Seyun angled his right boot eighteen inches south to avoid the cluster of spinning bronze shrapnel on the inner basin floor. Then, the shift brought his flight path out from behind the narrow shadow of Ilyra’s left shoulder and exposed his right hip to the fluttering backup current of the stalled lower vane. In standard sect formation fighting—the kind taught in the Aperture Court’s recovery drills or the old Balance manuals—a vanguard who felt her partner step off the assigned line was trained to do one of two things. Either ignore his deviation and keep holding the original empty hall, or push her own cultivated pressure sideways against his shoulder to force him back onto the planned track.
Both of those textbook responses would have ruined the strike on the spot. Leaving the guard on the old line would have let the fluttering backup current slice Seyun’s braced right forearm before he reached the hub. Pushing him back toward the center would have driven his stitched left calf straight onto the white-hot bronze shards spinning on the dark rock.
Ilyra did neither, because four nights ago in the pitch-dark seal court—when Kes had blown out the oil lamp and Pera had dropped the water bowl on the steps—she and Seyun and Daro had spent two hours learning how Early Jade accompanies a living partner who changes direction.
