Burning Bright

“I’ll look forward to it.” Cella touched his arm lightly, and slipped away into the crowd. Ransome watched her make her way between the groups of much taller men and women, a tiny, opulent shape in rich violet silk, her blue-black hair piled in braids interwoven with strands of the same clear color. She paused to speak briefly with one of the other Gamers, and then vanished among the crowd. Ransome stared a moment longer, wondering what she and Damian Chrestil were up to this time, then resolutely looked away.

“I-Jay!” Beledin was waving to him from across the room. “I should’ve known you’d come.”

Ransome made his way to join the other, allowed himself one genuinely mischievous smile before he smoothed his expression. “Hello, Bel. It was a good session.”

Beledin nodded. “It was.”

“That’s what I always liked about you, Bel,” Ransome murmured. “No false modesty.”

Beledin ignored him, gestured to the two men standing with him. “You know Peter, but I don’t know if you’ve met Vere?”

Ransome started to shake his head, looking at the steward’s jacket, then frowned, a vague memory teasing him.

“Audovero Caminesi, ditVere,” the young man said with prompt courtesy.

“Illario Ransome.” Ransome held out his hand, still frowning. “Have we met?”

“I played a tenth-run session of yours a few years ago, back when you—when Ambidexter was still working out of Two-Dragons,” Vere answered, and took the other’s hand.

Ransome nodded, unable to sort him out from the hundreds of other players, and took refuge in present truths. “It was a good session, quality play, tonight. I liked what you did with Jack Blue—did you set the weight, or was it a given?”

“Player’s choice,” Vere answered. He shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “I figured he’d need all the help he could get, playing with Grand Types, and the heavier he was the more powerful he was.”

“Makes sense,” Ransome said. In spite of himself, in spite of everything he’d ever said about the Game, it was too easy to get caught up in the old interests. He shrugged one shoulder, annoyed at himself for no reason, and looked away.

The servers had already been around with the drinks tray. Savian drained the last of his glass, and lifted a hand to wave to someone in the crowd. “Na Lioe! There’s someone here you should meet.”

“Peter.” Beledin frowned quickly at him, at the emptied glass, and looked at Ransome. “I-Jay. She’s good—”

“Trust me,” Ransome said, and turned to face the woman as she emerged from the crowd.

Lioe looked warily from Savian to the stranger, aware of undercurrents but uncertain of their meanings. The stranger smiled back at her—a gaunt, white-faced man with deep lines that bracketed his mouth, turning his expression crooked—and said, “I’m pleased to meet you, Na Lioe.”

Lioe nodded, waiting for the name, and the stranger’s smile broadened.

“I’m Illario Ransome.”

“Na Ransome.” Lioe held out her hand, and the stranger took it, his grip neither testing nor condescendingly weak, still with that crooked smile.

“He’s Ambidexter,” Vere said, and for an instant sounded all of twelve years old. Ransome gave him a fleeting, amused glance, and the younger man flushed to the roots of his hair.

“You left some good characters,” Lioe said, mildly annoyed by his treatment of her player. “It’s a shame you quit the Game.”

There was a sudden silence, spreading from her words, and she was aware of Savian’s open grin, daring her to say more. Beledin kicked his friend just above the ankle, not gently, but the Republican ignored him. Ransome stared back at her for a long moment, and then, slowly, the crooked smile widened, became real and unexpectedly appealing. The whole shape of his face changed, gaining sudden lines and hollows; his coarse grey-streaked hair fell untidily into his eyes. He pushed it back impatiently, as though he were no longer conscious of the movement, said, “I mightn’t‘ve done, if there’d been sessions like this to play in. I enjoyed watching.”

“Thanks,” Lioe said. I will not apologize for playing your characters.

“I’ll be looking forward to seeing more of your work,” Ransome said.

“That’s high praise, from Ambidexter,” Savian murmured.

Ransome cocked an eyebrow at him, but did not answer. Lioe said, with deliberate nonchalance, aiming for exactly the tone she would have used with anyone, “Thanks. You should come and play sometime.”

The expressive eyebrows rose even higher. Lioe met the stare blandly, and, quite suddenly, Ransome laughed. “I might, at that. It was a pleasure to meet you, Na Lioe.”

“And you,” Lioe said, and couldn’t keep a hint of irony out of her voice. She was already speaking to his back, however; she was sure he heard, but he made no response. “I think,” she added, mostly under her breath, and was rewarded by a rather nervous giggle from Vere.

“Would you like some methode?” Beledin said hastily, and Lioe nodded.