"I wish we could wear armor like men do," a large mass of steam groused.
A moan, followed by a "Perdition yes," came from some steam farther and to the left. A chorus of agreement came up from all around.
Kamiéra suppressed a groan as he stretched out, letting the steam work on his muscles and joints, trying to ignore the bruises all over. He was very talented in battle, but Amaso had developed into a truly superior swordswoman and her practice blade had scored more hits than his; and Blademistress Layani was still far better than any, and had been determined to teach them all a lesson in humility today. "It is not that we can't," he said through clenched teeth. "It's that they are stronger with or without the Gift, and it is better to be fast than to be dead on a battlefield."
The Amaso steam groaned at him and a chunk of volcano-sponge flew through the steam at him from her direction. "You don't get to talk, Kamiéra," the superheated water barked. "You are why we just spent another leave on drilling and training and praying and making the ground muddy with our Wills. And you don't get to be practical and a living Basic Armor lesson while we are sitting here hurting instead of having handsome young men buying us spiced wine and hanging on our every word."
"You know you'd like that too, Kamié," Llaha added from the edge of the steam room, echoing Amaso as she always did when Amaso was not echoing her, and using the short-name no one outside their Company ever did. "So don't pretend otherwise." And just that suddenly, Kamiéra realized how much he'd like to be mooned at by that young man who delivered the practice straw and fabric and kept trying to get him to listen to poetry, with a women's portion of spiced wine in his hand.
He shook his head. "I get to talk," he retorted testily, "Because someone has to be practical. There isn't enough starmetal to make effective armor for us. There isn't enough time to train to as close to Motherhood as possible if we spend it with handsome young men and yes I'd like that too," he added sincerely even if the idea would have struck him as a bit odd mere moments before. "For however long we serve the Empire before we are called to our final Stations in life, we live and die by what we learn here, and then others will live and die by our word from the same knowledge."
That last was word-for-word something the Blademistress had told them the year before, but only Kamiéra had internalized it as such a complete truth that it was true word for word.
There was an uncomfortable silence. "But," he added with a slow grin, "There may be a way to add some armor without weighing us down. Who's up for a Schola raid with me?" Steam all around him shouted, because if anyone could make a midnight run on the archives fun, it was Kamiéra.
