Rough, percussive scraping steel rung through the Simic Room. This morning deserved more quiet; it was early spring when the apple blossoms in the concourse of J'or were most fragrant. Vera tasted sweetness in the air with heavy breaths and she brought her sword up to block her brother. Faxril followed her around the circular mats as a serpent might, his eyes dead of emotion and his own breaths passing in and out of his body as nothing more than a quiet hiss. He was a few hands taller than she was. Faxril was just exiting the lanky awkwardness of adolescence that she had yet to enter, the muscles of his arms were defined and seemed more intimidating when he was effortlessly steering his sword blade for her throat. He was barely sweating when he came at her; all the while Vera’s muscles burned beneath her skin.

Rahmil shouted form at her. The large beast of a man, clothed in the black and red uniform of an Oranian Teacher lingered by the arches that opened up to the concourse. He was watching only her motions. He did not need to watch Faxril. Faxril, he said, was more ready than any of them to lead men. He did not need to spar with someone so young. But that was why she was here. It was why Vera challenged Rahmil to let her spar with her brother. Father’s eyes were most pleasant when they fell on Faxril. People smiled at him in the halls. And Rahmil did not curse at him or hit him after a match.

( Vera wanted to show Rahmil that she could stand this... )