Val Con leapt to the bar, arms wide: “Left, Shan! Left!”

Araceli snapped left as Val Con’s cloak ballooned and the green skimmer missed them by a hair, the pilot struggling with the stick, trying to avoid the second place craft, just coming into the curve…

They were through; out into the straight, and Val Con folded himself into a fairing for the last time. Araceli roared as Shan opened the throttle for the long run and Val con sweated inside the cloak, hearing sounds—sounds of many people, shouting; and, closer, the sound of another skimmer, gaining; a shout from Shan as they slewed sideways and—

“We won! Brother, we won!” Shan was pulling the cloak back from Val Con’s head, grinning hugely. “It worked!”

“Of course it worked,” said Val Con, somewhat crossly, as they began the victory lap, and sighed. Shan was steering one handed and waving at the crowd as wildly as they waved at Araceli. Val Con’s arms felt too heavy to wave at anyone.

“Shan?” He called above the roar.

“Yes, my blueblood?”

“We’re not going to make a habit of this, are we?”

Shan laughed. “No, denubia. Why push the luck?”

* * *

THE WINNER’S CIRCLE was crowded. Val Con and Shan managed to squeeze to their sisters’ side; each accepting a glass of wine and a kiss.

The Right Noble Lady Kareen yos’Phelium approached and bowed to Shan—the bow of Clanmember to First Speaker.

“Well raced, my Lord,” she said, quite audibly. “You and your brother are a credit to the Clan.”

Shan blinked, inclined his head, murmuring a civil, “Thank you, Lady Kareen.”

The old lady was bowing to Val Con now: Clanmember to Delm.

“You are precipitate, Aunt,” he chided softly.

“I think not,” she returned. “A ring does not make a Delm. You are Korval, whether you judge yourself ready or no. You will do as you deem wise and necessary. For the Clan. It is as it should be.”