They returned just as the first round of professionals reached the flag buoy. Vantra attempted to recapture her enthusiasm, but the excitement surrounding her failed to reignite her interest.

Worry filled her instead. The enemy knew where they were and what they were doing, effectively chasing them. She supposed they might have targeted Nem Hala because she knew Katta and Qira and anticipated their visit, which would explain the attack using Weather’s own element, but if what Mica said was true, the syimlin were in a precarious position of weakness and unable to effectively battle their unknown adversaries.

The devastating, sneaky attacks kept coming, didn’t they? The mephoric emblem discharge in the Snake’s Den, the flood and assault on Qira in Greenglimmer, the Wind Revenants catching them by hiding in dark clouds . . . did the enemy realize the failing and acted before the syimlin themselves realized the danger?

Kenosera, Yut-ta and Fyrij returned from what she assumed was a restroom break. The caroling flew to her, landing in the nomad’s chair, and held out his wings to her, tweeting pitifully with fake tears rolling down his face.

“Fyrij,” she sighed, scooping him up and cupping him to her breast. He nuzzled close, a reaction she associated with cuddles after she put herself in danger. Had he realized where she went? A supposed visit to check on Qira should not trigger his anxiety.

“You missed his grand performance,” Weather said. Rayva, who sat next to her, happy with the scritches behind her ears, yipped in agreement. “He and Vesh sang. I can imagine, if Qira joined, the music would be divine.”

Fyrij cheepled and proudly puffed his chest out. She touched her nose to his. “I’m sorry I missed that. You’re beautiful when you sing together.” She looked for the Darkness acolyte, but did not notice him. Where had he gone?

The pirates roared; a being dipped low and rode a wave high, flipped into the air, and landed, heading for a foamy white curl that blocked their bright orange outfit briefly from view. Fyrij warbled and craned his body around, so she settled him on her shoulder. He whapped her with his wings before hunkering down, the zippy contestants capturing his full attention.

At least he wasn’t sticky.

Kenosera leaned over, his eyebrows creating a divot between his eyes. “Are you OK?” he whispered.

She nodded and smiled, and by his skeptical squint, she did not fool him.

The crowd gasped, then cheered. They both looked at the dancer but missed what spectacular thing enchanted the watchers.

The amateur competition finals began as the atmosphere dimmed with evening’s touch. The clouds turned a beautiful rose and pale orangey-red, the water losing some of its turquoise luster but not all of it. Wind filled with the salty essence of the sea blew harder, nipping at the tops of waves. The crests ran taller, and the neon outfits glowed brighter.

Zeeya raised her head and bugled; the first contestant left the buoy and climbed onto their board. Vantra followed the glare of the red neon outfit as the being surfed along the side of a wave, beneath a curl, then flew over the water, so high they flailed before completing a somersault. The crowd waited, breath held, as they landed and crashed with an enormous splash; everyone clapped when their head bobbed to the surface and they swam to retrieve their board.

Only one, a dancer in the brightest blue, kept atop their board after soaring three times their height over the surface. They waved to thunderous applause as they completed their run, performing a twist at the end that elicited screams of approval.

“And now, the dance you’ve all been waiting for, the professional finals!”

Vantra jumped as crackles followed the announcer’s words. Fyrij fell into her neck before settling back down with an irritated chirp.

“Our finalists are Hena Brad from Tempest Island, Odiriz from Bask-ilisk, Shev Cutkur from Crescent Island, and Enaena Ris-kadak from Kep Isle.” Applause and calls met each name. “Before we begin, join me in thanking Weather and Zeeya for a challenging wavedance. Our waves would not be the envy of the isles without them!”

Nem stood and waved as the pirates and the nearest audience members turned to the platform, jumping and shouting. She returned to her seat with a wide smile.

“Shev has reached the flag and raised it! Let the professional finals begin!”

Vantra caught herself leaning forward, reacting to the tense anticipation simmering in the crowd. The chavosine in the glaring pink outfit rode the waves, crested a couple, then soared over a tall one, reaching a height far above the amateurs. She gasped as they somersaulted, twirled, and hit the landing.

“A three spiral pike right out of the gate!” the announcer screamed over the roar. “They have set the standard for the finals!”

The tall wave rolled to shore in exactly the same place, gleaming with the magic that guided it, which Vantra assumed meant the contestants could plan acrobatics without worry that their performance would fail due to lower crests and uneven curls. Each one performed an impressive maneuver, though none hit as high as Shev.

The second rotation was positions and stretches on the boards, the third weaving above and below the foamy crests. None of the previous rounds had a prescribed set of moves, including the final amateur dances, and she pondered why this one was different.

“And now, what you’ve waited an entire day for—the finale!” the announcer shouted.

Shev met a low wave near Zeeya and rode the crest as it rose higher and higher, carrying them along. Once they reached the peak, they raised their arms and twirled.

They dipped forward, leg jutting up behind them, then brought it around to the side while they completed a back bend, flipped, and caught themselves with both hands on the board. Their legs stuck out to the sides as they spun on their palms, then they swung them to the sky before they arched over, planted their feet, and stood. They immediately jumped, twirled, and landed, pirouetted, swept their arm to their left as they careened off the top, and raced up a second wave that popped them into the air.

Vantra gasped and slapped her hands to her chest, thrilled and alarmed by the height. They twirled while performing three somersaults, then rotated at an angle before landing backwards, hands out, perfectly on the sloping wave. They turned to the front, topped it, and pirouetted before ending the run.

“A triple triple whirl! A triple triple whirl! The last wavedancer to complete the triple triple was Lethy Waf four years ago at the Bruun!” the announcer yelled, words shaking in excitement.

The roar sent Fyrij into her hair, shuddering. Chuckling, Lorgan cupped the avian in his palms, and he cocked his head back and forth, bird-style, then cheeped at the scholar.

“Better?” he asked. The caroling hopped up his arm, nuzzled his cheek, then flew back to Vantra.

“Thank you,” she said, though her gratitude cracked as she caught the snarly glare of a sour councilor.

“Pay them no mind,” he told her in Keeling. So accustomed to hearing Reckoning, it took a moment to readjust to her native tongue. “They’ve been glummy the whole event.”

“Why? It seems exciting, especially that last performance.”

“I think they had another kind of excitement in mind, and it didn’t materialize.”

Oh.

“But don’t let that bother you. They won’t do anything in Nem Hala and Katta’s presence.” He jerked his chin towards the competitors. “We’ll see if anyone tops that routine.”

Vantra preferred Enaena’s dance; she gracefully flowed with the water, spending most of her time balanced on one leg as she twirled, hopped, and contorted, though her twirly acrobatics afterwards did not seem as difficult as what Shev accomplished. After the final performer, applause rang long and loud.

“As the judges tally the results, this is a reminder that the Wavedancer concert will take place on this beach starting when the tidewind blows! The Sugartoes and Lettie Sterlie are opening for three-time Island Music Awards winner, and the current holder of the Evening Music Awards Best Mello-noise Song, Shockjocket!”

The cheer for Shockjocket reminded her of the concerts she watched on viewers from the comfort of her bedroom on Talis. How strange, to see the modern creep in, when so much of the Evenacht wanted to keep it out. Mello-noise started after the interstellar invasion, known for warm, sweet vocals and lyrics while the instruments were electronic, harsh and grating, the contrast startling and often unsettling. Did the songs appeal to umbrareign and ghosts, who often preferred their music without amplification and grinding noises?

She supposed she was among them, to an extent. She liked the folkier genres with traditional instruments, but if they also had modern electric stringed lutes, harps and keyboards, she liked them even better.

Nem regarded the beings sitting behind her. “I hold an honorary banquet for the finalists,” she told them. “We’ll be dining in the Hidden Gardens. It’s an outdoor venue so Zeeya can join. If you’re so inclined, you can attend the concert afterwards, but I’m usually in need of quiet after the dance.”

“Qira’s not here to drag us along,” Mica reminded her. The mini-Joyful, the Light-blessed, and Weather laughed, and Vantra wondered what mischief Light got into on his concert adventures.

A ghost floated to Nem and handed her a sealed envelope; she accepted with a smile and gained her feet. She held the paper up and waited.

“Weather has the results!” the announcer blared. The crowd whipped around to stare at the platform; Vantra noticed the eight finalists on the beach with official-looking beings in blue shirts and shorts, and by their tense stances, nerves wrapped them in a tight embrace.

“Thank you, Radi,” she began, her voice easily carrying over the noise. Magic projection came in handy, and Vantra’s mother had used it more than once when she spoke in front of crowds. She claimed it was more reliable than a local temple’s sound set-up. “And thank you all for attending this exciting wavedance. We saw exceptional acrobatics and forms from the competitors, and the eight finalists gave us a performance worthy of the dance.

“As you know, I’m not one to draw things out. Our amateur victor is Mini Yabran from Bask-ilisk!”

As the crowd cheered, a tall signboard with red neon rows and two columns flashed to the east. Mini Yabran’s name blazed in the first column, with 124 points next to it.

“Congratulations and good luck to her throughout the season,” Nem said as other names appeared under hers, all with varying number counts. The officials presented the bouncy winner with a plaque that glinted and shone, but Vantra could not tell in the dim light what the shape was. She waved, and the crowd cheered. “Home-grown winners are always a treat. For the professional competition—”

“Shev Shev Shev,” the crowd chanted. Nem laughed.

“Yes, Shev Cutkur from Crescent Island! Congratulations and good luck to them throughout the season!”

They bowed before accepting their plaque, a nice gesture. Vantra happily noticed Enaena came in second, and only five points behind the popular winner.

“Our wavedance draws to a close,” Nem said, and the audience quieted. “Thanks goes to Zeeya and the IBA for making certain things remained safe for our participants. We thank the judges for their hard work—this year’s competition was extraordinary. I’m glad I didn’t have to choose the winner!” She raised her right arm. “Let the dance pause but never end!”

Lightning struck in front of Zeeya, green bolts racing across the water to the shore and up the sand. Cheers rang loud as wooden poles dangling round, glass-shielded magic lights lit one by one, casting the beach and the audience in a comforting golden glow.

Weather acolytes appeared in front of the platform, ushering the pirates away, and the councilors and other dignitaries groaned to their feet. Since no one from the mini-Joyful moved, Vantra kept her seat until only they, Weather, and Cacarolisse remained. Only when Nem stood did the rest of them rise.

“I hope you’re still hungry,” she said. “The banquet is always hearty, as it’s meant to feed contestants who just spent a day in grueling competition.” She smiled and strode down the aisle.

A warm sensation filled Vantra, and she set a hand to her chest. What was that?

Thank you. This dance would have ended in dire peril, had you not eliminated the threat.

The mental voice sounded like Weather. She met the woman’s eye; her smile widened before she glided past.

Weather thanked her! She did not have time to marvel, as Kenosera snagged her hand and tugged her after the syimlin.