Tag: Cumulo

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 6, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch6.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Farewell, Mherrin! And, excuse me, Lieutenant Stirla, but just what are you up to?

Six

10th Blizzard

“It’s pure spite.” As Mhysra vigorously combed tangles out of the horsat’s mane, her puppy growled from the doorway. “See, Bumble agrees. She’s heard them too.”

Mherrin snorted and pushed Ripple’s wing out of the way so he could brush her side. The horsat stood patiently, tracking both humans’ movements with her swivelling ears.

“Didn’t it take Kilai years to get permission?” Derrain asked, lounging in the doorway.

“Two very long years,” Milluqua agreed from her seat on an upturned bucket, where she was checking the braiding on Ripple’s reins. A lady she might be, but she’d also been raised in Wrentheria.

“You didn’t have to live with his sulking,” Mherrin groaned. “How we suffered!”

Milluqua sniffed. “You didn’t have to put up with the earl’s disapproval.”

“At least it isn’t aimed at you,” Mhysra grumbled, attacking Ripple’s tail. “And it never will be.”

“Bitterness does not become you, dearest,” Derrain cooed, ducking the brush she threw at his head. The puppy barked and strained her lead to reach it. “Here you go, bumbling pup.” Derrain gave her the brush and she settled down with it between her paws, tail wagging, teeth chomping.

“You can’t give her that!” Mhysra snatched it away. “She’ll break it.”

“You shouldn’t have throw it then. Bumble might get hurt.”

While they bickered, Milluqua handed the bridle to her cousin. “Tell Mhylo to take better care of his tack – the braiding is badly frayed. Ripple’s a good mare, but it’s not something you want unravelling mid-flight.”

“Thanks, Milli. I’ll let him know, not that he’ll be grateful. Lazy git.” Kissing her cheek, Mherrin began tacking up. When Mhysra put Ripple’s saddle on, he caught her eye. “You are going to hand that letter in, aren’t you?”

“Depends,” she mumbled. Her cousin raised his eyebrows and she focused on the buckles. Since he was the one who’d forged her father’s signature, he should have been the one advising caution as the one who would have the most to lose if they were caught. Then again Mherrin never did have much sense. Whereas she probably had too much misdirected honour. “I just wish they’d say yes. It doesn’t feel right starting out this way.”

Her cousin gave a cheerful shrug. “More fool them. And more fool you.” He tweaked her nose. “I can’t see why you’d want to work with those toffs, but since you do and it’s what Cumulo needs, good luck to you, cuz.”

“And you.” Ducking under Ripple’s neck, she threw her arms about Mherrin. He was her favourite cousin and she’d miss him. The past four days had been horrible and full of arguments, but Mherrin had made it bearable. He could always cheer her up.

“Don’t get dismal now,” he murmured, and she smiled.

“Watch your back.” She patted him between his shoulder blades. “A lone flyer is always vulnerable, especially on a horsat.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ve flown even more than you, Wingborn. I can take care of myself.”

“Make sure you do,” Milluqua said sternly, coming over to neaten his collar. “I’d be displeased if anything happened to you.”

Mherrin glanced despairingly at Derrain. “Girls!”

Derrain smirked, but wisely said nothing. Instead he untied Bumble and moved aside so Ripple could leave her stall unmolested. “Fast winds and clear skies.”

“Try not to die of boredom at school.” Once outside, Mherrin hopped into the saddle and tucked his knees beneath Ripple’s wings. The horsat shivered all over and pranced with readiness. At Mherrin’s signal, she lifted her head and galloped for the takeoff ramp, wings unfurling. One beat, two, she hit top speed and leapt.

For a moment they hung weightless over the sheer drop to the Cloud Sea, hundreds of feet below, then the wind filled Ripple’s enormous wings and she soared. Spiralling on the updraft, leathery wings spread wide, she circled and rose with each lazy flap. With a final wave, Mherrin gathered his reins and Ripple powered forward with great thrusts of her wings, her legs galloping on the air, and away they went.

Mhysra sighed, wishing she could go too. She missed her miryhl chicks, the lively manor, the calm lake and Cumulo’s ridiculous attempts to dominate the bullwing herd. But that was her old life, over a thousand miles away. A life where women were excluded from the Riders and the occasional miryhl could be spared. Things were different now. If only her parents would agree.

“Here we go,” Milluqua muttered, and Mhysra realised she’d clenched her jaw.

“If you’re off to pick another fight, I’ll bid you good day,” Derrain said, slapping Bumble’s lead into her hand. “Lieutenant Stirla offered to show me the eyries.”

Unable to face another argument, Mhysra smiled wearily. “I’ll come too, if you don’t mind.”

Milluqua sighed with relief and snatched Bumble’s lead. “Excellent idea. I’ll take this one. Make sure you’re back in time for dinner.” Not waiting in case Mhysra changed her mind, her sister hurried off as if a pack of pyreflies were nipping at her heels.

Chuckling, Derrain hooked his arm through hers. “Seems you’re stuck with me then.”

“Seems I am.” Mhysra wrinkled her nose. “However will I cope?”

* * * * *

“BEAUTIFUL, SO BEAUTIFUL. Who knew letting women back in the Riders would reap such exquisite rewards?”

Eyebrows raised, Lyrai led the visitors through the eyries towards the cooing voice. The place were mostly deserted at this time of day, with one flurry on duty and the other preferring to escape the cold. Everyone, that is, except Stirla. Since Lyrai could see Stirla’s miryhl, Atyrn, hunched miserably near the doors, it was safe to assume the lieutenant was busy elsewhere.

“Absolutely glorious. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to spend your life with me? I’d treat you as wonderfully as you deserve. I could -”

Lyrai led the two youngsters within sight of the love-struck lieutenant and coughed. Since one of the visitors happened to be bonded to the miryhl Stirla was sweet-talking, Lyrai grinned as his friend spun around. Despite all the scrapes they’d been caught in over the years, Lyrai had never seen Stirla look guilty before. This was very interesting.

“Er…”

“Afternoon, Stirla. Hope we’re not interrupting.”

The girl folded her arms and glared, while the boy lounged against an unused perch, grinning.

Stirla inched away from the miryhl, making innocent gestures with his hands. “Um…”

The miryhl lowered his head and chuckled, so the girl turned her scowl on him.

“If you want rid of me, Cue, just say.”

Cumulo raised his head and squawked. Feathers rose on his face and head, and he glowered at Stirla. The lieutenant ducked under a perch and backed away.

“Don’t you blame him,” the girl snapped. “Look me in the eye when I’m talking to you, Cumulo. And don’t try that innocent act on me.” The miryhl had been making supplicating purrs, but at this his feathers fluffed up with affront. “Nor that either. I’m wise to all your tricks. I know they approach you, but you encourage them. Thirteen offers, Cue. Thirteen!”

Stirla slunk over to Lyrai. “If I’d known I was part of a crowd, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

Lyrai patted him sympathetically on the shoulder, just as the girl spun on her heel and jabbed a finger in Stirla’s direction. “And you should be ashamed of yourself – trying to cozen a miryhl away from his bonded. Especially when you’ve a perfectly good mount of your own.” She shoved her miryhl aside and approached Atyrn, stroking the neglected eagle with soothing hands. “Such a beauty too. Men are so stupid not to value a treasure when they have one.”

“She has a point,” Lyrai murmured. Even bigger than Cumulo, Atyrn was the envy of many Riders. So dark she was almost black, she was strong and had the best endurance of their flight. She was also steadfast and willing to push through any weather. There were few better miryhls to be had than Atyrn. “Badly done, my friend.”

Lady Mhysra snorted scornfully. “As if you weren’t the first to approach Cue,” she muttered. Stirla and the lad laughed, but the girl ignored them. She was wary of him, Lyrai knew. Unlike Stirla, who was friendly and flirtatious, young women made Lyrai nervous. It was bad enough when he was obliged to spend time with his sisters, and they were family. He never knew how to treat them. Apparently, Mhysra felt the same way towards him. Under normal circumstances, Lyrai would be delighted to be avoided, but when she became a student… He’d have to work on his manners.

“Come on, Mhysra, don’t be grouchy,” Derrain cajoled. “As if Cumulo would leave you. He’s put up – I mean you’ve put up with him for sixteen years.”

She smiled reluctantly. “You’re not Mherrin.”

“But I get points for trying, right?” the lad appealed to the lieutenants.

She shoved his shoulder. “Give over, Derry. Didn’t you want something here?”

As the boy turned to Stirla, Lyrai watched the girl murmur to Atyrn, while the miryhl rubbed her affectionately on the shoulder with her head. Then, despite Cumulo’s jealous growls, Mhysra kissed the eagle’s beak. Only after she had checked her friend was still busy with Stirla did she approach her bonded. Hooking his beak over her shoulder, Cumulo and tugged her close and hustled her under his wing. The girl protested and the miryhl turned his head so they could argue in whispers.

It was quite a sight and Lyrai leant against a perch to watch. Cumulo treated her like a naughty chick and she treated him like an annoying little brother, but there was a thread of affection running through their partnership that he’d never seen before. Even in the oldest pairs the interactions were more of comrades and friends than family. Perhaps that was the real sign of a Wingborn.

A prod on the arm drew him back to the present.

Stirla grinned at him. “I’m showing Derrain around. Want to come, or are you busy?”

Since Lyrai was grounded, they both knew he had no reason to be in the eyries. Especially when his flurry was on patrol, meaning he couldn’t even spring a surprise inspection. The only thing worth looking at was the girl and her Wingborn.

“I’ve got paperwork to do.”

“Oh aye,” Stirla said with a exaggerated wink. “Paperwork, is it? Come along, young Derrain, let’s leave my esteemed colleague to his work.” Still chuckling, Stirla took the lad off, leaving the girl and her miryhl to argue. Lyrai glanced at them, then turned away. Regardless of what Stirla thought was going on, Lyrai missed having a miryhl. Seeing others with theirs made his feet itch and an empty ache fill his chest. Not that he’d been close to Froth.

It had been a bad decision from the start. To an awestruck sixteen-year-old desperate to impress his peers and parents, the pale gold female as swift as the wind had seemed like an excellent choice. Everyone said how well they looked together. Unfortunately, she was a little too vain, a bit too lazy and far too full of herself. That was how she’d ended up injured. Lyrai hadn’t even been flying her at the time. No, his foolish bonded had ruined herself on her own time, showing off to the rest of the flurry and clipping a wing on a cliff.

Turning his back on the eyries, Lyrai headed for the offices. He really did have paperwork to do. Not that he’d intended to do it – Rift Rider officers rarely did – but it wasn’t as though he had anything else to do. He wanted to fly, wanted it so badly that if he hung around the eyries any longer, he might do something stupid. Like try to take Cumulo.

The day of Choice and his chance to bond with a new miryhl was seven months away, but every day brought him closer to flight. If he could just keep going he would be airborne eventually. He flexed his hands and shook his head, wishing that telling himself such things actually made a difference.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 4, Part 3

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch4.3

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Roll up! Roll up! For the extra Wednesday update!

Marvel at Nimbys From Above! Gasp at the Antics of a Bumbling Pup! And shake your head at a certain grumpy lieutenant showing how not to make friends and influence miryhls.

WIND RUSHED UP to meet them, tugging at feathers, hair and clothing. Hunching over to protect the pup, Mhysra forced her skirts as flat as she could and held on for the ride. Closing her eyes against the rush, she buried her face against Cumulo’s shoulder and laughed, waiting for the lift of her stomach as he spread his wings and swept up into the sky.

Atyrn’s sharp cry reached them over the swirling winds and Cumulo screamed his reply, the pup yipping along. Mhysra opened her eyes as they wheeled away from the high mountain and skimmed down towards the city. Rocks, snow and ranks of trees whizzed beneath them, until, suddenly, the mountain seemed to open its arms. Cradled protectively against the valley’s heart, the city of Nimbys sparkled in the late afternoon light.

It wasn’t the biggest city in the Overworld, nor the most populated. It wasn’t the oldest, nor the most holy. It wasn’t the highest, it wasn’t even the warmest, but it was beautiful. Tucked at the top of the Imercian landmass, Nimbys was surrounded on three sides by the indomitable Cloud Sea. The east was protected by other mountains, but none contained a place as wondrous as Nimbys. Home of the Stratys – ruler of all Imercian – it was a place of administration, intrigue, politics and stunning architecture.

Shaped by the contours of its mountain, Nimbys rippled and undulated more gracefully than any other settlement Mhysra had seen. Sparkling towers rose from the haze of buildings and, at the open end of the city, the Cathedral of Maegla dominated as only the Storm Goddess could.

The northern edge of the ravine belonged to the Stratys Palace. Like a collection of snowflakes frozen on the edge of a waterfall, it glinted in untouchable glory. Everything about it spoke of riches, power and perfection.

The city between the two wonders was a mismatch of society and styles. The docklands throbbed with life and business, while skyships bobbed serenely at their mooring posts or were beached forlornly in the dry docks. The miryhls rushed effortlessly above them all, casting shadows across the markets and streets below, before lifting high to crest the ridge on which the palace and Flying Corps HQ stood.

Following Atyrn’s lead they swooped around the HQ and drifted onto the wide field beyond. Off-duty Riders ran out of the eyries and offices, bundled up against the cold, eager to view this newest curiosity.

Eager to be admired, Cumulo landed with a series of bounding hops, head high, chest puffed out, freshly preened feathers gleaming. Mhysra muttered dark things behind his proud head. Such a landing might look impressive, but it was horribly uncomfortable, especially when one was trying not to drop a squirming, brainless pup.

“That’s why it loves you,” Cumulo remarked as Mhysra released the dog. It flapped once before dropping like a stone. “It hasn’t enough intelligence to do otherwise.”

Sliding from his saddle, she jabbed his ribs with her toes on the way down and set about taming her skirt. “You’re such a charmer,” she grumbled, unbuckling his saddle and harness, before pulling them free. When she stepped back, he lowered his head and unhooked his bridle with a talon, tossing it to her with a flick.

“Very clever,” she drawled. He was showing off, trying to prove that Wingborn were so much smarter than ordinary miryhls. The only way he really outdid normal miryhls, in Mhysra’s opinion, was the size of his self-consequence.

“Let the gawping commence,” Lieutenant Stirla chuckled, heading towards the eyries.

As Mhysra approached the watching crowd, Cumulo strutting at her side, she had a sudden attack of nerves. It was one thing to storm the HQ and demand admittance, but this was different. Then she’d had a goal and nobody could stop her. Especially not a stuffy paper-pusher who could no more fly than dance on the Cloud Sea.

Here, however, she was under the eyes of the experts, and while she knew Cumulo was a superior specimen, she also knew she wasn’t. Too tall and scrawny to be girly, too flimsy to be boyish. To strangers she looked weak. Unworthy.

“Buck up,” Cumulo murmured. “You’re my Wingborn. Without you I’m nothing.”

The unexpected compliment straightened her spine and raised her chin. He was right, they belonged here. With these men in their well-worn uniforms, their hands and some of their faces scarred by the lives they lived. These were Rift Riders, real Rift Riders.

How would she ever belong here?

Cumulo nudged her with his wing, making her realised she’d shrunk against him again, like a chick hiding behind its mother. She straightened up and glanced towards Stirla for guidance. He was grinning as the crowd parted to reveal the other lieutenant. The blond one with the cold eyes. He nodded at Stirla and stepped forward to study the new miryhl. Whistling softly, he walked slowly around the newcomers.

Cumulo’s beak crackled in annoyance and Mhysra touched his wing, surprised. After all, he’d shown no such objection when Stirla had done the same.

“Impressive,” the lieutenant announced, his inspection complete. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I see why you were so determined to join us, my lady.”

Uncertain of what was expected, she bobbed a curtsey. “Thank you, sir.”

“Lieutenant Lyrai.” He gave a curt bow. “Grounded until the Choice, my miryhl retired to stud. Wounded.” He looked at Cumulo again, unable to hide his covetous envy. “I know your name, my lady, but what about this fine fellow?”

“Cumulo,” she replied, as her miryhl curled his beak protectively over her shoulder, tugging her against his chest. She tickled his cheek just below his eye in his favourite spot, making him purr. “My Wingborn.”

A ripple ran through the Riders, word spreading to those who hadn’t already heard the news.

Ignoring the talk, Lieutenant Lyrai studied her and her eagle, taking in Cumulo’s protective stance and her affectionate touch. “Welcome to the Riders, Lady Mhysra and Cumulo. We hope you like it here.”

Something nipped her ankle and she glared down at the puppy, wondering if she was to be plagued on all sides. Disapproving lieutenants, stubborn parents, prideful miryhls and stupid puppies – Maegla aid her to a simple life.

Sighing, she nodded to the lieutenant. “Thank you, sir.”

From his faint smile and the occasional mutter from the crowd, not everyone was keen on readmitting women to the Riders.

Mhysra lifted her chin at the challenge. She was Wingborn. She belonged here – and she would prove it.

“Come on, Cue, let’s get you settled.” Hefting his tack, she scooped up the puppy and followed the chuckling Stirla inside. It was going to be a long winter.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 4, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch4.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

In which Cumulo has a bath, Stirla is impressed and poor Atyrn feels left out.

“YOU KNOW, I’M not sure you should bathe in a reservoir,” Mhysra said later that afternoon, as she scrambled around her soggy miryhl, riffling her fingers through his damp feathers, getting out the dirt and encouraging them to dry. “It’s not very hygienic.”

Pulling his head up from preening his flight feathers, Cumulo sniffed. “Where else am I supposed to bathe?”

Mhysra turned to view the world around them. Nimbys was just one of many mountains making up the northern edge of the Imercian range, but it, like all the others, was doused in a heavy blanket of snow. Most of the mountains had some source of water amongst their craggy peaks, but likewise the majority of them were frozen. The only reason this lake above Nimbys wasn’t was because the city worked very hard to keep the water flowing.

“Good point.” After all, a bird of Cumulo’s size could hardly be expected to roll in the snow, like a pair of playful ravens were currently doing on the slopes above them. Especially considering the state Cumulo had been in.

“It’s too late now anyway.” Cumulo sniffing, giving himself a thorough shake and fluffing up like an oversized chicken. He squawked in dismay and frantically began preening his feathers flat again.

“I suppose,” Mhysra sighed, helping to smooth him down. He was so vain.

“And I could hardly turn up at the Rider eyries looking like I did. It would have created completely the wrong impression.”

She certainly couldn’t argue with that. “Well, you look splendid now.”

He puffed up his chest with pride.

“Apart from your tail, but I’m sure it’ll grow back soon.”

Cumulo deflated, peering over his shoulder and waggling the offending appendage. The feathers were bent and ragged, but the rest of him looked good. The shore around them was scattered with broken feathers, several of which had been carried off and partially chewed by the nakhound pup.

A shadow swept over them and they both looked up, Mhysra shading her eyes against the pallid sun, Cumulo half-mantling his wings in protective readiness. An enormous miryhl circled above them before coming into land. It wasn’t the first they’d seen this morning, but all the others had been part of Rider patrols and flown onwards with curious glances. Mhysra soon realised why this one was different.

Not only was the almost-black female the largest she had ever seen – and since female miryhls were normally bigger than males, this one had to be female – there was also a familiar Rider on her back. Tall, broad across the shoulders with merry green eyes and a scar across his brown cheek, his was a form she could hardly forget. The stripes on his uniform only made him more memorable.

“Lieutenant Stirla,” Mhysra greeted, as the grinning lieutenant slid down from his saddle and ruffled his miryhl’s neck feathers. “What brings you up here?” She hoped it wasn’t to tell them off. She’d told Cumulo he shouldn’t bathe in the reservoir, but when had he ever listened to her?

“Looking for you, of course. I was starting to think you’d got lost,” the lieutenant replied, laughing as the nakhound puppy bounded over to say hello. After leaning down to stroke her, Stirla straightened and eyed Cumulo with an admiring whistle. “Stamp me impressed and ship me to Havia, that is one good looking bird.”

Ever ready to be admired, Cumulo puffed up his freshly preened chest, knowing how to tilt his head just so to make golden highlights glint across his feathers. Behind the lieutenant, the big female gave an affronted ruffle of her wings and glowered at her Rider.

“What’s his name?” Stirla asked, glancing at Mhysra to confirm the gender before coming closer to inspect Cumulo, the nakhound pup dancing around his feet. “He looks fully grown already, but if he’s your Wingborn he can’t be more than, what, fifteen? Does that mean he still has five years of growing to do?”

A little offended on behalf of the female eagle, Mhysra folded her arms and called her fawning puppy to heel. “Cumulo and I are sixteen,” she corrected. “As a Wingborn his growth matches mine, so rather than maturing at twenty, he’ll probably peak in a year or two.” The glance she shot her miryhl suggested that though he might have almost finished growing physically, mentally he still had a lot of work to do.

Cumulo winked at her and obligingly spread his wings for the lieutenant. Show off.

Shooting him a withering glare, Mhysra approached the neglected female. “She’s beautiful. What’s her name, sir?” Offering up her palms, she waited for the miryhl to lower her head, then began stroking the bird’s face.

“Hmm?” His stream of low voiced compliments interrupted, Stirla glanced briefly over his shoulder. “Oh, that’s Atyrn. She’s great.” He went back to admiring Cumulo.

Smiling, Mhysra slid her hands down Atyrn’s neck to the shoulder joint, and dug her fingers into the muscle. The big bird’s wings sagged and Atyrn shivered with an ecstatic purr. “What a gorgeous girl you are,” Mhysra crooned. “I’ve never seen such a strong, fine miryhl.”

Huffing, Cumulo snapped his wings closed and stepped away from the lieutenant. When Atyrn turned her head to run an affectionate beak through Mhysra’s curls, the young male actually growled, stalking across the lakeshore and tugging his Wingborn away.

Yanked backwards by a proprietary beak, Mhysra found herself being hustled beneath a jealous wing and laughed into his damp feathers. “You’re such an idiot, Cue.”

Watching their antics with amusement, Lieutenant Stirla turned to soothe his miryhl’s ruffled pride. “You’re still the most beautiful girl in the world to me,” he assured her. “But it’s always nice to make new friends.”

Atyrn huffed sulkily but didn’t protest when her Rider stroked her neck.

The lieutenant smiled at Mhysra. “If you’re ready, I think it’s time to move into the eyries. Everything’s been prepared for you,” he added to Cumulo. “And though I was curious to see how you settled in before, I now can’t wait to set this pyrefly amongst the sheep.”

Mhysra looked at Cumulo, unsure if that was a good thing. They were going to cause enough of a stir as it was being Wingborn. Impatient to be admired some more, Cumulo gave her a hurry-up nudge.

So she sighed and fetched his tack. “We’ll be there soon, sir, if you wish to go on ahead.”

Leaning against Atyrn’s shoulder, Stirla gave a lazy wave. “We can wait. I wouldn’t miss this for the Overworld.”

That was what worried her, but she said nothing, lifting the saddle and its blanket onto Cumulo’s back instead. Settled just behind his wing joint, the leather seat was light and padded, ensuring comfort for both of them. As well as the stirrups found on an ordinary saddle, it also had cups towards the back for a Rider to tuck their ankles and feet into. This enabled them to lean forward against their miryhl’s neck in secure comfort, while also keeping out of the wind.

Giving Cumulo time to make sure the saddle sat right, Mhysra looped the breast harness into place and fastened the top buckles against the front of the saddle. Then she leant down to fasten the girth behind his legs, sliding it through the strap that ran down from the harness.

“Good?” she asked.

Cumulo flexed his wings and nodded. “Good.”

Slipping the bridle over his head, she secured the strap around his beak and another behind his head. It was more of a head collar than a bridle and was not intended to control the miryhl or impede the opening of the beak. Mostly it helped the Rider stay on and occasionally suggest a change of direction, but few miryhls appreciated being guided.

Looping the reins back over Cumulo’s neck, Mhysra grabbed the puppy, hiked up her skirts and clambered astride. It wasn’t particularly dignified, nor her favourite way to fly, but at least the skirt was full enough to cover most of her legs.

“All set?” Lieutenant Stirla asked, politely averting his eyes while Mhysra arranged her clothes for maximum modesty. Thankfully the puppy was smart enough not to fuss, and simply lay down across Mhysra’s lap.

“Whenever you are, sir,” she agreed, and waited while Atyrn – the senior miryhl – hopped towards the cliff edge and dropped out of sight.

“I hate it when you fly in skirts,” Cumulo grumbled, as they waited for the other eagle to swoop back up into view.

“I’m not that fond of it either,” Mhysra sighed. “But this’ll be the last time, I promise.”

Giving a disapproving sniff, Cumulo shuffled to the edge of the cliff. “It’d better be,” he told her. “Now, shall we show them how it’s done?”

Without waiting for a reply, he leant forward, opened his wings and kicked off into the empty air below.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 4, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch4.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Just what is so bad about those city eyries anyway?

Four

At first glance there didn’t seem to be anything wrong with the city eyries. The front section was a little shabby, perhaps, but it was spotlessly clean and the bedding smelled fresh. Bright-eyed horsat heads bobbed over the top of almost every door, their odd bat-like ears swivelling to follow every sound. This part of the eyries was always busy, with messengers coming and going, and stablehands scurrying to keep the large stalls clean.

Weaving between the frantic activity, Mhysra headed for a familiar horsat head. Scratching Ripple’s muzzle, she peered over the door to check that all was well. The stone walls may have been old, but the stall was big enough for the horsat to lie down in, as well as wide and high enough for the beast to flex its large, leathery, bat wings.

Satisfied, Mhysra snitched an apple from a nearby bucket and waited while the nakhound pup and horsat exchanged a sniff of noses.

“Good boy, Rip,” Mhysra said, once the pup was done and, handing the stallion the apple, she took the path that skirted the second section of the eyries.

Here the walls were blackened and scorched, looking rough and ready where newer sections had been patched in. Not that this was unusual for a pyrefly roost. Nor was the heavily locked door. Angry screeches sounded from inside, making the puppy cringe, but Mhysra walked on unconcerned. Pyreflies were always screaming about something. It was hard to believe they’d started from the same place as the placid, reliable horsats, mixing an equine body with bat ears and wings.

Pyreflies had an added extra, though – dragon blood. Thanks to that the flying horses had talons instead of hooves and the ability to breathe fire. They were also foul-tempered and moderately intelligent – just enough to make them cunning and spiteful. Mhysra was not fond of the creatures, but her cousin Mherrin loved them. To each their own.

Rubbing the pup comfortingly on the head, Mhysra left the pyreflies behind for the third and final section of the eyries. Unlike the busy horsat stables or the locked pyrefly roost, this area was deserted and filthy. There were holes in the roof, the walls were a badly maintained mixture of stone and rotten timber, and there were rat droppings on the floor. Not to mention the mess that had been left behind by roosting pigeons. The far corner was the only dry portion left and it was mostly being used as a store room.

A large perch had also been squeezed into the space, propped up on grain barrels, with hay bales stacked behind to block out the worst of the drafts. It was here that Cumulo sat hunched, forlorn and shivering.

Despite the dowdy surroundings he was still an impressive sight. Almost fully grown, the young miryhl was a conker-coloured giant with hints of gold in his glorious feathers. When stretched to his full height he towered above Mhysra to almost eight feet, and when he opened those magnificent wings they spread for twenty feet or more. In all he was a very fine example of the miryhl breed.

More than that Cumulo was Wingborn, his mystical bond tying him to Mhysra for life. Rift Rider legends were full of daring Wingborn and their epic feats, describing them as one soul divided. One will, one reason, one heart. Miryhl Wingborn were always bigger, bolder, brasher, braver. And he was hers, just as she was his.

The puppy barked, squirming to get down, so Mhysra let it flap its ungainly way to the ground. By the time it was racing off to explore the nearest rat hole, Cumulo was watching her.

“Merry Midwinter, Cue.”

He hunched his wings. “What’s merry about it?” His voice was hoarse, rough-edged from breathing the damp cold air. Back home in Wrentheria the eyries were large and spacious, filled with the comforting warmth of more than thirty miryhls. Here Cumulo was alone for the first time in his life. A pang of guilt shot through her, since he was only here because she had to be. Thankfully, that was all about to change.

“You’re a mess, Cue.” The ground around his perch was littered with scurf and feathers. His golden eyes were dull and the skin around his beak, eyes and talons looked cracked and sore. Aunt Mhylla would have her hide for letting him get into such a state, but if they’d been at Wrentheria he never would have ended up like this. Cumulo was big, brash and vain, but without company he’d given up.

He sniffed at her rudeness. “I saw your cousin. He seemed cheerful.”

“Mherrin always is.” Traditionally miryhls only ever spoke to their bonded Rider, but Cumulo had always been different and Mherrin was family. Mhysra had no doubt they’d enjoyed a nice long chat about her, Wrentheria and the city.

“He brought you a gift, he said.” Cumulo eyed the bundle of fluff chasing feathers across the dirty floor. “I hoped it would be something useful.”

“She’ll grow.”

They watched the puppy trip over a grain sack, roll in a tangle of silky white feathers and sprawl in the dirt. Cumulo clucked disapprovingly. “You should call it Bumble.”

Mhysra rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to be like that I won’t share my news. Which would be a shame, since I ran all the way from the Rider offices, icy streets and all.”

Cumulo straightened, feathers rising all along his crest with interest. “Enrolment ended yesterday,” he pointed out cautiously.

“Do you really think they’d turn a Wingborn pair away?” she scoffed, as though their acceptance had never been in doubt. Walking up to the desk that morning had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. When the clerk had laughed at her in front of all those Riders, she’d wanted to sink through the floor.

“And did they?” Cumulo asked breathlessly.

She smiled. “Buck up, Cue, you’ve got a new home.”

He threw back his head and screamed, terrifying pigeons out of the rafters. More than one precariously placed slate teetered through a roof hole and smashed on the floor. Cumulo flapped open his wings with a crack and sent dust, snow and dirt whirling into the walls.

Mhysra winced, covering her ears and face, while the puppy howled. The neighbouring pyreflies set up a ruckus, surges of flame licking around the edges of their high windows.

“Enough, Cumulo! Enough!” she shouted, when he paused for breath.

“Sorry.” He hunched his wings with a sheepish cough. “When do I leave?”

“How about now?”

“Now?” he shrieked with horror. “You expect me to move into the Rift Rider eyries looking like this?” Arching his neck, he examined his plucked chest, then turned to view his dusty back and ragged tail. “I’m not fit to be seen!”

“Then you’d best do something about it, hadn’t you?”

Grumbling, he preened a few primaries and gagged. “Atrocious. Open the doors, fetch my harness and don’t let your stupid puppy eat that, it won’t do it any good. I need a bath.”

“That’s not all you need,” Mhysra muttered, but hurried to comply. If he wanted to be clean, who was she to stop him? As long as he didn’t catch his death from cold. Scooping up the puppy, she unbolted the hatch, hauled on the chains to open the doors and grabbed his tack out of its box. The sooner she settled Cumulo, the sooner she could go back to pestering her parents. Somehow she doubted that the second half of her day would prove quite as successful as the first.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 1, Part 3

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch1.3

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

In which a skyship, an old friend and a rather interesting newspaper are encountered.

16th Gale

“Have you heard the latest?”

Mhysra rolled away from the window where she’d watched Wrentheria become a speck, a valley, then a mountain, until it was finally shrouded by clouds. Home was out of reach now.

“Not still moping, are you?” Slapping a newspaper on the bed, Derrain, an Illuminai midshipman she’d known since he was a cabin boy, jumped up to join her on the top bunk.

Her mother hadn’t said anything when Mhysra chose to stay with the crew rather than in the state rooms. Derrain wasn’t her only friend amongst the younger crewmembers and right now she needed friendly voices around her.

“Anyone alive in there?” Derrain rapped her forehead with his knuckles.

“Sapskull.” Catching him off-guard with a swipe of her leg, she knocked him off the bed.

A seasoned skysailor, Derrain twisted, landed on his toes and bounded up again. “Nice try.”

Knowing she’d never get rid of him, she picked up the newspaper. “What have I missed?”

Derrain said nothing, waiting while her eyes scanned the worn print. The corners of the four-sheet were dog-eared and the ink was smudged after passing through many eager hands. The paper crackled as she read the headline and tightened her grip.

Eyes wide, she checked the date: thirteen days old. Thirteen days and she hadn’t known. Hadn’t even heard a rumour.

“Gods,” she whispered.

Grinning, Derrain swayed in excitement. “Isn’t it great?”

She motioned for him to be quiet, scanning the words over and over for fear she’d read something wrong. She hadn’t. The words remained the same. For the first time in over a hundred years the Flying Corps were relaxing their rules. Women, banned for some arcane reason no one could remember, were allowed to fly again. To protect the skies and mountains from threats both winged and grounded. It wasn’t just messengers and pyrefliers admitting women again, but the best of them all: the Rift Riders.

“Ai Maegla,” Mhysra breathed. “Tell me this isn’t a joke, Derry.”

“No joke,” he vowed solemnly. “Heirayk knows they haven’t any choice.”

Taking a shuddering breath to still the fever dancing through her veins, Mhysra frowned. “What do you mean?”

Derrain’s expression was grim as he tapped the story below the headline. Fresh losses. Riders, miryhls, messengers, doelyn, bullwings, horsats, pyreflies and -fliers, artillerymen. Every aspect of the Corps was suffering. Not just skirmishes, but attacks on bases, selection schools, farms, stables and eyries. Nothing connected to the defence of the Greater West had been spared, and the results were costly.

“They can’t afford to keep women out. Not after Feather Frost.”

Her excitement turned numb. “Feather Frost was a year ago. They said it was because the winter was so hard. They said -”

“They lied,” Derrain interrupted grimly. His uncle had been a bullwing artilleryman stationed at Feather Frost, Mhysra remembered sadly. “They lied to the press, the world, even the families, because they didn’t want everyone to know what it meant.”

“What does it mean?” she asked, head spinning with the implication that things had grown so bad the Corps were willing to admit women again. They’d been adamantly opposed for so long.

“They’re scared. The losses are coming too fast and they can’t replenish them with a shrinking intake of boys every year.”

“Gods.” She scanned the article again, turning the page and searching for more amongst the gossip, the politics and the pointless. Nothing, just two short articles to change her life.

“Well?” Derrain asked, when she finally folded the paper and met his dancing dark eyes.

Mhysra raised her eyebrows, a move which he mimicked, then smiled. “Try and stop me.”

* * *

“Oh, my,” Mhysra said, entering the hull eyries with her hands in her pockets, purposefully ignoring her miryhl’s dejected stance. “Look at all this space.”

Cumulo huffed and shuffled his wings. “I’m making the most of my luxury. I doubt I’ll see such accommodations again for a long while.”

She patted his beak consolingly. It was her fault he had to put up with things like this. Well, partly her fault. If they weren’t Wingborn he’d still be at Wrentheria, being trained for his future life. At just sixteen, however, he’d have another two years to finish growing first. Or longer, since male miryhls were often allowed to mature until twenty before they were sent to the life-changing Choice, to be paired for life with just one Rider.

Being Wingborn, Cumulo’s development matched hers, making him advanced for his age, but for all the closeness of their bond, she was no compensation for his own kind. It was because he was bonded to her that he suffered these moments of isolation. It would have been different if she was a boy; they’d have been sent to Aquila as soon as they were fit enough to walk and fly. Because she was a girl, though, her miryhl was condemned to live away from his own kind, exiled for things not of his making. Or so they’d always thought.

“Are you looking forward to seeing Nimbys again?” she asked, sitting on the perch opposite his. The eyrie was designed for five miryhls to roost in comfort, or as many as ten at a pinch. With only one occupant, no matter how big and impressive he might be, it looked empty and was being used as a spare storeroom, with feed bins and pieces of tack lying around.

Cumulo shrugged, a mannerism picked up from humans. “The city is beautiful enough, but the public eyries…” He didn’t finish, he didn’t need to; they were filthy, neglected and rarely used. Why should they be anything else when Nimbys was home to the Eastern Flying Corps’ headquarters?

To be so close to the heart of things and yet still be excluded had always chafed them. Their trips to the city had always been just shy of torment; she was trapped, he was lonely. Until now.

“How would you like to change your life, Cue?”

He looked at her with deep gold eyes, crackled his beak and tilted his head. “Something’s happened.” When she answered him with a sly smile, the feathers on his head and cheeks rose eagerly. “Tell me.”

“Fancy becoming a Rift Rider?”

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 1, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch1.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Ah, family…

HALFWAY UP THE slope, Mhysra’s aunt stood watching the Illuminai approach. The owner and manager of Wrentheria, Mhylla Wrentherin was famous across the Overworld for breeding the best feather-wings money could buy. Whether it was miryhls, nakhounds or doelyns, the quality of Wrentheria’s bloodstock could not be denied.

So when her younger sister married into the wealthy Kilpapan family, eager to explore the world on her new trade skyships, it had seemed wisest to leave the children in the care of Mhylla. Luckily, Mhylla transferred her skills with animals easily to children, and given the choice between her mother’s ships and her aunt’s eyries, Mhysra knew where she’d pick to stay.

Joining her aunt to watch the ship edge into the docking cradle, timbers groaning as they came to rest, Mhysra sighed. “It’ll be years before I can come home.”

Her aunt raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think that’s quite what your parents have in mind.”

“But it’s what I have in mind,” Mhysra grumbled. “I like raising miryhls. Who’ll take care of my chicks when I’m gone?”

“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Mhylla said, having been breeding miryhls for nearly forty years.

Her niece smiled with little amusement. “I know, but it doesn’t make me feel any better. Where do I belong if not here?”

Wrapping an arm about Mhysra’s shoulders, Mhylla gave her a squeeze. “You can belong anywhere you choose, sweetheart, and this will always be your home. Stop fretting. I bet your feather duster isn’t.”

“Cumulo?” Mhysra snorted. “All he cares about is whether he has to fly to Nimbys or not.”

“See.” Mhylla squeezed her again. “If he’s not bothered, you’ve no cause to be. Wherever you go, he’ll go too. Gods have mercy.”

“Hey!” Mhysra pulled away. “Don’t insult my miryhl.”

“Why not? You do.”

“He’s mine, I’m allowed.”

Mhylla smiled. “And that makes all the difference. If you didn’t have him, I might worry. Then again, maybe I wouldn’t. You’ve a wise head on those shoulders, when you choose to remember it. And if, in five years or so, it’s still what you want and your parents agree, come back and we’ll be happy to have you. Who knows what’ll happen twixt then and now? We can’t even predict tomorrow. But I’m sorry to lose you. Bad enough that Kilai deserted me, though I knew Milluqua would never stay. But you, Mhysra, I’ll miss you.”

Since her aunt had three sons and two daughters of her own, all still at home, Mhysra felt no guilt about leaving. Especially when it wasn’t her choice. “Kilai was always headed for the Riders.” Her father’s family had a long and distinguished history in the Rift Riders, one Kilai had been eager to continue. “And I am a Kilpapan. My parents were bound to remember me one day.”

Mhylla chuckled at her gloomy tone and walked towards the ship. “Buck up, chick, your mother’s here.”

Mhysra pulled a face at her aunt’s back. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” she said, watching a slender woman disembark: Lunrai, Countess Kilpapan.

“Lunrai!” The two women embraced and Mhysra felt forgotten as the worlds of the manor and ship intermingled around her. Once she’d had her own allotted place in the dance, but no longer. She’d been tugged apart and left to drift.

“You’re brooding,” a rough voice rumbled in her ear, and she smiled, having felt Cumulo land behind her. A nine-foot tall eagle with a wingspan of over twenty feet would never be famed for its stealth – the downdraft always gave him away.

“Good morning, Cumulo. I trust I find you well.” Lunrai bowed, hand across her heart in deference to the one to whom miryhls were sacred: Goddess Maegla, Lady of Storms.

Though he did not speak – a bonded miryhl spoke only to his partner, except in emergencies – he inclined his head. Though young, Cumulo had impeccable manners. Head still lowered, he rubbed his beak against Mhysra’s back, apologising because her mother had greeted him before even looking at her.

Mhysra was used to it. Her mother was a businesswoman, her social skills honed to deal with clients, potential customers, traders and skyship crews. Since Mhysra came under the haziest of headings- family – Lunrai had never known how to treat her. Unlike her older sister Milluqua, a born society hostess, Mhysra took after her aunt. Without having had the benefit of raising her in which to learn this, Lunrai treated her youngest child like the stranger she was.

“Mhysra. I trust you’re ready to depart tomorrow.” Her mother kissed her stiffly on the cheek and Mhysra jerked with surprise. Not at the throwaway token of affection, but because Lunrai had to stretch up to reach her. When had she outgrown her mother?

Mhylla draped a scarred arm across her niece’s shoulders and smiled. “You’ve a fine girl here, Lunrai. Well-mannered and intelligent. She’s been rearing miryhls on her own these last two summers, and I daresay they’ll be some of our best.”

Lunrai raised delicate eyebrows. “Have you enjoyed your time with your aunt, Mhysra?” she asked, as though she’d merely been on holiday.

Mhylla’s grip tightened in warning when Mhysra bristled on her aunt’s behalf.

Swallowing her anger, she forced herself to be polite. “Yes, Mother. I doubt there’s anyone or any place in the world that could have raised me better.”

Lunrai’s eyebrows remained high. “Oh?” she said, as if amazed that anyone could like Wrentheria. Then she smiled with surprising sweetness. “Good. Thank you, sister, for taking such excellent care of my children. I’m sure you’ll be relieved to relinquish the last of them. I’ve brought letters from Milluqua and Kilai. He mentioned something about nakhound pups?”

While the sisters talked, Mhysra slipped free. She’d done her duty, greeted her mother and been made uncomfortable. Usually she’d help her cousins tally the new supplies and claim her stake for the miryhls, but that wasn’t her role anymore.

“You’re brooding again. Stop it.”

Scowling, she tugged her braid free as her miryhl gave it a tweak. “What else can I do? Tomorrow I’m leaving everything I’ve ever loved, known and wanted to know to go where I know no one but my sister, who I haven’t seen for three years!”

“You’ll still have me.” He nudged her in the back. “I hope you know and value me.”

“Only as much as you do me,” she retorted.

“Look on the happier side of this tragic tale, chickling,” he purred. “It’ll be an adventure. Who knows what excitement lies just around the corner?”

“I already do,” was her gloomy reply. “Dress fittings, etiquette lessons, morning calls, deportment lessons, long dinners, breakfast parties, afternoon tea, dinners, balls, musicales and boredom, boredom, boredom.”

“Hmm.” Cumulo turned to arrange his flight feathers just so. “That doesn’t sound so terrible.”

“That’s because you won’t have to suffer it,” she growled, stomping off. Her uncle wouldn’t turn her away if she offered to muck out horsat stalls. The world didn’t stop just because the countess had arrived.

“Wherever you roam, there I shall be,” Cumulo told her, gliding overhead. “We’ll suffer it together and then we’ll come home. At least you won’t be relegated to some gods-forsaken shed, as I shall be.” He landed in front of her, shuffling his wings into place. “It will be dirty, have rats and be rampant with disease. Scurf will be the least of my problems.”

Her lips twitched at his disgruntlement. “Look on the happier side of this tragic tale, Cue,” she mocked. “It’ll be an adventure. And you might not get feather mites.” Ducking a swipe from his wing, she laughed and darted into the barn.

~ Next Chapter ~

All comments welcome – and if you spot a typo, please let me know.
Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 1, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch1.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Prologue ~

Welcome to Wrentheria, where miryhls are born, dreams are made and family isn’t always united by blood.

One

Wrentheria, the Lowlands
15th Gale, 785 CE

Not everyone could handle raw meat first thing in the morning. Then again, Lady Mhysra Kilpapan had never considered herself entirely normal. Not when she spent every possible moment in the eyries. Dawn was her favourite time of day, when the rising sun spread golden fingers through the hatches to make the feather dust dance. Even in winter, if the sun rose cleanly, the eyries became a slice of Heirayk’s own heaven. Except for the meat in her hands.

Sadly the sounds of the eyries rarely matched the perfection of its sights. Miryhls were far more raucous than their smaller, wild eagle cousins. They muttered constantly, like discontented dowagers at a ball. At all times the eyries bubbled with a low purring hum, occasionally shattered by a shriek, just because they could. Breeding miryhls were a fractious lot, but the chicks were the worst.

Which was why Mhysra was there before the sun, bird dust in her nose and chunks of raw venison in her hands. Five chicks jostled around in front of her, trampling each other in their eagerness to gain her attention. Barely a month old, the ugly chalky-white creatures were covered in clumps of ash-grey down, long scrawny necks wobbling beneath their oversized heads. They were already as large as a medium-sized dog and growing fast. Not too long ago their enormous beaks had seemed too heavy for them, meaning they spent more time on their faces than their feet. Yet with increased size came strength enough to lift their heads and gape plaintive demands for the bloody meat clenched in her fingers.

Behind them, two yearlings waited. The size of pit ponies and highly irritable, they looked like hedgehogs; glossy brown feathers pinpricked by the emerging quills of their first flight feathers. They tried so hard to act fully grown, but hunger defeated them and the squalling chicks were drowned out by a cracked scream, silenced only when Mhysra tossed a chunk their way.

“Dignified,” a hoarse voice muttered behind her, rough-edged with sleep.

She glanced over her shoulder, smiling. “As if you weren’t the same at their age.”

On first glance the young miryhl looked little different to the other adult eagles slowly waking in the glowing dawn. Their feathers shimmered through every shade of brown, from near-black down to honey-gold. The bird at her back was a conker-coloured giant, streaked with hints of gold. Cumulo, her Wingborn.

Snorting, he glowered at the chicks vying for her attention. “Remember it well, do you?”

Mhysra chose to ignore him, preferring to focus on feeding the babies instead. Of course she didn’t remember Cumulo as a chick; she’d been a helpless babe at the time. He had hatched at the exact moment she came into the world, creating that most coveted and rare of bonds – the Wingborn – tying them together for life. Rift Rider legends were full of daring Wingborn, describing them as one soul divided. One will, one reason, one heart.

She’d tried reading such stories to Cumulo once. He told her not to be so soppy and, that if she insisted on reading to him, could she please not make it such sentimental drivel. Whatever the Wingborn bond meant to historians and storytellers, to her it was family. No different than siblings or cousins. Quite disappointing, really.

Oblivious to her thoughts, Cumulo eyed her jealousy as she fussed over the baby miryhls. “No Rider in their right mind would choose to partner creatures like these,” he muttered disdainfully. Which was slightly unfair since the chicks weren’t exactly at their best – covered in strips of meat, their down clogged with blood. One tripped over its own feet and Mhysra bit back a smile.

“You’re such a snob, Cue,” she said. “And anyway, expecting a Rift Rider to have any mind, let alone a right one, is asking a bit much.”

“As if you wouldn’t sign up tomorrow if you were a boy.”

She answered his grumbling with a wistful sigh. It would be wonderful to join the Riders, the miryhl-riding protectors of the Overworld, the pride of the Flying Corps. Except the entire Corps, from Rift Riders to doelyn scouts, were men, and had been for the past hundred years. It was a waste of time to even dream of joining. So she didn’t. She was happy breeding miryhls on her aunt’s farm; Cumulo was the one who wished for more.

Throwing down the last chunks, Mhysra rinsed her bloody hands in a bucket and watched her sated chicks settle inside their nesting pen for a nap. Another two bells and they’d be shrieking again, but it was no longer her task. Her life was about to change – sadly not for the better.

Eager for a distraction, she unlatched the gate and entered the pen. “Don’t come in here,” she warned as Cumulo shuffled along his perch.

“Why would I want to?” he sniffed, preening his shining wings, a stark contrast to the scrawny babies.

Mhysra ignored him and started grooming the fledglings, running her fingers through their new feathers and rubbing away the quill-tips they couldn’t reach. It was a task she’d been doing for years and she loved it. These fledglings in particular were extra special – she’d selected and paired the miryhls parents, turned the eggs, watched them hatch and seen them through their first year. They were as much her babies as the miryhls who’d conceived them.

“You’re practically clucking.”

She scowled at Cumulo, though silently grateful for the distraction. The thought of leaving her fledglings almost brought her to tears. Cumulo would never let her live that down, so she sniffed and plucked a loose feather from the nearest wing.

“What’s wrong with that?”

Cumulo eyed her coolly. “Nothing. So long as you stick to feathered things.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m barely sixteen, Cue. I’m hardly breeding age.”

“Nor me,” he agreed. “Which is all I’d be fit for if you took up such a ridiculous notion.”

Mhysra chuckled. Male miryhls didn’t sexually mature until they were twenty years old, so even a precocious Wingborn would be lucky to father anything before eighteen.

He huffed reproachfully. “Don’t deny you’ve been broody this past year.”

“Over chicks, Cue! I don’t even like the boys around here.”

He snorted scornfully. “I don’t blame you. A more pitiful human flock is hard to imagine.”

She grinned, tugging on a wing stub and stroking the crinkled skin, making the chick chuckle in its sleep. “They’re not all bad.”

“You’ll have more to choose from when we reach Nimbys,” he said, reminding her of what she was desperately trying to forget. “Best set your priorities now.”

Turning her back on the thought, and on him, Mhysra worked on the chicks, running her fingers through their fluffy down. They soon woke, making her task significantly harder, thanks to their lively mood. Since playful miryhls – even chicks – resulted in copious amounts of blood loss, she left the eyries with a shallow scratch on her face, two deep ones on her arm and a crunched toe.

“Such rewarding work,” Cumulo teased, when she emerged into the slushy snow. Perched on the paddock fence, he looked like an overgrown rooster. An impressive one. Big for his age, shining, beautiful and hers, just as she was his. Neither had been given a choice, but on good days Mhysra acknowledged that the gods had smiled on her.

This was not a good day, so she flipped a rude gesture in his direction and limped on. He cackled and flapped to the next post. Mhysra eyed his landing, waiting for the tell-tale groan to assure her that he was still enjoying his growth spurt. Another half-moon and she’d have the delight of watching him break another rail made brittle by the winter frosts. She was looking forward to it, if only because Cumulo was a tad too fond of his dignity.

Or she would have been, had she been permitted to stay. Muttering the foulest words she knew earned her whistles of approval from the nearest stable lads, donning their armour before feeding the pyreflies. The screaming beasts kicked at their doors, flames spouting around the edges, and Cumulo soared on the rising heat.

“Hurry up and stop growing, Cue,” Mhysra murmured, watching him spiral higher, wings spread wide. Her chest tightened with longing. Soon, her aunt said. Soon, Cumulo promised. Soon, one way or another, she would fly again. If only on the deck of the Illuminai.

As she passed the horsat barn a silky ball of fluff scampered out of the shadows, yipping with excitement. Laughing, Mhysra knelt and caught the eager pup, smoothing ruffled fur and tugging loose down from its undeveloped wings.

“You found me.”

The black and white nakhound pup licked her chin. Mhysra grimaced and held it at arm’s length, rubbing her face on her shoulder. Bright eyes glittered, while a plumy white tail whirled.

“Cute,” she conceded, putting the dog down. It yapped and gambolled about her feet before lolloping up the slope.

Sighing, Mhysra turned to follow and looked up at Wrentheria Manor, her home for the past sixteen years and the place she loved most in all the world. Except her view was spoiled by the three-tiered skyship coming into land: the Illuminai.

The countess had arrived.

~ Next Chapter ~

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Thanks for reading!