Annie Matthew - Legacy and the Double

If she closed her eyes, she could still return to the moment of her victory: one month ago today, standing on center court.

Lifting her hand over her head while the crowd stood and chanted her name.

Legacy, theyd roared, stomping their feet. LEGACY!

But if she opened her eyes, she remembered.

That was then: back when she was a champion.

Today, Legacy Petrin was on corn porridge duty.

That meant stirring, mostly. The porridge needed to be stirred as it cooked. And stirred and stirred and stirred some more. Otherwise, it would congeal into a kind of yellow cement. Then shed have to start all over again. The littles would be hungry and grumpy, and her father would be angry that shed wasted the cornmeal. Even if money hadnt been quite as scarce since Legacy had brought home her tournament winnings, her father was too stubborn to change his well-ingrained habits of thrift.

So, today, instead of swinging a racket, Legacys muscular forearms were working a long porridge spoon.

She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her burlap shift. Was it really possible that one month ago shed won the nationals? It felt like a lifetime ago. No. It felt like another life altogether.

From the vantage point of where she stood now, it was hard to believe that shed really beaten Gia. Impossible to imagine that shed ever do it again.

Realizing this, Legacy felt a little irritation beginning to burn at the back of her throat. She should be practicing. Where were her friends? Maybe Pippa could take a turn at the cauldron.

But Pippa was probably buried under a stack of Ancient Stringing Craft tomes in the attic, seeking some kind of secret to help Legacy unlock more of her grana.

And Javiwhere was he? Javi was certainly strong enough to stir this goop.

But then Legacy remembered: hed started waking up early to head out into the woods and scrounge around for training materials. Here at the orphanage, he was determined to train Legacy as intensely as they were able to back at the academy, with all its fancy weight-lifting machines, the whirlpools for recovery, the cafeteria full of high-protein options. So Javi spent hours gathering stones to build makeshift weight-lifting equipment, or ingredients for improvised muscle-bulk smoothies, which he strongly suggested Legacy drink before going out on her morning run, or heading into the forest for an afternoon session on court.

At the end of the day, though, the orphanage wasnt the academy.

More mornings than not, Javi came home from the woods complaining about the impossibility of training Legacy without academy equipment. And then Pippa chimed in about the shortage of stringing minerals, and how she couldnt properly re-string Legacys racket if she didnt find a way to stock up on prosite. And once theyd gotten going, the two of them could talk all night about the absence of proper training partners for Legacy, and how shed need to get back into shape if she was ever going to beat Gia again, and sometimes, listening to them going on, Legacy wanted to scream: she knew as well as they did that these werent the ideal circumstances for training.

And the closest she was going to get to weight lifting this morning was stirring this pot of porridge.

Alone in the kitchen without either one of her friends, aware that Gia and Villy Sal and all her other competitors were currently training at the top facility in the world, Legacy found herself stirring harder and harder.

She gritted her teeth and stirred and tried not to think about defending her title or whether the editorials in the Nova Times were right when they suggested that her victory had been a fluke. She tried not to think about that, except that, of course, it was all she could think about, and so she stirred harder and harder until suddenly, with a snap, the tension in the porridge gave.

Legacy lifted the spoon out of the cauldron. It had broken right at its neck. The useful end had sunk down to the bottom of the thickening porridge.

Flirp, she muttered, copying the swear word she used to hear older kids at the academy use when they whiffed an easy overhead. Then, almost immediately, she heard someone behind her and blushed.

Leggy?

It was Hugos timid voice. Legacy turned to see him hovering in the doorway. Since Legacy had left to go to the city, he and Ink together had taken on some of her tasks, looking after the smaller and less capable littles. Ink had taken responsibility for entertaining them. Hugo seemed to have taken responsibility for keeping them fed. He knew his way around the kitchen like an experienced chef.

His new responsibilities had changed him. He was more dependable, but also more fearful. Now she wished hed just step forward and say whatever it was he wanted to say.

What is it, Hugo? she said. Her voice was sharper than shed intended.

Umtheres someone at the front gate.

Legacy doused the cooking fire and put a lid over the cauldron. Make some sandwiches for lunch, please, she said. And make one for Zaza without jam.

It was a precaution developed from experience: Zaza plus jam meant sticky handprints on every surface she could reach.

She left Hugo in the kitchen to go investigate the visitor. It was a rare event, and she was wary of who might be asking for entry. In the past, before she went to the city, she might have been excited about the novelty of a stranger. She could remember the old days, when her father would welcome travelers in for the night. Hed put them to workrepairing light fixtures, painting cracked wallsto earn their room and board. Over dinner, shared with these strangers, it had been fun to hear new stories from new parts of the provinces.

But now times had changed, as Legacy was well aware. Shed had a hand in changing them. When she won the national tournament, shed made a spectacularly powerful enemy in High Consul Silla, otherwise known as the Queen since her younger days dominating the tennis court. Silla had smiled as she presented Legacy with the check, but shed hissed threats under her breath.

In that moment, Legacy had felt boldeven reckless. Come after me, she had said to Silla. I dare you.

Now, wearing her apron, holding the broken end of the spoon, Legacy shivered at the memory. What had inspired such boldness in her heart? Was it knowing that Silla was her mothers sister? Was it winning the nationals, beating Gia, feeling light radiating out of her body and pushing back against Gias darkness?

Both were hard to imagine. Walking through the great room toward the front door, noticing the mess the littles had left on the long table, she couldnt escape the nagging fear that it was someone elsesome other version of herself, maybewho had won the nationals. The real herthe Legacy shed become once again after fleeing to the orphanagewasnt a champion. The real her used her speed to round up the littles for bath time, used her strength to stir porridge, and barely radiated enough light to see her own two feet when the sun had fallen on an after-dinner training session on the old court in the forest.