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When Palemedes suggested they invite the Ninth House over to the Sixth House gym in Canaan City as visiting athletes, Camilla wondered if this was some apology or going-away gift he intended for her before he left the team for his research professorship. It would be the first time they’d be in different cities since they were born. They’ve been roommates, workmates, and sometimes research-mates (when he needed a nearby body to practice medical necromancy), so the concept of a Palamedes-shaped hole seemed unimaginable.
Best to focus on what was in front of her. So when Palamedes asked, she said, “I get to watch Gideon and Harrow dance around each other like emotionally stunted lizards? Yes.” Also, in what scenario would she say no to Palamedes?
And so Camilla had spent several weeks training under Coach Aiglamene with Gideon in preparation for the 108th Canaan Interregional Dueling Competition, while Palamedes assisted Harrow with her necromantic pursuits. (While Harrow initially responded with her standard chill to the co-training idea, it only took “municipal funding and full morgue access” to get her to travel from her backwater town). Camilla’s prepared for taking Gideon’s two-hander hilt to the face or getting thrown to the ground when she trips up. But what she isn’t prepared for is when Aglaimene suggests:
“Even in our short time together, you both have progressed much in combat. But to really see the fruits of your training, I recommend you take yoga classes.”
Camilla thinks about how she could disarm Gideon in ten moves on a good day, but can’t touch her toes. Gideon openly gapes.
“I can see from Nav’s face that there is some skepticism. Hect, this is the first time your lower back is taking so many strikes from something as heavy as a two-hander. Nav, must I remind you that your evasion skills are hampered by your poor hip mobility. You both need to improve your flexibility. And Nav...mindfulness will be beneficial for your dueling concentration.”
“Wow coach, thanks for calling me scatterbrained,” replies Gideon, finger picking at her ear.
Aiglamene just huffs, folding her wrinkled arms behind her back. “I have already signed you both up at the yoga studio on 5th Ave. Nav, do not turn yoga into a competition. Hect, loosen up.”
And so they find themselves in the lobby of House of Ida, a pristine, sandalwood-scented workout studio that’s a far cry from the Sixth House’s well-used rooms and equipment. A lone, chipper-looking woman manning the desk waves to them. Stickered onto the wall is the quote, “You better work (bitch). —-Valancy Trinit.”
“Wow, this place looks straight out of the set of Hot Times after Hot Yoga,” Gideon comments, rummaging through a rack of technicolor sports bras with one hand and Nalgene bottle hanging from the other.
Camilla agrees, with Gideon having shown it to her over curly fries following a particularly grueling training session. Readjusting her bag over her grey tank, she approaches the desk and checks in, to which the receptionist says, “Ah, new members! You’re both very lucky to have grabbed spots at this time, Beth has been super popular since this place opened.” She points them down the hall behind her.
The hallway is also stickered with other motivation quotes, as well as a painting of an abstract figure holding two melons over its chest. “Nice rack,” Gideon says, verbalizing what Camilla is thinking. They continue on by a door labeled Studio 1. With a quick peek through the window, Camilla sees an oddly familiar figure shouting on a spin bike at the front of a room filled with other people on spin bikes. His headband is putting in work to soak up sweat, but his stiff pomade hair is unmistakable.
“That’s Naberius Tern.”
“Whaat,” says Gideon, squeezing next to Camilla to peer into the room. “Is he teaching a spin class set to The Chainsmokers? I mean that tracks, but does that mean Beth is…”
When they enter the yoga classroom, most of the other students of varying shapes and ages are already seated on their mats in front. Some of them are chatting with a familiar looking blonde yoga instructor.
“Hot damn,” says Gideon.
Coronabeth looks good. Camilla always knew she was fit, but now it’s easier to see when she’s standing next to wall-to-floor mirrors; her back and front are both there to see. If Gideon had her aviators, she’d be pulling them down to get a better look. Hell, if Camilla was wearing aviators, she’d be pulling them down to get a better look.
“Those tights look good on her,” says Camilla.
As if pulled by Camilla’s gaze, Coronabeth turns from one of her students to look at them. Her eyes shift to an unreadable expression, until she turns on a smile. “New students? Welcome! You can grab a mat from the back, and we’ll get started in a minute.” Well, if Corona wants to stay professional, Camilla would follow her lead.
“Is this weird? This is weird,” Gideon asks as they sit down on their mats, her legs splayed out casually.
“She didn’t ask us to leave,” Camilla replies, but she fiddles at the hem of her tank. A benign gesture for anyone else, but for Camilla makes her look downright skittish.
“Alright class, we’ll begin in a seated position. Place your palms together and take a deep breath.”
-----------------------
Two years is a long time to go between witnessing Corona’s mental breakdown and suddenly seeing each other again at a place that bills itself as an “open culture boutique fitness studio”. Camilla isn’t one to judge someone for their lowest point, but she is curious about what happened the past years since Teacher’s rookie training camp, when Ianthe saved Naberius and Corona’s life from a rogue construct and laid out the full extent of their farce and Corona’s necromantic impotence.
Camilla remembered when the retired Lyctoral Sports Committee member Teacher—-whether he was a teacher or his name was teacher was never clear—- invited their cohort to his dusty training facilities, and she and Palamedes spent their mornings at the sunny track field. On their first day, she was jump-roping on the track rubber, with Palamedes reading up on metatarsal fractures, when she saw a golden figure in the distance detach from two others and start to approach them.
As an athlete, Camilla had seen her fair share of inter-House rivalries on and off camera, as tight funding and ballooning egos tore apart friendships. (Mercymorn had famously called Augustus a ‘mean-souled little dick’ on national television.) Honestly, she was pretty happy that the Sixth House’s poor performance for the past fifty years meant she was flying under public radar. Other cavaliers were more likely to ignore her completely than get in her face. But there was no bullish sneer or arrogant aloofness in the gorgeous, sun-kissed face of the woman coming towards them, somehow working together gigantic crystal earrings and the shortest running shorts possible. Camilla was so stunned by her wide smile and mass of curls that it was Palamedes who got up and first took the woman’s proffered hand as she said,
“I’m Coronabeth Tridentarius, a necromancer of the Third House. Pleasure to meet you both,” as if nobody in the lyctoral circuit would recognize the family name of practically Third-House royalty.
“Palamedes Sextus, Sixth House necromancer and doctor,” he said, shaking her hand.
Camilla was distinctly aware of how drenched in sweat she was, though she found her mouth surprisingly dry. “Camilla Hect.”
“Ah, must be a cavalier with those arms,” Coronabeth replied with a wink and a tilt of her shoulders.
“You’re right,” Camilla answered, for once a short answer because she didn’t know what else to say.
“I’m really glad Teacher brought together different Houses for the summer,” she said, moving her gaze to Palamedes and then back to Camilla with, “There’s so many interesting people from other city sectors. First time I’ve met people from the Sixth House team.”
“Are we everything you could have hoped for?” Camilla asked drily.
“And then some,” Coronabeth replied with an infectious laugh, and Camilla then understood why Third House got most of the sponsorship deals. “I’m sorry to ask, we took a long walk around, I don’t have my water bottle on me, could I get a sip?”
Camilla could feel Palamedes’ amused look on her as she wordlessly passed her bottle to Coronabeth, their fingers brushing. With a toss of her hair, Coronabeth raised the bottle to her mouth and took a long drink, and Camilla eyed the long line of her neck. “Thanks.” Passing it back she said, “Palamedes, Camilla, I’m sure we’ll see each around,” and walked off.
Later that night, Palamedes looked up from his research position applications in the dorm common area and said, “So.”
“Are you going to tell me to not get distracted by Coronobeth?” Camilla asked idly, not looking up from polishing her blades.
“On the contrary,” Palamedes said, pushing his glasses up his nose, “Getting distracted by her might be good for you.”
“I don’t sleep with Sixth House competition.”
“I thought you slept with Trent from the Second.”
“Not competition.”
Palamedes chuckled. “There isn’t any cavalier of this generation who’s your competition.”
Camilla remained silent in agreement. And then said, “I know you just want to have gossip for Dulcie about my love life.”
“She’s run out of romance novels, you can’t fault her for asking about you.”
Camilla smiled slightly, thinking of Dulcie’s uncanny ability to tease out information about one’s love life. “She’ll get boring answers.” The Seventh House necromancer loved trying to set her up with different people, but Camilla was perfectly content spending her days practicing the sword, with the occasional hookup when her body wanted a different kind of physical activity. She couldn’t even imagine what kind of dating partner would fit well with her stringent training schedule (though to be fair, she didn’t do much imagining in the first place). And it seemed unlikely that Corona, who could probably have anyone she wanted with a flash of her smile, would be enticed by Sixth House grey.
Of course, that didn’t stop her from finding release at night to the thought of Corona on her knees, eyes peering up at her through her golden lashes.
-----------------------
Camilla thinks of those violet eyes now as she strains her way down to touch her toes, her hands barely coming to her ankles as her back politely yells at the reversal of gravity’s pull.
As a career athlete, Camilla has trained her whole life to lunge, slash, dodge, and parry her way into crushing opponents twice her size. But pushing her body to its limits also meant getting smashed into the ground, dislocating her shoulder twice, and having the muscle texture of jerky. Aiglamene was right.
But Camilla disliked how much Aiglamene being right hurt.
She looks at Corona, who’s bent over and has her full palms over her feet, as if she doesn’t have a bone in her body. “And for those who want a little bit more of a stretch in your forward fold” —-Cam’s back burns— “you can bring your hands behind your calves like so and touch your nose to your legs.”
Next to her, Gideon is cursing under her breath, fingers outstretched to the ground but so far from contact she might as well have been trying to hold Harrow’s hand.
Camilla begins to wonder if this class was designed to break cavs, when Corona unfurls herself like a flower and steps towards where Camilla is struggling. “Everyone should be taking each asana at their own pace. It’s not about being able to do a bind on your first try.” Camilla feels a hand trailing down her spine. And then, quietly near her ear, “You can start with your hands on your shins. Bend your knees. Listen to what your body wants.” And then she walks to another student to help their form, leaving an absence of warmth.
When Camilla turns to her friend, Gideon is too preoccupied with the pose to point out the ripe innuendo opportunity.
An hour of bends, binds, and a lovely corpse pose later, the class is over, and Corona is chatting with some students as both Gideon and Cam drag their feet on cleaning and returning their mats.
“Wow I didn’t know some of those muscles in my body existed,” says Gideon, rubbing her neck.
“Ask Harrow to check if any of your vertebrae have popped out of place,” Cam replies, gaze lingering on Corona.
“She’d probably twist one out and then blame it on the class. Why are we talking about Harrow when we could be talking with our babe of a yoga instructor?” They walk over as the last of the students file out of the studio.
“Gideon, Camilla, what a pleasant surprise!” Corona greets them, pulling her hair out of its tight bun.
“Wow we haven’t seen you since Teacher’s training camp! ”
“Yeah, what was that, two years ago?” If Corona has any response to being reminded of that shitshow, Camilla doesn’t pick it out.
“I think, yeah. That’s so cool you’re a yoga person now!” replies Gideon. Camilla nods.
Corona turns her head to stare at Camilla, but whether her eyes are genuinely warm or professional friendly, it’s hard to tell. It feels like a far cry from when they first met.
Gideon shuffles on her feet. “I’m gonna go check out those overpriced leggings in the lobby!” She exits as she makes an awkward hand sign to Camilla that’s probably supposed to be encouraging. Gideon might be the type of person to tell your-mom jokes to Aiglamene when she’s being particularly harsh, but Camilla appreciates that she has enough tact to leave the two of them alone.
They stare at each other in silence. Then Corona finally decides to say, “You know this studio does offer couple’s yoga, if that’s what you and Gideon are looking for.”
Camilla was able to keep a straight face all through a group watch of “FUNNIEST NECROMANCY MOMENTS OF THE LSA SEASON - ankle breakers, siphon fails, and more!” on Youtube even after Palamedes had snorted tea through his nose. But hearing this, she instantly doubles over in painful, gut-wrenching laughter. Corona stares at her like she’s a bone construct with a third arm.
“...Okay I guess that was the wrong assumption to make?”
Her ribs hurt, but she takes a deep breath and manages to pull herself together in front of a bemused-looking Corona. “We are not together. Coach Aiglamene signed us up.”
It looks like Corona’s face lights up at this, but she internally berates herself for imagining this. Corona is not interested in her; she made that clear last time they had seen each other.
“Well did you enjoy the class then? This intro class wasn’t geared towards athletes, but I adjust vinyasas in each class based on who I know will show up.”
“My calves feel like they got steamrolled, so if that’s the end goal I’d say yes.”
Corona really shouldn’t look that good when she laughs, the sides of her eyes crinkling like the wrapper of Cam’s favorite cherry hard candy. “If this is your first time, you’ll be feeling better after a couple day’s rest.”
Camilla nods. For all of Corona’s casual flirting, it seems like she genuinely cares about her students’ well-being. “You make a great yoga instructor.”
“Wow, the rare Hect compliment? I’m honored,” Corona teases.
It isn’t Camilla’s fault not a lot of things impress her. “Seems a better fit than necrosports.”
Corona looks off to the side in thought. “Well it’s not like I could have had a career in necromancy after Ianthe left me. But maybe it was good that happened. And now I’m doing something I’m actually good at. That makes people feel good.”
Camilla could say that Corona’s presence already makes people feel good, that her smile opens people’s hearts (not just their hips). Instead she asks, “So you don’t regret what happened at training camp?”
Corona looks back at Camilla, and their eyes lock as her lips part slightly. It’s surprising how close she feels to Corona again after a few-year absence. The space between them seems to get smaller and smaller. “Do you?”
Camilla takes a step forward—-
“Cor!” Naberius Tern calls out as he enters the studio with green smoothies in both hands. “I got your—- oh.” He stops when he sees Cam, and his gaze turns into a sneer. “What are you doing here?”
“Don’t be rude, Babs,” Corona chastises. “Sorry, Camilla, we’ve got our morning smoothie-and-debrief.”
“I was just leaving. Nice seeing you again, Corona,” she replies. As she exits the room, she overhears Naberius whispering louder than he imagines to Corona.
“I thought you said you didn’t want to see her again.”
Camilla picks up the pace out of House of Ida.
-----------------------
At their weekly Dairy Queen run, Gideon is wolfing down a box of onion rings as Camilla takes a slow slurp from her vanilla milkshake. She feels like one of the limp, soggy pieces of onion sunk to the bottom of the box. Holding up a half-bitten ring, Gideon says, “God, Naberius is such a jag.”
Camilla nods in agreement. The shake is a small comfort.
“Listen, Straddle Mag: Cavalier Edition says that if someone leaves after a one night stand, that means they’re not into you. If Corona doesn’t want you, that’s her loss. You shouldn’t waste your time running after people like that.”
“Wow. What an emotionally intelligent thing for you to say, Gideon,” Camilla says drily. “Especially with you and Harrow.” She knows she’s deflecting, but seeing their weird game of romance chicken makes her feel better about her own lack in that department.
Gideon chokes on a piece of onion ring, and she violently coughs to free her trachea from botanical obstruction. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Harrow hates me and I hate Harrow. End of story. I can’t believe we’re both sponsored by the Ninth House, ugh.”
Cam makes a small laugh. “Accidentally spilling soda over someone’s books isn’t the kind of thing people hold life-long grudges over.”
“Then you don’t know Harrowhark,” Gideon replies intensely. “Every time she passes by me at the gym she has to make some stupid comment about me.”
“...It sounds like she stops by the gym a lot for someone who’s got their own construct training area.”
Gideon’s hand waves away the comment and she licks the remaining crumbs from her fingers. “So, are we going back to Corona’s class? You wanna do that to yourself? Get your leg and heart muscles all twisted up?”
“I’m going to ask her about what Naberius said after the next class.” She’s stubborn like that. But what does it mean that she didn’t bother to deny her interest in Corona as more than physical now? When did that change? She shuts down that thought with another sip of cold shake. “Are you coming?”
“Hell yeah.”
-----------------------
Their next class is themed around connection, and Corona, in her cornflower blue yoga outfit, takes them through a pigeon pose which makes Camilla wonder if the muscle connecting her lower back to her hamstring is going to snap.
“Now if you want an extra stretch in your quad, you can grab your right ankle, or hook your elbow around it for a bind,” Corona tells the class as she assumes a position Camilla is sure she’s only seen in bad gymnastics landing videos.
To her right, Gideon is having an equal amount of trouble as Camilla is trying to grab her ankle, before giving up and just folding forward.
Camilla, silent except the creaks of her body, untangles herself as Corona takes them into child’s pose, and there’s a brief moment of rest.
“Now, I know Talia had mentioned wanting to bring a little more heat to this class, so we’re now going to move into a sequence of warrior poses that you’re definitely going to feel in your belly and thighs.”
“Fuck you Talia,” Gideon hisses under her breath.
This establishes a pattern for the class: Corona shows some extrahuman flexibility, demonstrates a more reasonable body formation, and then walks around to adjust each student’s individual form. It feels so unnatural, having a teacher who is less about “Push your body to its limits for the gold” and more about “Do what feels right for yourself”. Camilla isn’t quite sure if she’s ever thought of her body as something to take care of rather than a means to some end. She’s not sure if she likes it...but she does know she likes Corona’s hand on her back.
When class ends, Camilla waits in the hall for the rest of the students (Gideon having quickly made herself scarce). But instead of her approaching Corona, Corona makes a beeline for her first and out tumbles, “I’m sorry about last week, Babs can be such an ass sometimes. I was afraid you wouldn’t show up again. I’m glad you did.” Corona’s flushed face looks at her as if she’s holding on for dear life for Camilla’s response, and all the anxiety in Camilla’s chest dissipates on her exhale like a breath she didn’t realize she was holding.
“Is that what you tell all your students?” Camilla replies with a wry smile, determined to not indicate at all to Corona how afraid she was to learn Corona’s opinion of her.
Corona laughs. “Only the ones I like.” And she leans in close enough to Camilla’s ear to leave warm breath against skin. “Don’t tell him, but Jakob who sits in front is the worst. I’ve caught him wiping his snot on the mats.”
When Corona peels back and they’re facing each other, Camilla says with her face unchanged, “You don’t want to know what I’ve rubbed onto my mat then.”
“Ok that’s disgusting, Cam,” Corona says as she wriggles her nose. Camilla’s heart makes a tiny jump at the nickname. “Cleaning this studio is already a pain, don’t make it any worse for me mentally.”
“Get some of your groupies to do it for free classes. I’ve seen how giddy some of these people get when you tell them to do a deep breathing exercise.”
“Huh, that’s not a bad idea...you’ve really got the brains and the brawn.” Then she jokes, “Are you one of those people too?”
Camilla is less interested in deep breathing and more into seeing Corona arch her spine while walking the class through upward dog pose. She keeps that to herself. “I don’t know, I think I’ll need to go to a couple more classes to decide.”
“Mm, then I’ll make sure to leave a note for the yoga instructor to step up her game next week.”
Camilla is sure by now that Corona has no qualms about her and Gideon attending class, so she adds, “I’m glad Aiglamene signed us up. It’s nice to see a friendly face after so many years.”
Corona’s mouth drops to a frown, but curls back into a smile so quick that Camilla’s sure she just imagined it. “Yes. Friends.”
-----------------------
After they had come back from the haunted house-themed escape room Teacher had insisted they do as a “bonding” exercise, which almost escalated into a full blown fist fight between Naberius and Protesilaus, most of the different houses separated to their own dorms to let egos cool. Ianthe had said good riddance about Dulcinea declining to join for health reasons and the group had devolved from there. Camilla chose to take a moonlit walk on the camp grounds as Palamedes headed to Dulcinea’s dorm to keep her company.
She found Corona on a bench facing the pond, staring off into the murky water. Her shoulders were slumped, a dejected posture that was as odd to see on Corona as it was seeing her without her twin attached at the hip. Not really knowing what to say, Camilla walked over and sat down before opening with, “Your sister is a bit of an ass.”
A pause. “Yeah,” Corona nodded, “she is.”
The air between them was filled with the sound of summer crickets and each other’s breathing while neither of them spoke. Then Corona said, “I know she doesn’t really care about...other people. Maybe doesn’t even respect Babs. But she’s my sister. She’s only ever accepted me for all my faults, so how can I not do the same return? I mean, what would you do if Palamedes did something you disapproved of?”
Camilla took a moment to think. The thought seemed as impossible as Palamedes yelling at a customer service worker or fucking off from medicine and becoming a romance novel writer. But then, Dulcinea had gotten him up in arms over the ending of The Necromancer's Marriage Season. “I’d trust he had a good reason for doing it, and I would wait for his explanation.”
“Exactly.” Corona looked up, a sharp clarity returning to her eyes. “She’s my flesh and blood. She’s bound to me, and I’m bound to her, whether other people like her or not.”
“Well people definitely don’t like her.”
Corona laughed. “That we can agree on.” She turned, and Camilla could see the moonlight reflected in her eyes. “All’s well in the Sixth House then? You and Palamedes never have fights?”
Camilla looked down to think, when Corona cut in with, “Wow, really? I was sort of joking when I said you don’t have fights.”
Camilla shrugged. “I dislocated my pinky finger once when I was young and popped it back in myself. Palamedes got red in the face telling me I should have let him fix it.”
“...you really are something.”
“We grew up together. It makes sense we’re pretty similar.” She paused, and felt a twinge in her chest that she had spent the whole summer doing her best to ignore. She hadn’t talked about this with anyone but her cousin, but then, does that count as sharing it with someone else? Something about Corona’s soft eyes and thoughtfulness made her want to open her mouth. “Palamedes is applying for a research professorship at Koniortos University. There is no doubt in my mind he will get it.” Camilla stared hard at the ripples flowing through the water. “He plans to take a year off before officially starting, but when he does, this will be the first time we won’t live near each other.”
“That sounds like a huge change.”
Camilla nodded. “I only ever imagined a future where I was a cavalier and Palamedes was a doctor for the Sixth House, but that seems naive to think of now.”
“No, that’s not naive. If that’s the only world you know...”
“Mhm. I know we can visit or call each other, but to turn aside and not see him next to me seems so...jarring.”
Corona nodded. “When I think of being apart from Ianthe, it scares me. But sometimes, sometimes instead the idea exhilarates me, like I could be free to remake myself, to figure out who I want to be. But maybe that scares me more, the fact that I don’t really know who I am.”
Camilla wanted to say “You’re kind, you’re the warmest person I’ve ever met.” Instead she said, “I never thought about who I’d be without Palamedes.”
“I definitely would be nothing without Ianthe,” Corona said softly, almost to herself. Before Camilla can ask what that means, Corona said to her, “You seem like a strong enough person to weather whatever change comes.”
“I think the same of you.” Camilla looked to the crescent moon, and although the night was chilly she felt a deep comfort in her heart sitting side by side with her.
-----------------------
“Honestly you should give it a shot, Harrow. Your bones are probably tight as hell,” Gideon says as she unpacks the shipment of training construct capsules in the Sixth House gymnasium.
Palamedes and Camilla had gotten permission to convert it into a necromancy training room when Gideon and Harrow agreed to be visiting athletes. Conversion basically just meant the bleachers were replaced with a row of bulk containers of collagen powder and water slurry that Camilla dragged in. She and Palamedes are seated on the benches, each sipping coconut waters as they watch the Ninth House necromancer practice.
“My bones are perfectly well-managed, thank you for your concern, Griddle,” said Harrow, standing at the other end of the gymnasium. She had forgone her traditional uniform and cloak for a plain black tee and shorts. “Now hit me.”
“Either you choose when you take a break from necromancy, or your body is going to choose for you!” Gideon throws a hand-sized capsule, translucent enough to see the tiny skeleton inside, into one of the collagen containers. Out from the splash springs interlocking bones that grow into a skeleton of a giant reptile (“Tortoise? That’s new,” Pal comments).
Harrow doesn’t miss a beat as she summons her own skeletons, one punching the tortoise in the face as the other gets bit in half in its outstretched maw. “Regionals are in three months, and Ianthe is going to be there. I can’t be wasting time on glorified stretching.”
“Why is she so fucking obessed with that flaccid witch,” Gideon mutter under her breath. Camilla agrees, and decides to try a different tactic.
As the half-bitten skeleton throws itself onto the tortoise’s foot as a distraction, Camilla casually says, “Coronabeth is a great instructor. My lower back ache has disappeared.”
Next to her, Pal slightly raises an eyebrow in a “Is this a strictly instructor-student relation you two have,” and Camilla turns her head in a “There is nothing happening between us” response.
“Oh my god, Corona!” Gideon exclaims. “She looks way better in yoga clothes than in those dour necro robes, for the record.”
“Well I’m glad Corona found something to do that plays into her strengths, that is, to her appearance,” Harrow yells as she raises a bone shield to deflect the construct’s charge.
“She definitely has that going for her, but also I’m way closer to doing a split than I ever was.” Gideon pauses thoughtfully. “And her ass looks great in downward dog—”
Harrow materializes a larger-than-normal skeleton leg that kicks up at the construct’s belly, shattering it into pieces that fly through the air and land transformed back to its miniature size. “Alright, I will attend this class if it stops you from yammering about this pointless nonsense,” Harrow grits out in between rapid breaths, face red and sweaty. “Now will you stop talking about bygone necromancers? You’re supposed to be helping me train.”
Camilla and Palamedes clink their coconut water cartons together.
“Do you want something to happen between you two?” Palamedes asks Camilla.
He knows the answer to this already, but he knows that she knows this question is just to help her collect her thoughts.
“We’re friends. That’s enough.”
-----------------------
At their next class, Corona, who’s in a completely new magenta outfit (Camilla has been keeping track) says, “I thought we would try partner poses this time since everyone seems to be doing so well. Talia, if you could come over here and help me demonstrate chair pose, or utkatasana.”
As they stand back-to-back and squat down, arms linked, Harrow hisses to Gideon, “What kind of undignified shape is this? You knew this would happen. You brought me here to make a fool out of me!”
“Stop complaining Harrow, this’ll be good for your back. You know your posture is shitty as hell.”
When Corona instructs the class to find partners, Harrow reluctantly stands back-to-back with Gideon, though their height difference means Gideon has to squat a little for them to link arms. As everyone else gets paired up, Corona approaches Camilla and says with a smile, “We’ve got an odd number today, hope you don’t mind partnering with the instructor.”
“How could I say no?” she replies, and they turn to stand and lean against each other.
“Now class, remember the most important thing about this pose is trust. Trust that your partner is there to support you, and that you can lean into them. Keep your feet hip width apart. And then, very slowly, squat down as if you’re sitting on a chair.” Camilla feels the warmth of Corona’s back as they slowly bend their knees in time with each other, until they’re sitting on air. Next to them, Harrow is begrudgingly in the same position with Gideon, her legs shaking, though it looks like Gideon could easily bend forward and swing Harrow onto her back.
Camilla grits her teeth as she begins to feel the burn in her quads as they stay locked together. “This is harder than it looks.”
Corona laughs. “I think that could be said about most of yoga.” To the class she says, “Thirty more seconds you guys. I know you can do this. ” She doesn’t even seem to be breaking a sweat. Something about her encouraging voice and genuine belief in everyone’s ability makes Camilla tighten her stomach even further to stay upright. Gideon wasn’t wrong saying that Corona was so much more in her element in class, helping and encouraging people rather than faking it in a contact sport.
“And time! Slowly straighten your legs to come back up, and you can shake it out,” she says. Harrow drops to the floor instead, with Gideon quickly turning around to check on her.
“Great job,” Corona says to Camilla, briefly touching her arm.
“Thanks. I had to show I can be a stable partner,” she replies off-hand.
Corona looks at Camilla for a moment like she wants to say something back, but then she lowers her head with what looks like a sad smile to herself. Camilla can’t parse it, but she’s too late to say anything anyways as Corona walks back to the front of the class.
-----------------------
Somehow, Harrow continuing the weekly classes turns into Palamedes joining (“My levator scapulae could use some relief”), which then leads to Professor Abigail and Magnus signing up when they visit (“What’s a better way to get to know our new professoriate than through challenging physical activity?”).
Cam decides to squeeze in a morning run before class instead of piling into Gideon’s station wagon, and she arrives at the studio a little earlier than normal. What she does not expect to see is the tall, pale figure of Ianthe holding an iced coffee in one hand and signing someone’s Third House shirt. When the fans finish thanking and gushing over Ianthe and walk away, Cam walks up to the human equivalent of cold oatmeal.
“Hello Ianthe.”
“Ah. Carmilla.”
Ianthe isn’t enough of a human being to bother correcting. “Why are you in Canaan City?”
“Thought I’d see how my dear sister is doing. Oh and I guess Babs too. And say hi to my fans. Can’t help that women love me.” When she sips the last of her coffee, she tosses the plastic cup into the garbage bin that’s right next to the recycling bin. “I heard you and the redhead are taking yoga classes with Cor.” She crosses her arms over her grey windbreaker.
“Yeah.”
“Did she offer you guys a free trial or….”
“We’re taking her classes because she’s a fantastic instructor,” Camilla replies, failing to keep her voice completely controlled.
Ianthe eyes her, completely unfazed by the leaking animosity. “Dark hair and stupidly loyal? You really are her type, huh.”
“...”
Corona’s only ever interested in people out of her league, but don’t worry, she’ll learn.” She flips her pale blonde hair and starts walking away. “I’m off to sight-see, bye Camellia,” she says without looking back.
Encounters with Ianthe tend to leave Camilla with a sour taste in her mouth, and this time is no different. But she’s more confused than anything about any implication that Corona is still into her. But isn’t Ianthe one to play mind games with people? Camilla finds it useless to overthink that particular conversation, and instead walks mechanically into the studio. What she doesn’t expect is to find Corona, in a tie-dye mesh top, breaking from a conversation with her receptionist and whirling up to her like a golden hurricane to say, “Listen, this is a yoga studio, not a necromancer pissing contest.”
“What,” Camilla says as a completely coherent, eloquent response.
“I saw Abigail, Palamedes, all of them signed up for today. If you’re just here to make me nervous and do something stupid, then you all can get out.”
Camilla has no idea where this is coming from. And then she thinks of the only source of unmitigated chaos she’s run into all morning. “Did Ianthe say something to you—-”
“Don’t bring her into this.” Corona sighs. “Nevermind. I have nothing to prove to you. I have to go to class.”
“Hold on,” and Camilla grabs Corona by the wrist. She’s sure the receptionist has pulled out a bag of popcorn by now. “You can’t keep doing this, being hot and cold with me and not explaining anything. If you have any respect for me—-”
“Respect?” She laughs as if Camilla had said something funny, and then her face contorts into something pained. “Why wouldn’t I respect you when I li—-nevermind. Let go of me.”
Before Camilla can respond to that, the building door rings from opening, and Corona pulls her arm away to walk off. Though she hears the steps of Palamedes and the others enter, it takes her a while to turn around and face them. Outside the studio, Gideon and Harrow are in a heated argument, their faces inches from each other. Palamedes passes one look to Camilla, and she’ll know they’ll be processing this later, what feels like a tentative friendship she built with Corona seems to have been thrown out the window. His presence comforts her, but something must still show on her face, because Abigail comes up to her.
“You alright dear?” Abigail asks, placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Yeah. Just need some water.”
-----------------------
In the fourth week of the training camp, Naberius lost an arm. Really, disaster seemed inevitable, what with Teacher’s expired construct capsules and his general disregard for any attempt to read the room when the camp was filled with inflammatory personalities. But it was still shocking to see Ianthe, indifferent, standing over Naberius, who was cradling his now half an arm. Coronabeth was holding him, sobbing, as the rest of their cohort rushed to the scene.
Palamedes immediately knelt down to Naberius and gently held his hand over the wound, congealing blood until it was no longer dripping out of him. “What happened here?”
The remains of a training construct, a massive lizard in shape, lay smoking on the side of the pond. It’s rib cage was caved in with lipids dripping off of bone. Ianthe tossed Naberius’ sword to the side and retracted her shield of fat and skin from her arm.
Protesilaus replied, “One of the constructs went wild and ran after Naberius and Corona. I assumed Corona would handle it but—-”
“Corona couldn’t make a metatarsal jig to a beat even if she wanted to,” Ianthe cut in, “But don’t worry, I saved the day.”
“I don’t understand,” said Gideon, staring horrified at this tableau.
“Corona? A born necromancer? She was as necromantic as Babs. But we didn’t want anything to separate us—-so we started the lie. Dad pushed the rule of competitions using necromancy pairs, and we’ve been together since.”
Everyone turned to Corona, who didn’t say anything to deny the statement. She started to sob. “You could have died, Babs. I could have died.”
“I’ve stopped the bleeding, but we should get him to the infirmary,” Palamedes said. “Abigail, Magnus, can you get a stretcher?”
As they nodded and left, something passed between Ianthe and Corona. And then Corona got up and ran for the main building. “Cor, wait!” Naberius shouted, trying to reach out to her with one hand, but he flinched and fell back to the ground.
Before she could stop to think and stop herself, Camilla hurried and followed Corona past the main building until they were standing next to each other by the dormitories, far from earshot and sight of the main group.
Corona stood there crying into her palms. Camilla didn’t know what to do, so she just took one of Corona’s hands and gently held it. In her tears, Camilla saw someone so beautiful in her bottomless despair. “Are you alright?”
Corona stared at her through tear-drenched eyes and reached out to cup Camilla’s cheek. Whatever moment they had been circling around for weeks suddenly dropped like the safety cap from a rapier. And Corona pulled in Camilla for a kiss. It was wet, messy, and right and wrong all at once. But Camilla didn’t know what else to do except wrap her arms around Corona’s back and kiss back. Her body was warm in the night chill, and Camilla felt near feverish as Corona combed her fingers through her hair.
“Corona, I—” Camilla was cut off by Corona kissing her lips even harder, and when her hand moved down her back to palm her ass ends, any other thoughts of what to say evaporated.
They somehow made their way to Camilla’s bedroom in one piece, fumbling against the doorway as Corona moved her lips to down Camilla’s neck. She pulled off Corona’s shirt and ran her hands down the expanse of skin. Then Corona pulled her into bed so she was straddling her hips and staring down at her half-naked body. When Corona tried to lift off Camilla’s shirt, the cavalier grabbed and pinned Corona’s hands above her head instead.
Looking at Corona’s flushed, tear-stained face made her brain run through This is a bad idea, to We should talk about Naberius, he was badly hurt, to What do you want from me. As if sensing Camilla’s hesitation, Corona murmured, “You just gonna stare at me or are you gonna do something with those sword arms of yours?” and bites her lip.
Reflexively, Camilla rolled her hips into Corona’s, and the “Oh” that came from her mouth was enough to make Camilla forget anything other than the golden halo of Corona’s hair spilled out beneath her and the shapes of their bodies, half fighting and half clinging together against the backdrop of a single, miserable revelation.
Then next morning when Camilla woke up to an empty bed, only the lingering scent of strawberries giving any indication of a shared night together, she wasn’t particularly surprised. She also wasn’t surprised when Palamedes told her that Naberius had been transferred to a hospital, and Ianthe had left on account of “Not having any more competition in this shithole.” Corona was gone too, but without a word to anyone.
Camilla didn’t leave any time to nurse self-pity. Whatever sting she still felt in her heart, Camilla beat it out with a quick return to her brutal training regimen. An injury from the training camp put off Camilla’s debut for a year, and then she decided to wait another when Palamedes decided he would start his professorship in one year. She didn’t want the travel and business of a full competition year to mess keep her, even if the Sixth House managers were begging her to finally show her skill on a national stage.
So the memory of that night faded, until it shocks Camilla like a bolt from the heavens when she walks into the yoga class two years later.
-----------------------
There’s not much else to do than to enter the classroom and sit quietly on the mat. She mechanically goes through the vinyasa from plank to downward dog, barely focusing on her muscles as she wonders why Corona is completely avoiding her gaze through her class. When she walks over to Harrow to turn her shoulders out, she makes no acknowledgement of Camilla’s existence.
Palamedes is doing a perfectly adequate vriksasana, one foot pulled up to his knee and both hands raised to the ceiling. Magnus shakes and then falls over, giggling with Abigail as she releases her pose to grab him. If there’s anyone who should be taking a couple’s yoga class, it’s definitely them.
Camilla can’t even be amused by the sight of Gideon completely failing to balance on one leg in tree pose (or wonder why Gideon is standing so far away from Harrow in class for once). She feels her own back loosen in this stance, but Corona’s words are a knot in her chest she can’t loosen.
By the time they get to the cooldown portion of the class, Camilla is completely distracted. What did Ianthe say to Corona? Why would Corona listen to her? She is absolutely not thinking at all about the pressure in her left shoulder as she folds one leg over her right in a supine spinal twist, arms outstretched, until there’s a bright pop! from her shoulder socket.
“Hmm,” she intones, in pain.
Her shoulder dislocating seems to bring all the students to her mat, crouching over her in concern, though Corona is there first with a look of concern so fierce and beautiful that Camilla briefly (but only briefly) forgets they’re fighting. “Oh my god Cam, are you ok?”
“Yeah,” she says by default. In her pain-filled haze, she reaches for her arm to pop back into place, but then Palamedes is by her side saying “No, I’m doing it this time.” With one hand holding her arm and the other supporting her shoulder, and his necromantic ability seeping under her skin, he deftly twists her arm back into its socket. It’s a testament to his skill that she barely feels anything when he does this, but there’s still a collective grimace from her audience.
Doctor Palamedes says, “I’ve reduced the swelling, but we should get you home to rest.”
“So you can fuss over me some more.” Stifling a groan, she lifts herself up with her right arm, and motions for everyone else to back the fuck up and give her some space. “I’ve dislocated my shoulder before, this is fine.”
“You should have told me you had a previous injury, I would have told you to skip this pose!” says Corona.
“Like you would have listened to me,” Camilla snaps back with more bite than she intended. Corona flinches at this, and shrinks to the back of the room.
Camilla doesn’t want to think about hurting Corona, or anything else about Corona while her shoulder is throbbing like hell. She keeps her arm as immobile as possible while Palamedes fashions a makeshift sling for her out of his sweater. “C’mon Cam,” Pal says as he drapes her right arm over his shoulder, and Abigail grabs her by the waist, both of them propping her up as they leave.
-----------------------
After assessing her injury and deeming rest and ibuprofen are the only things she needs, Pal sets Camilla up at her apartment with some ice packs, pills, and some vintage lesbian pulp novels. When he leaves for dinner with Abigail and Magnus, she relaxes on the couch to watch one of those necromancer reality shows about wilderness survival. She’s fist-deep in a bag of peanut butter pretzels, legs on the coffee table, on her tenth episode where the host is figuring out how to make soup from a half of a deer bone, when there’s a knock on the door.
“What,” Camilla asks, expecting Palamedes or Gideon to drop by.
“It’s Corona,” she hears through the door.
That’s a surprise.
“Hey I understand if you don’t want to see me, but I came to apologize, and help you around the house if you want me to.”
“You didn’t dislocate my shoulder.” She thinks. “The door’s unlocked.”
The latch clicks and and in walks Corona with a grocery bag, her usual instructor clothes replaced with a pair of white joggers and a V-neck tank. It’s a look, but not quite enough to drag Camilla’s gaze away from the woman setting up a fire pit on television while she’s still annoyed at her. “How’d you find me?”
“I asked Gideon for your address, and your uh,” she peers into her bag, “favorite snacks.”
“She just gave this info to you?” Camilla asks, feeling momentarily betrayed.
“I found Gideon and Harrow making out behind the studio dumpster. She was a little caught off guard, frozen like a deer.” A pause. “It was all very cute, actually.”
Ah. Internally, Camilla does a little fist pump. About fucking time. Outwardly she says, “Glad my injury was good for something.”
“Look, I’m so sorry that happened in my class. I’m supposed to be aware of my student’s injuries and make sure they don’t push themselves too far. But I was being immature and totally irresponsible. You deserve better.”
Camilla does a one-shoulder shrug. “I wasn’t paying attention in the twist and went too far. You shouldn’t be apologizing for that.”
“...But you do expect an apology from me.”
“Maybe after this episode, it’s getting to the good part,” Camilla replies as the show’s host accidentally explodes marrow all over her camping stove.
Corona nods, and she unpacks the coconut waters and chocolate-covered raisins onto the table. When that’s done, she wordless walks into the kitchen, and Camilla can hear the sounds of dishes being loaded into the dishwasher. She swaps one of Camilla’s ice packs for a fresh one. This continues, Corona tidying up while Camilla snacks on the raisins, until the sound of the show’s heavy metal credits roll. Camilla turns off the television.
When Corona walks back into the living room, Camilla motions for her to sit down, and she takes a seat on the coffee table, their legs not quite close to touching. There’s a brief pause as she tucks her golden hair behind one ear before returning Camilla’s gaze.
“I’m sorry I was so rude to you this morning. You didn’t do anything wrong, I was just...Ianthe just put me in a weird mood.”
“Ianthe might be an ass, but you can’t blame everything on her.”
“Alright, who’s being rude now?” Corona replied, mouth twisting.
“Look. I’m perfectly happy to remain friends. But even a friendship isn’t going to work if you don’t tell me what your problem is with me.”
“I don’t have a problem with you, Camilla. How could I have a problem with you? The problem is me.”
“Okay, that also sounds like an excuse.” They just stare at each, frustrated and surly, though Camilla feels she’s entitled to her surliness, what with her dislocated shoulder and all. She sighs. “Corona. I know you’re not interested in anything romantic with me. And I’ve accepted that. But I’d like to think we can stay friends instead of you ignoring me.”
Corona’s head perked up. “Wait. You were interested in me romantically speaking?”
Camilla’s a little agitated by this prodding. “Yes. And I know I’ve been obvious about it, so if you just wanted me to tone it down—-”
“Oh my god.” Corona is looking off into the distance now, and it looks like she’s trying to hold in a laugh. More to herself, she says, “Babs said I was just dehydrated and lonely. Ianthe told me there’s no way someone like you would—-”
“Corona. I don’t know what any of that means.”
“Ugh!” And then Corona leans in until she’s almost nose to nose with her, and the scent of her strawberry shampoo threatens to overwhelm Camilla into doing something stupid. Corona’s eyes are bright and happy and utterly entrancing. Her gaze drops down to Corona’s pink lips. And then Corona moves an inch forward and kisses her, light and breezy, not quite the emotional havoc of their kiss at Teacher’s camp, but instead something much more confident and sweet.
“...Okay last time you did this, we slept together and then you didn’t contact me for two years.”
“God, yeah. I’m sorry about that Camilla, I really am. I just, I really liked you. I still like you. I was just terrified someone like you would...would get to know the real me and be disappointed. I ran away first.”
There’s a low buzz in Camilla’s head as she processes all this. “I’ve been flirting with you for years. I’ve learned how to do a one-legged king pigeon pose for you. How could I be more obvious about my feelings?”
“Well, you could use more of your,” and Corona motions her palm around her face, “muscles.”
Camilla snorts. “Alright, yeah. You could have also asked me, instead of listening to Ianthe,” she says, but at the same time a feeling of lightness grows in her heart. She reaches out and brushes her blonde hair from her face.
“I know. I know, I should have. I’m sorry.”
Camilla smiles. “And I’m sorry I never asked you out directly. That’s enough apologies.” And she reaches her lips forward to touch Corona’s again, as if the only thing to take the pain away from her shoulder is to be as close as possible to this maddening, shining woman.
They spend a few moments like this, slow kissing in the sun’s rays coming in through the window, Corona making a small sound of pleasure and running her hand down Camilla’s arm. When their lips part for air, she murmurs, “You did look really good in pigeon pose. But I can think of a few other things I could do to get your back arched like that.”
Camilla feels something electric down her spine, and mirrors Corona’s grin as their foreheads touch, hair tangled and in each other’s fists. And she sees with a clarity she only ever feels when dodging a blade, or when she and Pal look at each other with the same conclusion to a puzzle, a future in Corona’s smile.