Nyssa lined her shot up by drawing back, raising her bow high and bringing it down very slowly to line up her eye with her target, exhaling the whole way down. The sun had risen to mid-height and the air was getting stuffy compared to when they’d begun several hours earlier in the coolness of the morning. She felt the sweat gritty on her neck and was grateful for the leather thong on her hand, which separated her sweaty skin from her grip on the bow.

Nyssa slowed her breathing and rechecked her markers. The leaves fluttered but didn’t blow; the flies swirled in lazy circles having little to no resistance with wind. She felt sweat droplets release on her temples and tickle as they slowly ran down the sides of her face under her hair. She breathed slowly out and let fly the arrow.

The tension on the string was good. Nyssa had spent a lot of time on this weapon, tuning it to get the best ratio of power and accuracy, and even more time practising with it. She heard the arrow meet the target with a satisfying “thok.” The crowd who’d shown up for the tournament murmured in appreciation, but everyone would have to wait for the referee to call out the score after verifying the shot.

Nyssa, accustomed to crowds and being ogled, breathed deep and kept her focus in her mental bubble, barely hearing the people around her. She looked down at the ground to protect her eyes from the bright sunshine and to hide her face from the crowd.

“Nine!” called the referee and the audience applauded with enthusiasm. Nyssa cursed and turned immediately to the small table behind her that held her equipment.

She was about to immediately begin the ritual to reload, but she was dying in the heat. It was Trek’s turn, the final opponent to make it to this round with her, so she opted to ignore his efforts and fix herself. She took a big swig of water and let it pool in her mouth a good long while to soothe the parched feeling of her tongue. Her hair, which she’d tied into a braid at the back, was soaked and sticking to her neck. Roughly, she grasped it and twirled it up into a bun, then grabbed a tuning tool and stuck it in to hold it. The little breeze that blew across her neck was heavenly and she felt instantly better.

“Nine!” she heard the referee call out; she swallowed another sip of water.

“Final match!” the judging officer called and Nyssa felt a moment of panic when she realized she didn’t remember the score.

“Ten, then,” she thought to herself. Nothing else mattered except getting the best possible score.

Nyssa picked up an arrow and ran her fingers down the shaft feeling for imperfections. She lightly fluffed the fletching, feeling for any loose binding. The point also was strong and sharp.

“Princess Nyssa to the line,” called the referee who stood behind the two remaining competitors. Nyssa approached, the arrow held loosely in the string with one hand, the other likewise loosely holding the bow. She was breathing deeply again, prepping to take her aim.

“No one is going to like you any better if you win, Princess. It’s not like it will change anything at all,” she heard Trek say under his breath.

“No talking!” the referee hollered, but she knew he wouldn’t have cared if he’d heard what he said.

Nyssa wasn’t looking anywhere but down range. She hadn’t turned to break her focus or felt it was necessary to reply. She bent and began loading her bow, pulling on the string and lifting it up to use the muscles in her shoulder and her chest to draw back. As she lowered it this time, she twisted slightly and brought the bow slowly down as before, but this time Trek’s face came into her crosshairs. She made sure to meet his eyes for the split second that he could have been her target. He’d been arrogantly leaning up against the fence, one leg lazily tossed over the other and his arms crossed. Both came undone in a panic when he saw her bow and the point of the arrow. Nyssa didn’t fight back much, but she had her moments.

Now Nyssa continued on her trajectory and settled finally on the target as she saw it two hundred feet down range. She shut her eyes and calmed her breathing. She opened them again and checked the markers, still only lightly fluttering in their posts.

Nyssa took one deep breath and slowly, expertly blew it out between her teeth and lips. Then she held it.

“Thok.”

Nyssa had watched the arrow sail. She turned and faced Trek, who was looking between her and the target. He did not look comfortable.

“Ten!” the referee called and the crowd exploded in applause. Nyssa breathed for what felt like the first time all day.

“Silence!!” the gate referee screamed at the crowd. “Cadet Trek!” he called and Nyssa simply watched as Trek stormed over to his station. A batman tried to help him, but he pushed him roughly aside and jammed his equipment together.

Nyssa didn’t want to watch his setup. She’d seen enough of him today. She moved slowly while he moved quickly, but as per the rules, she stood very still while he prepared his shot. She heard the swish of the fletch leave the string and the strength of his shot in the twang of the string. She felt it sounded a little strong. It hit the target and the crowd remained absolutely still.

Nyssa began to move again, slowly removing her leather brace and unwinding the wrist braces she wore.

“Six!” the referee called up range and there was a pregnant pause over the entire field. Nyssa felt it was their disappointment.

“Final score is 92 to 90. The winner is Princess Nyssa!” the judge called out. Nyssa stopped and looked over at the judging table, her disbelief not registering his words, while the crowd began to applaud, but she wasn’t hearing any of it. She saw Patrick coming over to her, the grin on his face visible from across the range. Instead of happiness, she felt terror. Ahead of Patrick, Trek burst into her view, his rage visible and she knew his wrath was coming her way. She couldn’t help taking a step back as he got closer.

“You!” he roared at her. He hadn’t seen her brother, Jara, and then her father and his own coming up behind them. Nyssa tried to stop him, point behind him, but he was blind with rage.

“You snot-nosed runt, you have no place in this competition!” he roared after her.

Nyssa stood her ground after a few steps, but she was expecting violence.

“How dare you arrogantly insist on participating in this tournament, just to show off and pretend in front of cadets who actually worked to be here!” Trek came right up to her and pushed her so she stumbled a few steps. The contact seemed to spur him on. He reached back and slapped her hard across the face with the back of his hand, sending her spinning into the dirt.

Nyssa wasn’t thinking about the instant disqualification no matter who saw this behaviour nor the retribution Trek would face. Neither did she have any thought for the crowd that stood in shock witnessing the altercation. Nyssa rolled over and up on all fours, wiping the blood from her split lip. She saw him winding up to kick her on the ground, but Nyssa was already on fire. Nearly a year she’d taken his constant abuse.

Nyssa uncoiled like a viper when he was close enough. Her last thought was of his father reaching out to stop him in mid-attack, horror plain on his face.

Trek had underestimated her again. He brought a foot forward to kick her, but she was already gone. Nyssa had jumped at the same time, landing with clawed hands behind his neck and her knees in his chest. Her momentum and weight she threw directly at him but high enough so she could drag him down onto his back. He landed with an audible “oof” and Nyssa landed on her feet. She encircled him like a predator. Patrick reached out to calm her and stop her from bringing any culpability down on herself.

Trek recovered like a hornet and started to rise, spewing hate and curse words at her. His father finally reached him, smacking him hard in the back of his head and didn’t stop there. Madras stood stiff and silent behind it all, a ring of empty space around him. When his general had his son firmly in control, the king approached. He was calm, but Nyssa saw the fire in his eyes. She shrank a little behind Patrick.

“Proctor, if you will please call the results,” he said calmly, but Nyssa heard the distinct edge. The main judge hurried forward and bowed to the king. The entire audience had filed from the bleachers and they were now drawn to the little competitor’s area on the field. Trek was on his knees with his father’s hand pushing his neck down so his face was nearly in the dirt and he was kneeling beside him, both in front of the king.

“The results have been tallied. The princess is well and firmly the leader, Your Majesty,” he said nervously.

“And what is the penalty for physically attacking another competitor?” he asked him. The man looked seriously uncomfortable. He nervously looked to Trek and his father.

“Unsportsmanlike conduct is an automatic disqualification, Your Majesty,” he said, and he looked sympathetically at them, but then switched to regarding the king. “Though it is unclear if that includes periods when not in competition.”

Madras, who hadn’t been looking directly at the man, did so now, his eyes narrowed and the fury plain in his eyes.

“Who here knows the relationship of the judge and this cadet?” he asked. Patrick put his hand up immediately.

“They are cousins, Your Majesty,” he said formally. Madras nodded. He turned to the three of them. Trek’s father stood up and ahead of the other two, the only one of them to stand and face their consequences, the only one who wasn’t guilty of any of them.

“You are removed from your office,” Madras said, pointing to the judge. “You are disqualified from your entire year, your standings here are not admissible and the admiral will discuss your punishment,” he said to Trek. “And you, General, need time to get your house in order. You are stripped from your commission for one month, at which time you will report back to me and we can discuss your progress and future in the corps.”

Madras turned his back on them deliberately, physically separating Nyssa and the ugly scene of the three men who, after the king was far enough away, began fighting and hitting each other.

“Nyssa, my daughter,” he said and smiled a tiny bit. Nyssa was still standing behind Patrick, but she came out to go to her father. “You have ranked among the top ten archers ever to graduate from the academy. You did this despite the fact that you were three years younger than any of them. In addition, your conduct and professionalism have been noted. I am informed that your scores were high enough that winning today wasn’t entirely necessary to your completing your first year, but you did anyway. Congratulations to you, my daughter. May you remember this day as your triumph: one of many more in the future.”

He then held out his arms that she should embrace him and she did. The crowd applauded loudly, the horrible interruption forgotten.

Later, when Nyssa came down from receiving her medallion, her father embraced her briefly once more and left with his entourage, but as she watched him leaving, her eyes saw Jara smiling behind her brother. The two of them approached her.

“Well, I’m guessing next semester will be a little smoother,” her brother said. Jara nodded enthusiastically.

“Throwing him down into the dirt was a nice comeback, Princess,” Jara said to her. Patrick laughed and nodded.

“I think Trek himself is responsible for fixing a lot of it after all, Sis,” Patrick said and clasped her shoulder. “Now, let’s celebrate. Everyone needs to know you’re here to stay and to second guess messing with you in future.”

Patrick and Jara brought her back to the dorm main hall where they joined the new second- and third-place winners in a long evening of ruckus behaviour, a rite of passage and a signal to the end of exams. Nyssa drank ale and sang songs she didn’t know she knew. A little bit drunk and fast asleep, Nyssa was carried by Jara and Patrick to her room to sleep it off. It was the greatest night of her life.