra called across to her.
Veyla looked over just in time to catch the comment about her armor, and the laugh that escaped her proved to be exactly the distraction Nyra had apparently been hoping for. The platform beneath her shifted unexpectedly, forcing Veyla to plant one foot farther to the side than intended. Her tray tipped with her, sending the glasses sliding dangerously toward one edge before she managed to wrench herself back into balance.
A splash of brightly colored fruit juice escaped one of them and struck the front of her beskar'gam, leaving a vivid streak across the otherwise dark armor.
Veyla stared down at it for half a second. Of all the things her armor had endured, being assaulted by Hapan fruit juice had not been one she anticipated. Slowly, she lifted her gaze toward Nyra with an expression of exaggerated accusation.
"You did that on purpose."
There wasn't even an attempt to sound offended. She was already laughing as she moved forward again, abandoning some of the careful precision with which she had started. Nyra was right about one thing. This wasn't a battlefield; there wasn't anything riding on whether Veyla reached the other side with every glass intact, and nobody was going to remember who had crossed the finish line first by tomorrow morning. The realization was surprisingly liberating.
"And for the record," she called back as she stepped onto the next wobbling platform,
"the armor isn't helping nearly as much as you seem to think it is."
The next section shifted beneath her more sharply than she anticipated, and this time Veyla didn't bother suppressing the startled laugh that escaped her. She bent one knee, threw the other leg outward to counterbalance herself, and somehow managed to save the tray while sacrificing another mouthful of juice to the course. A cheer went up from somewhere in the crowd, and Veyla straightened with a grin before giving the spectators a quick nod of acknowledgment.
She could have slowed down. Everything she knew about balance told her that would be the sensible thing to do, but watching Nyra bound ahead with considerably more enthusiasm than caution made sensible seem terribly uninteresting.
So Veyla picked up the pace.
She hopped across the next gap, landed harder than she intended, and laughed when the glasses bounced against the tray. One hand instinctively shifted beneath it while she followed the rocking platform instead of fighting against it, finding the rhythm a moment later and pushing herself toward the next. Whatever discipline had characterized the beginning of her run was steadily giving way to something far simpler.
She was having fun.
"Is this you going easy on me?" she called toward Nyra, laughing as she negotiated another swaying section.
"Because I'm beginning to question Hapan definitions of hospitality!"
Another splash narrowly missed her as she stepped forward, and Veyla laughed again, no longer caring very much whether she reached the end dry, victorious, or with a single drink left on her tray. For once there was no enemy waiting at the other end, no lesson to master and no responsibility demanding her attention. There was only the cheering crowd, the ridiculous obstacle beneath her feet, and a new acquaintance who had somehow convinced her that spending part of a coronation trying not to spill fruit juice was an entirely worthwhile use of her time.
Nyra Kairo
Itzhal Volkihar
