Khetzi, it turns out, has cleaning magics.

I guess it only makes sense, given silver-and-white robes; it’s the sort of aesthetic that rewards either keeping your distance or easy, cheap intervention. And there’s no keeping your distance in the Tournament’s crowds, not unless you stick to the side corridors that aren’t open to the public, and we haven’t been.

Khetzi is also able, in about fifteen seconds, to disappear and come back with a drink that cuts through all of the bile and acid. It’s got some kind of citrus, or something vaguely like citrus, and it invades my sinuses and lungs even as it plumbs the depths of my stomach. It’s warm and it’s cold at the same time, or rather it’s hot and it’s cooling at the same time, and by the time I’m done drinking the maybe-deciliter of fluid, there’s no trace left inside of me or out of the mess I’d made.

I don’t know whether to be glad or aggrieved that Amber and Zidanya laugh it off, ribbing me gently about my sensitivity. I can tell that there’s a concern underlying Amber’s jokes, in the cast of her face and the tone of her voice and the way she finds a flimsy excuse to keep me wrapped up in her arms for a lot longer than a casual hug, and that helps me choose glad. It’s still a problem, though; or rather, it could have been a problem, but I head it off immediately.

“Enjoy the show, you two. I bet there’s an analysis desk with slow-motion recaps and everything.”

“You are certain about this, Adam?”

Amber’s concern leaks into her voice, and I could kiss her for it, and do, grinning at her with only a hint of unsteadiness. “Yeah. Go. I bet Khetzi can find something that’s more my speed.” My grin steadies and widens. “You have yourselves a nice date, with your murdersports and whatnot that you kids like nowadays, Stars and the Endless Void only know why.”

Amber groans, letting her forehead rest on Zidanya’s shoulder. Given the height difference, it takes some doing. Zidanya, for her part, just gives me a squinty-eyed look that only sharpens my grin. “May it be known to you, Magelord, that I am wise to your ways.”

“Oh?” I give her the raised eyebrow. “How so?”

“I have long since developed an understanding of men and their embarrassments, and of the feeling of thinking one’s friends will be happier in one’s absence.”

That hits a little too close to home, and I could hide my wince, but I don’t. “Yeah, well. Do you want to watch your murdergames or not?”

Zidanya snorts a little, shaking her head. “Khetzi.”

“Taveda.”

“Our Lord departs our care for a time. I have concerns.”

“We are as Lady Sheid’s own will in this and every matter while we are in this service,” Khetzi says softly. There’s an edge there, the first I’ve heard from them. “We cannot guarantee his joy, as neither could yourselves, but what little honor is ours to pledge, we pledge to his well-being.”

“Zidanya.” I send an orb wicking around to tap her nose, which then come back to slip under my sleeve. “I’ll be fine. Go.”

“So peremptory is my lord.” Amber kisses me, grinning, a long kiss that lingers and makes my legs go weak.

She turns to walk a couple of steps away as I watch, enjoying the motion of her hips and waist. “I guess so,” I say, a little bit conflicted about that.

I still kiss Zidanya when she raises an eyebrow at me in turn. She pulls me in, body set to support me, and I wrap a hand in her hair and run my other hand down her back. She more or less melts when I press with my thumb into where I remember there being a thick cluster of lines left by Lily’s… needlework, and I grin down at her until she’s able to support herself again.

“Magelord,” she says to me, smiling almost shyly.

“Have a nice date,” I say to her and Amber, and then they’re walking off, and my eyes are on Khetzi because I don’t particularly want to watch them walk down those space-warping steps and also because I won’t let myself watch them walk away.

“Magelord James.” Khetzi’s face is unreadable, but there’s I think a hint of relaxation in their body language, and I have no idea why. “If you will permit us, we might offer a recommendation?”

“I am metaphorically all ears.”

“In a time not greatly longer than what it will take us to arrive there, there will be an event which may be more to your liking than the melees.” They smile, and I get the impression there’s more than politeness to it.

“You already had my attention, but now you extra have it. What’s the event?”

“A puzzling challenge.”

“And we’re off.” I’m in motion before I finish the sentence, trotting down the stairs. “But to be totally clear: yes. Very much yes, my interest is pegged.” I blink a couple of times. “Like a dial? I don’t know if you have dials, and needles that measure things, and pegs to stop them from over-rotating. My interest is as high as can be measured, is what I’m saying.”

Khetzi makes a faint choking sound, which I’m fairly confident is them suppressing a laugh. “Follow us, then.”

We move at a rapid clip, and I have the impression that Khetzi’s in a time not greatly longer more or less means we might be late, even if we hurry. We can’t really move much faster, apparently, since the side passages are too roundabout and the top passages, well, I don’t meet the dress code. The tights under my knee-length pants are one thing, but I’m in a perfectly mundane shirt with geometric patterns in black against a dark green, plus a hooded sweater tied around my waist; a far, far cry from the high fashion of the previous night, and a far cry from the ridiculous, showy outfits I see on the occasional person promenading up there.

The crowds do start to thin out as we travel, and it’s maybe a half-kilosecond before they’re thinned out enough that we can push the pace, a walk about as fast as I can manage without running. Khetzi doesn’t seem to be in any hurry, almost gliding forward, but their strides take them forwards in what would be leaps and bounds, and I can barely keep up, and then we’re there.

We’ve been passing a regular pattern of cross-corridors, stairs going down to places unknown, lounges, and doors with cryptic names along the lines of The Chambers of The Threnody and Index Room 3:22, with enough haste that I haven’t been able to ask Khetzi about any of them. This, where we’ve wound up, is different. It’s about at the right distance from the last lounge area to be one, but instead of opening up into the raised viewing chambers and a bunch of, well, lounging furniture, there’s a vast chamber of floating bubble-platforms drifting over an enormous refectory-style dining hall.

I push the homesickness down with a moment of difficulty. It’s probably just a matter of function dictating form, but the way that the approaches to the heated tables wind, laden with the preserved or shelf-stable foods and with ways to ingress and egress for people getting only one particular thing, is intimately familiar. I even spot the processing stations in the exact right location, just off to the side from the entrance into the flow, where you can be seen having brought something to contribute.

Preserves or baked goods, by tradition, on the Spirit.

“We thought perhaps the Magelord would be most pleased by the Sunwise Challenge, and its aesthetic.” Khetzi’s voice is a soft murmur, at exactly the right moment to distract me from what otherwise would have been a descent into reverie.

“Yeah.” My voice is a little rough at first, but I smooth it out with a deep breath. “Yeah. This is exactly right.”

We walk in and drift to the left. There’s a definite flow to the room; well, two flows. People on the ground level are eating and socializing, with a few people in the silver-and-white or white-and-silver robes, they’re two distinct styles and I don’t know which one I’d say is which, vaguely drifting around creating order and cleanliness wherever they go. People in the bubbles, though, there’s a definite pattern of little single-person platforms around the larger bubbles, and people are drifting upwards and towards the center, or downwards and towards the periphery.

“This,” I say softly, “is like a little tournament in its own right, isn’t it.”

“Ah?”

I look up towards the ceiling, towards where there’s one indistinct person in the absolute center of the room maybe fifty meters up, standing apart from three others on a platform for just a moment before a fifth person steps onto it, facing them. They both sit, and I realize I’m grinning. “It’s a ladder, isn’t it. What’s the contest?”

“Anything,” Khetzi says in a way that tells me I’ve asked exactly the right question, “which falls under the aegis of the intellect. A puzzle, a conundrum, a dactyl without a word. The exchange continues until one fails to answer to the circle’s satisfaction.”

“Mediated by the other contestants.” Khetzi nods. “I… thank you, Khetzi.” My eyes return to the platforms above me.

“We will be present for any needs that may befall you.”

“I’ll bet you will,” I murmur, and I step onto a circular little platform sitting on the floor, feeling its stability as I rise just a meter and drift to join the first circle. My grin widens, and I feel something lift from my shoulders.

It’s time to meet whoever’s at the top.