Tag: Wingborn

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 13, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch13.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Party time! Bring on the captains!

AFTER CHOOSING MOUSE a placid male named Onyx, Mhysra turned her attention to Corin, finding her a female whose mottled feathers would make an ideal scout. Then others asked for help and the rest of the day vanished. Only Dhori had chosen by himself, and Mhysra had been impressed by the slender silvery Latinym.

It had been a good day, and she’d thoroughly enjoyed herself, but was relieved when she could finally leave. Not that she expected much rest, since her aunt and cousins were staying at Kilpapan House. After a short bath, Mhysra left her room to find things were even worse: her parents were entertaining. Lady Kilpapan had arrived from Wrentheria with the rest of the family and their eagles that morning, and since so many members of the miryhl-breeding community were in the city, she couldn’t resist bringing them all together. Life was business, as she frequently reminded her children.

Milluqua greeted Mhysra at the bottom of the stairs and they shared a grimace. “I’m sorry. I wanted to warn you, but mother roped me into organising.”

“Wonderful,” Mhysra sighed, clicking her fingers to call Bumble down from where she was tugging on the ribbons strewn across the chandelier. The still-growing pup huffed and fluttered down from the ceiling, wings drooping.

“Poor girl,” Milluqua chuckled, scratching the nakhound behind the ears. “We’ve had to shut her in your room most of the day.”

“I thought things in there were a little more haphazard than usual,” Mhysra said, smiling at her sister and the puppy. She’d half-hoped that the dog would transfer her affections to Milluqua, since they spent so much time together. Unfortunately, even though Bumble liked Milluqua, she still preferred Mhysra. Gods alone knew why, since she didn’t even feed the creature. “There’s no accounting for taste.” She patted Bumble and ruffled her wings, avoiding an enthusiastic lick.

“Aunt Mhylla will want to see her,” Milluqua said, entering the ballroom, where a buffet had been laid out to tide people over until supper. “At least you’ll have people to talk to tonight.”

Mhysra hummed in agreement, filling a plate with delicacies and slipping a slice of chicken to Bumble. It would be nice to enjoy one of her parents’ parties for once. Usually they were full of nobles and merchants who thought too highly of themselves to waste time on the hoyden daughter. Unless they were younger sons ordered to court the wild Kilpapan chit, for her connections and impressive dowry. Mhysra hated the false smiles, feigned interest and lack of conversation. She had nothing in common with those people. Thankfully, tonight would be different, and she planned to make the most of it.

“Oh, there’s Derry. I told mother to invite him. Can I leave you with him? There were supposed to be three plates of berry tarts, but I can only see two.” Still muttering, Milluqua smiled at Derrain and hurried off in a swirl of silk.

“You’re a fool,” Mhysra said, handing him a plate. “Brave, but ultimately foolish.”

He chuckled and picked up a chicken leg. “I thought you could use the company, and it would have been rude to refuse. Your mother’s never invited me inside before.”

“Maybe she’s proud of you.” Mhysra shrugged as they worked their way along the table, before taking their plates to sit out of the way. They were soon joined by her cousins, self-consciously balancing plates on their knees. Thanks to Milluqua’s attentive refilling of their wineglasses, though, everyone relaxed as the night progressed.

To Mhysra’s surprise, more than one Rider attended. Even Lieutenant Lyrai made an appearance. Mhysra thought that was brave after the speculations at the Midsummer ball, although now her mother’s egalitarian guest list began to make sense. Captain Myran, Lieutenants Stirla, Fleik and Imaino, Sergeants Honra and Rees also came, the latter not staying long, for which everyone was thankful.

In time a string quartet played for dancing and the addition of the Riders livened things up considerably. Laughing her way through the spirited supper dance with Lieutenant Stirla, Mhysra couldn’t remember when she’d last had so much fun at her parents’ house. If society affairs were more like this, she could almost reconcile herself to the life her parents demanded.

As Stirla led her off the floor, her hand was snatched up and gallantly kissed. “Lady Mhysra! You look radiant tonight.”

Breathless from the dance, she smiled at the handsome face. “Captain Torven! What a delightful surprise.”

“The generosity of Nimbys is famous, my lady.” He winked. “As are your family.”

Her smile faded as her parents and Milluqua approached, gathering their guests for supper.

Lady Kilpapan returned Torven’s bow with a polite nod. “I had no idea you were acquainted with my daughter, captain.”

“A recent pleasure,” he explained. “We encountered one another flying into Nimbys two days ago. My ship was honoured by the presence of so beautiful a Rift Rider.” He smiled flirtatiously and didn’t see her wince.

Nor did he seem to notice when Lord Kilpapan gripped her arm, preventing her from slipping away.

“Rift Rider?” Lady Kilpapan laughed smoothly. “My daughter is not a Rift Rider.”

Oblivious to the tension, the captain waved a dismissive hand. “Student, Rider, it’s all the same thing. Such a flyer and such a miryhl. The Riders are blessed to have her.”

“A noble sentiment,” Lord Kilpapan ground out between clenched teeth.

“We are lucky to have such a Wingborn,” a new voice agreed, and Mhysra blinked as Captain Myran joined their conversation. The presence of Lyrai and Stirla beside him explained everything, and she shut her eyes, dreading that her father would express his contempt. She’d never spoken to the captain before, but had heard so much about the near-legendary man, so to make his acquaintance under such circumstances mortified her. Staring at the floor, she waited for the storm to break.

“Women have no place in the Rift Riders,” Lord Kilpapan growled.

“In times such as these, my lord, there is a place in the Riders for any brave enough to try,” Myran corrected. “As Wingborn your daughter is a precious gift that should not be wasted.”

Her father’s hand tightened painfully and Mhysra locked her jaw to stifle a yelp.

“Sir,” Stirla murmured, and it was the earl’s turn to hide his pain as she was abruptly freed.

“There is no need for this, my lord,” Lieutenant Lyrai said softly, removing his hand from the earl. “You should be proud to have such a daughter.”

“Proud?” Lord Kilpapan spat, rubbing his wrist. “How can I be proud of -”

“Our youngest has always been wilful,” the countess interrupted with a flat laugh. “So we permit her follies in the hope that she will grow out of them. Is this not so, Mhysra?”

She forced herself to meet her mother’s cold eyes, aware that the entire room was watching them. This was not how she’d wanted to tell her parents, but as her arm throbbed and Milluqua’s hand slipped into hers with a squeeze of support, she realised the truth was already out.

“I know my duty,” she replied, licking her dry lips. “It is only right that I see it done.”

“Duty,” snarled her father, but his wife silenced him with a hand on his arm.

“Indeed,” Lady Kilpapan replied, her words clipped. “I am sure Aquila will welcome you with open arms as you do your duty. No Kilpapan has ever turned aside from what is right.”

“A fine sentiment,” Captain Myran murmured. “You have much to be proud of in your daughter, my lady. Both your daughters.” He nodded at Milluqua.

“Indeed,” the countess repeated, her smile not reaching her eyes. “The pride we take in our daughters is exactly what they deserve. I believe supper is being served.” She turned her husband away and led the guests into the dining room. Most departed slowly, glancing back at the tense group.

“Gods,” Mhysra whispered, shivering in her sister’s embrace. “Oh, Gods, they’ll kill me.”

“My lady.” Captain Torven touched her shoulder hesitantly. “Forgive me, I meant no harm. I thought they would be proud.”

“As they should be,” rumbled Captain Myran. “As any parent should be. There is no higher honour for a family than to have a child serve in the Rift Riders.”

“Our brother is already a Rider,” Milluqua explained, rubbing Mhysra’s back. “My father believes his service is sufficient for the family honour.”

“But your sister is Wingborn.” Myran turned to his lieutenants in confusion, perhaps seeking confirmation.

“My niece is Wingborn, but my sister is foolish,” Mhylla confirmed, emerging from the crowd to take Mhysra from Milluqua and hug her hard. “I’m sorry it came to this, sweet, but it’s better they know.”

“I didn’t want them to find out like this,” Mhysra murmured. “Not so publicly. They’ll never forgive me.”

“So dramatic, cuz?” Mherrin sounded amused. “Is that what they’ve been teaching you? High drama and tragedy? Just the thing for the Riders.”

She snuffled a laugh. “You pyrefliers are all savages. I wasn’t meaning to be dramatic.”

“If they cast you off, love, come to me,” her aunt said, taking her chin firmly in hand and forcing her to meet her eyes. “Wrentheria will always be your home.”

Mhysra bit her lip as her eyes filled with tears of gratitude. “Thank you,” she croaked, and turned to Captain Myran, dipping an awkward curtsey. “And thank you, sir, for defending me. Especially as we’ve never met. I’m more grateful than I can say.”

“And I, sir,” Milluqua agreed, echoed by her aunt and cousins.

Embarrassed, the captain waved a dismissive hand. “You may thank my lieutenants, since they provided me with all the pertinent details. And while we may not have met, Lady Mhysra, I have heard much about you. How could I not, with the stir you’ve caused? A female Wingborn. A miryhl the envy of all my Riders. A daughter of a noble house who has no need to join us in these troubled times, yet chooses to anyway. One who spends the entire Choice helping her friends pick out their miryhls. Oh yes, child, I have heard of you.”

She blushed. “You are too kind, sir.”

He smiled and patted her shoulder. “I’m never kind for the sake of kindness, Lady Mhysra. You’re one of my Riders now. Chin up, student, you’re family.” As a tear trailed down her cheek, he offered his handkerchief and his arm. “I believe supper is being served. Shall we?”

“I’d be honoured.” Smiling, she wiped her face and walked into the dining room with her head held high.

~ 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 13, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch13.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Now that we’re entering the second half I thought it was time for a few changes, so new chapter headings!

Oh, and some stuff about choosing miryhls, but blah, blah, blah, new pictures! ;)

Thirteen

30th Fledgling

Derrain was sweating, but given the milder temperatures of approaching autumn, he couldn’t blame the weather. Wiping his hands on his breeches, he took a deep breath and entered the temporary eyries. He’d wanted to visit ever since he had received his results five days ago, but hadn’t dared. Everyone said it was bad luck to see the miryhls before the Choice. Students who ignored the tradition were rumoured to make bad matches or have their partnership severed in nasty, abrupt ways before graduating from Aquila.

As a skysailor, Derrain had known many superstitions and this one was far too important to ignore. Somewhere inside a miryhl was waiting for him. He didn’t want to mess anything up.

“I can’t do it,” he murmured, looking around the crowd of students, Riders, civilians and miryhls. So many miryhls, positioned in individual, roped-off enclosures, their perches at ground level so that each eagle could see and be seen.

There were so many. How was he supposed to choose? “I can’t do it.”

“You haven’t even looked yet,” Mhysra said, clearly amused as she stood beside him.

“I’m looking now,” he replied. Shafts of sunlight poured down through the hatches, illuminating the busy scene. Fifty miryhls had been brought to Nimbys to match with thirty-two students and nine Riders. However, there were considerably more than forty people wandering around, viewing the spectacle, and more than one youngster looked as lost as he felt. Where did he even start?

“I really can’t do this.”

Rolling her eyes, Mhysra dragged him away from the crowded entrance. “You can’t see anything from here. Walk, and we’ll see what you can and can’t do.”

While Derrain was grateful to Mhysra for agreeing to help him, she didn’t understand. She’d grown up surrounded by miryhls, living with one as part of her family. For her this was normal. There were no life-changing decisions for her to make today.

However, as she led him around, commenting on build and temperament, he remembered why he’d asked for her help. Big, small, dark, pale, glossy, scrawny, she had something to say about each eagle, finding strengths and weaknesses that he’d never imagined. The eyries were full of students listening to Riders and their families, but none had an expert like Mhysra.

Derrain could only stare, wondering if this was the one, or that one?

How would he tell? Would it happen in an instant? Or was it more ordinary? Did he just pick the one he liked the look of most? If so, how would he tell? What was he looking for? What was he supposed to be looking for? While he might no longer think all miryhls looked the same, he still didn’t know how to see the best in them. They were miryhls – great, gods-blessed birds crafted out of necessity and dragon magic. What right had he to judge their worthiness?

“Hey, Mhysra! Derry! You both survived, then?”

Jolted out of his anxieties, Derrain spotted Mherrin inside the nearest enclosure. Dressed in the brown and tan of Wrentheria, he was here to help his mother and any passing stranger.

“More than survived, we passed with honours,” Mhysra told her cousin, warming Derrain with her pride and praise. She might have been younger than him, but in Rider terms she was the first person he sought approval from.

“Well done.” Mherrin gave Derrain a congratulatory backslap. “Now for your reward. Have you picked out yours yet? If it’s one of ours, we’ll reserve it for you. You’re practically family.”

Derrain could only shake his head at the overwhelming offer on such an overwhelming day.

“Steady on, Mherrin,” Mhysra said, squeezing Derrain’s arm. “We haven’t seen them all yet, let alone spotted any favourites. Not that he could go wrong with one of ours, but there are so many. More than I expected.”

“Don’t take too long,” Mherrin warned. “It’ll only get busier and it’s first come, first claimed. If you do want one of ours, Derry, and I’m not about, don’t fret. Mam, Mhylo and Mullia are all here. That’s if you’ve managed to shake this one off.” He tugged the end of Mhysra’s braid.

She slapped his hand away. “I’m helping him.”

“And I’m a pyreflyer,” her cousin mocked, looking smug.

Mhysra blinked and Derrain stared. “Are you?” they asked in unison.

Mherrin gave a tentative nod and was instantly engulfed by his delighted cousin. Grinning, Derrain managed to shake his hand and offer his own congratulations, before prising Mhysra off.

“Don’t get too excited,” Mherrin warned. “But it’s why I’m here. Mam talked Da into it. Training doesn’t start until Half-Year.” His cautious words were ruined by his grin. “Another half-moon. I can’t wait!”

They traded congratulations again, before Mhysra pulled Derrain away, admonishing her cousin for distracting them when they had important work to do.

Mherrin rolled his eyes. “If you need a better guide, Derry, let me know. She’s biased.”

“You’d pair him with a pyrefly,” Mhysra retorted. “Just because I prefer feathers over leather, doesn’t mean I’m biased. We’re Riders.”

“We’ll see.” With a final wave, Mherrin turned away to answer a curious student’s questions.

“Ignore him,” Mhysra muttered, linking her arm through Derrain’s. “I’ll help you just fine.”

He squeezed her arm. “I know you will. I wouldn’t have asked you else.”

“Come on then,” she ordered, and dragged him around the rest of the eyries.

When they’d completed the circuit and seen every miryhl on offer, Derrain was still no wiser. The pressure was giving him a headache and being surrounded by similarly panicked faces was not helping. The expectation in the building was enormous, enough to make anyone scream.

Apart from Mhysra. Standing near the entrance, she drank from a water flask and gossiped with her Aunt Mhylla, freshly arrived from filing the miryhl registration forms at the Rider offices.

“What will you do now?” Mhylla asked her niece, and Derrain wondered if his input was even expected. Perhaps they should make his Choice between them. They were far more qualified.

Mhysra shook her head. “I’d hoped a couple would catch his eye, but nothing yet.”

“What, not one?” Mhylla stared at Derrain, her dark eyes a sharp reminder of her countess sister, plunging him into memories of days aboard ship, scurrying like a rat to keep out of the way. She had the same commanding stare, determined set to her mouth and confidence in the merest twitch of her eyebrow. Formidable ladies the Wrentherin. “Don’t you have a list?”

Since she was asking him rather than Mhysra, Derrain snapped to attention. “No, ma’am. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

Mhylla sent Mhysra a chiding glance. “Everyone needs a list.”

Derrain shook his head, having never imagined having a miryhl. Becoming a Rift Rider wasn’t his lifelong ambition as it was for some. He’d only considered it since the announcement readmitting women to the Riders. Knowing Mhysra would want to try, he’d thought she might need a friend along for company. So he’d never thought about the kind of miryhl he wanted. Just as long as he had one.

Mhylla frowned, looking prepared to make the Choice without him. Which suited him fine. “He’ll need strength with that height and those shoulders.”

Mhysra nodded. “I know. Preferably calm, with endurance over speed. Derry’s got promise as a fighter and he’d choose pike over bow.”

“Stalwart soldier,” Mhylla agreed, gazing into the shadows. “Nothing too showy or cocky.”

Mhysra shook her head, smiling at him. “That wouldn’t fit. He doesn’t need a Cumulo.”

He raised his eyebrows in mock offence, even though he knew he wouldn’t be comfortable with a miryhl like Cumulo. Not that he didn’t like Cumulo, but his arrogance made Derrain constantly want to poke fun. It was vital that he had a miryhl he could get along with. That was true for everyone, though he doubted many realised it. He smiled at Mhysra, doubly glad she was helping him.

“I think I know the bird,” Mhylla announced. “Not one of mine, but I brought her down.”

When the two women strode off, chatting about a Lowland breeder Mhylla sometimes did business with, Derrain assumed he was supposed to follow. Their conversation didn’t mean much to him, but he didn’t mind. All that mattered was the miryhl they were leading him to, one that might become his. Personally recommended by the great Mhylla Wrentherin. He chuckled, wondering how many Rift Rider pairs could say that.

“Here.”

He blinked at the bird in front of him, wondering what made it different from a dozen others in the eyries. It was on the larger size, he noticed, with curiously pale eyes in a soft barley shade. Its feathers were glossy brown with a russet hue under sunlight, but its only distinguishing markings were the black tips to its wings and tail.

“Well, go on, make friends,” Mhylla encouraged, unhooking the barrier rope so that he could get closer.

Mhysra showed no fear crossing the unmarked line, holding out her hands and smiling as the bird lowered its head. “What a fine girl you are,” she greeted, raising her eyebrows at Derrain, silently questioning why he was standing on the walkway like a lummox.

With a deep breath, he cautiously approached the miryhl. She waited, the feathers on top of her head rising with interest, before she lowered her beak and rumbled. Years of observing Cumulo and Mhysra had taught Derrain a few things, so he gently tickled the eagle’s crest. It was warm and smooth.

“Her name’s Zephyr,” Mhylla said.

“Zephyr,” he repeated, and the miryhl rubbed her beak against his chest. She seemed friendly, which was all he could ask for as he stroked the exposed skin beneath her eye. Both dropped shut and she purred, the sound vibrating through her beak into him.

Growing more confident, he stroked over her face to her neck, fingers burrowing through the abundant feathers, silky soft and rippling beneath his touch. The miryhl raised her head, inviting him to stroke her chest, back and wings.

Dazed, Derrain explored the bird with his hands, having never had such an opportunity before. Cumulo didn’t like being touched without permission, so it was the first time Derrain had caressed glossy feathers or felt powerful flight muscles. His hand ruffled over her chest and her steady heartbeat pulsed against his palm. He was enchanted.

“Beautiful.”

“Yes,” Mhysra agreed. “She is.”

Zephyr chuckled, twitching her wings in embarrassment, and Derrain knew he had to have her. She was lovely, strong and humble. Bigger than Cumulo and built on sturdier lines, she looked comfortable. Which was how he viewed himself. Not too showy, nor too fine. She would be strong enough to put up with him and was sweet besides. What more could he ask?

When she turned towards him, he stared into her pale eyes and smiled. “Yes.”

At the edge of his vision he saw Mhysra grin as Mhylla rubbed her hands together. “I’ll fetch the paperwork.” Marking the slate outside the enclosure, Mhylla rummaged through her bag and handed him a stack marked with Zephyr’s name. “Test flights are tomorrow, bright and early. Mhysra, I expect you and Cue to lend a wing.”

“Of course.” She shrugged, unbothered by the announce, while Derrain felt as if the ground had tilted beneath him.

“Test flight?” he croaked, one hand still buried in Zephyr’s feathers.

Mhylla raised her eyebrows. “How else can we know if you’ll make a decent match or not? We don’t allow a preliminary bond on sight alone, you know. No one is quite that stupid.”

He blinked. That was yet another thing he’d not really thought about: flying. On miryhl-back. “I’ve never flown a miryhl before.”

Mhysra chuckled. “Not many have. You’ve flown bullwings and horsats, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” he agreed, but compared to a giant eagle his flights on leatherwings were meaningless.

“You’ll get used to it,” Mhylla assured him, patting his shoulder. “Now, I’d best get back to work. I’ll see you both later.”

While Derrain tried to wrap his mind around the changes sweeping over him, Mouse bounced out of the crowd. “Mhysra! Derry! Have you made your Choice yet? Not you, Mhysra, of course, you’ve already got Cumulo! Is this yours, Derry? There are so many! I never imagined there were this many miryhls in the world. Isn’t it amazing? I don’t know where to start. Are you done? Can you help me? What should I look for?”

Mhysra put her hands on his shoulders to stop Mouse’s jittering and raised her eyebrows at Derrain. “We’re done, aren’t we?” When he nodded, she turned to Mouse and started questioning him about what he wanted, what he’d seen and whether there were any he liked.

Ignoring the chatter, Derrain turned and tickled Zephyr’s head. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

She blew softly on his face and rubbed his chest with her beak, then shoved him playfully away.

“I can take a hint,” he chuckled and, with a final disbelieving stroke of her silky feathers, he let Mouse sweep him up in his bouncing bundle of enthusiasm.

 ~ 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 12, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch12.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

We’re halfway! And to celebrate, Lyrai’s getting a present. All brace for the Hurricane.

LYRAI WAS IN LOVE. It was quite possibly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Not to mention the most frustrating. The last of the Storm Peak miryhls refused to enter the temporary eyries and, as part of that refusal, would not be caught. A brute of a bird, the eagle was almost as tall as Cumulo but wider across the chest. It looked powerful and fierce, hissing at anyone who came too close.

Riders made loops out of their ropes and tried to restrain it, but the miryhl was too quick. Surprisingly nimble, it skipped out of reach, catching the loop in its beak, before tossing it contemptuously back.

Lyrai smiled at its antics, seduced by the big creature’s grace. It was an unusual colour: deep brown and pale cream mottled in an extraordinary mixture. A marble miryhl. He’d heard of them and always thought they sounded ugly. Standing before such a magnificent specimen now, though, he could see only beauty.

The miryhl’s face was the shade of sun-warmed pine, with dark circles around golden eyes. The crown of its head was the same darkness, continuing in a broad stripe down its neck and across its back, running in bars along its wings. The feathers on the underside of its body and chest were marbled from white to a brown so dark it was almost black. The wings were cream and biscuit between the dark bars, running into brown at the tips. Delicate flecks of caramel, gold and black dotted its feathers, like sparkles and secrets.

Lyrai was infatuated. There was no doubt in his mind which miryhl he would choose come the Choice, but only if the Riders didn’t drive it off first with their ineptitude.

Stirla whistled beside him. “I’ve not been so impressed since I first saw Cumulo.”

Lyrai snorted. “As that was barely a half-year ago, forgive me for not swooning.”

“Ah, but before that,” Stirla said airily, “the last time I was this impressed was by Atyrn. Not that either’s a patch on my girl, of course. Cumulo thinks he’s too smart and this one’s a brute.”

They both studied the brute in question as it ducked a loop, only to be snared by one thrown from behind. The miryhl wheeled sharply, wrenching the rope from the Rider’s hand. The eagle shrieked and snapped at all within reach, stamping on the rope and worrying at it with its beak, but only managed to tighten the knot.

“That’s not good,” Stirla murmured, wincing at the miryhl’s scream. Catching a second rope, the bird yanked the offending Rider off his feet. Only a quick grab from his friends prevented the man from being dragged within the miryhl’s reach. “You might want to intervene.”

“Fools!” Lyrai snapped as the miryhl tangled its feet in the rope. “They’ll kill it before we even get to the Choice.”

“Which is where you come in,” Stirla said. “Off you go. Pull on your captain boots and prove your mettle, or whatever it is we’re supposed to be learning around here.”

Lyrai eyed him sourly, but didn’t even bother asking why his friend didn’t do something himself. Some things were not worth the bother of putting into words. Besides this was his miryhl – it was up to him to save it.

The eagle lunged again, tripping and splaying its gorgeous wings. The Riders pounced, eager to secure it while it was preoccupied. The miryhl panicked, trying to regain its tangled feet and flapping its wings to keep the intruders at bay. More than one flight feather was damaged as they were flailed against the ground.

Sergeant Rees stamped on the miryhl’s wing to hold it down while he attempted to put a rope around the bird. Rolling to the side, the miryhl slashed out with its feet, knocking Rees over and very nearly slicing him from neck to navel.

“Enough!” Lyrai roared, deciding it had gone too far. “Stand down! I order you to stop!”

Rees struggled to his feet and found himself facing a furious miryhl, while four Riders roped its wings. They tightened their grip as the miryhl struck, barely missing the sergeant.

The eagle screamed, strained and freed a wing, beating it frantically and damaging more precious feathers on the sun-baked ground.

“Stand down!” Lyrai shouted. “I said stand down! All of you!”

By now six Riders clung to the ropes on the miryhl’s left, while another three had managed to loop its neck, but at Lyrai’s bellow they reluctantly let go. Even Rees rolled clear in the face of Lyrai’s rage.

“Back away from the miryhl,” he commanded, keeping his voice low, trying not to distress the bird any further.

“You heard the lieutenant,” said an unexpected but much welcomed voice. Captain Myran had arrived. “Timpkins, throw that rope and I will tie you up personally and present you to this miryhl for breakfast.”

Rider Timpkins dropped the rope as though it burned, and the circle of men shifted back another six paces. Everyone waited, looking between the miryhl and the man behind Lyrai.

A broad hand squeezed his shoulder approvingly. “Proceed, lieutenant.”

Not taking his eyes from the panicked bird, Lyrai lowered his chin in a grateful nod. “Thank you, sir. Forgive me for not saluting.”

Captain Myran chuckled. “Formalities are taken as done, lieutenant. Now soothe that miryhl.”

Lyrai nodded again and took a tentative step forward. The miryhl hissed and Lyrai sank down, resting his weight on his haunches. “All right, my beauty,” he crooned. “Steady now.”

The miryhl cautiously folded its unbound wing, though it kept an alert eye on Lyrai’s creeping progress. When he got too close the eagle growled, flexing its free foot.

“Steady,” Lyrai murmured. “You’re in a tangle and need my help. I won’t hurt you, my fine one.” Keeping his voice soft, he continued praising the miryhl and creeping closer until he was within half a pace of the sharp talons. The eagle scraped the ground but didn’t strike.

“Good, that’s good,” he praised, reaching for the tangled rope. The miryhl flinched, as did Lyrai, and both froze. They sighed in unison when neither struck and Lyrai slid his knife from his boot, careful to let the eagle see what he was doing at all times. “We’ll soon have you free, friend.” Reaching for the ropes, he sliced through a third of the thickly woven width before the miryhl jerked.

“All right,” Lyrai crooned. “Think you can handle it now?”

Watching Lyrai warily, the miryhl stretched out. With a crack of that deadly beak, it snapped the rope.

“Good,” Lyrai whispered, pulling the bindings free and taking care not to touch the miryhl before it was ready. “There.” Tugging the last of the rope away, Lyrai hopped back as the bird rolled to its feet, but when it found its left wing still tied it shrieked in outrage.

“Watch out!”

Until now the Riders have been mercifully silent, but as one onlooker shouted the obvious the miryhl remembered it wasn’t alone and lunged for the nearest target.

Swallowing hard, Lyrai dropped to his knees, keeping his hands low and his head bowed. A puff of air caressed his cheek as the bird’s beak passed but didn’t make contact. Not daring to move, hardly daring to breathe, Lyrai waited, watching the shadow on the grass as the miryhl loomed over him.

Warm breath separated his hair, then touched his forehead, nose and chin, before a smooth beak rested against his cheek and chest. Lyrai barely had time to look up before he was flat on his back, the wind knocked from him by a hard shove.

Deep brown eyes glinted as the miryhl arched its neck and put them beak-to-nose. “Untie me,” it rasped, and though its voice was hoarse from its screams it was also clearly male.

Lyrai blinked, stunned at being spoken to so causally. He nodded. “Let me up first.”

Huffing, the miryhl moved back a pace, allowing Lyrai to roll to his feet and snatch up his knife. In the end he didn’t need it, the noose slackened beneath his fingers and the eagle was free. The big male swung his head to meet Lyrai’s gaze, nodded in thanks and launched, broad wings opening with a crack.

“Wait!” Lyrai called. Buffeted by the downdraft as the miryhl flew into the gathering dusk, he could only watch with envy as the bird powered away. Lyrai wanted this miryhl; no other would do.

“Congratulations, lieutenant.” Captain Myran watched the glorious eagle swirl around the mountainside. “You handled that admirably. I assume you have no need to wait for the Choice?”

Lyrai barely heard the praise – a rare honour from his captain that at any other time would have filled him with pleasure. “He spoke.”

“I noticed.” Myran sounded amused. “Perhaps when he returns you should take him to the Rider eyries. I don’t think he liked the look of the other one.”

“He spoke to me,” Lyrai repeated, not paying attention. “Without a ceremony or a temporary bond. Or anything.”

“Yes.”

“I want him. If he doesn’t come back, I’ll look for him.”

Captain Myran patted him on the shoulder. “He’ll be back.” When Lyrai still didn’t look at him, the captain turned away. “Come on, Stirla, let’s see how the other new arrivals are faring. Your fellow lieutenant’s a little preoccupied.”

Preoccupied was not how Lyrai would have put it, more like ensnared. It was as though by releasing the miryhl from the ropes, he’d entangled himself. For the briefest moment it had felt glorious. When the miryhl loomed over him, capable of killing with one blow, he hadn’t felt afraid. His heart had pounded, but not with panic, and when he spoke Lyrai felt as though Maegla Herself had smiled on him.

Now all he felt was anxious. What would he do if he didn’t come back? There wasn’t another miryhl on the entire Overworld that could compare. It was this one or none.

“You have to come back,” he whispered to the empty field. “You have to.”

So he waited, while everyone else got on with their lives in the warm summer evening. Kneeling like a supplicant before the gods, Lyrai remained on the flying field. The first stars opened their eyes above him and the moon climbed over the Cloud Sea. Oblivious to the passing time and growing numbness in his legs, all Lyrai could do was watch the spot where he’d last seen the miryhl.

A cool wind drifted over the grass, raising goosebumps on his skin, but he ignored it.

Until a soft voice murmured, “Still here?”

Not daring to look over his shoulder, Lyrai swallowed. “Yes.”

“Have you nowhere better to be?”

At the hint of amusement, Lyrai turned. A hiss of pain escaped as the blood flowed back into his legs and he flinched when the miryhl lowered his beak to rub them.

“I was waiting for you,” Lyrai said, when he felt able to speak. “I wasn’t sure you’d return.”

The miryhl straightened and tilted his head. “In some things we have no choice.”

Unsure how to take that, Lyrai attempted to stand instead. He had to do it in stages on his reawakened legs but, with a little help from the eagle, he finally stood on his own.

Rumbling with concern, the miryhl nuzzled him. “You must not wait again. I don’t like it.”

Smiling, Lyrai carefully stroked the feathers on the eagle’s head, relaxing when they rose and the bird purred his enjoyment. “I hope I’ll never need to.”

“Good.”

They fell silent as Lyrai tickled the miryhl’s head, uncertain how to proceed. This was new for him and he was at a loss over what to do.

“Must I sleep there?” the miryhl asked, nodding at the rickety structure built for the Choice.

He chuckled. “No.”

“Good.” The eagle sighed with relief and preened Lyrai’s hair. “It does not look safe.”

“It’s well enough,” Lyrai promised, enjoying the attention. “For a few days.”

The miryhl huffed, unconvinced, and bowed his head. “I am Hurricane.”

“Lyrai. Lieutenant Lyrai Henstrati Henrykran.”

And that was all they needed. Without another word, Lyrai showed his new miryhl to the Rider eyries and wondered whatever happened to ceremony and ritual, and whether they truly meant anything after all. It certainly felt better this way.

~ 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 12, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch12.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Just hanging out over the Cloud Sea, flirting with a charming sky captain, as you do. And what’s that? Brand new miryhls! Someone fetch a net!

Twelve

 28th Fledgling

A cool breeze washed over the mountain as Cumulo soared in widening circles. Mhysra lay against his back, enjoying the sun. It was a beautiful morning, made all the more special by the news three days ago that she’d passed her exams, along with all her friends.

“It’s nearly ready,” Cumulo called, dipping a wing and banking sideways.

Mhysra’s knees tightened as the world tipped, giving her an excellent – if unusual – view of the activity below. A quarter of the flying field was covered in scaffolding, explaining why she and the rest of the students had been given a half-moon break.

“Glad I don’t have to stay there.”

Chuckling, Mhysra smoothed Cumulo’s wind-ruffled feathers. “If you weren’t already bonded you’d be too excited about the Choice to care about the accommodation.”

Cumulo snorted. “Hardly. Humans get excited about the Choice. Miryhls don’t. All the Choice does is bind us to a lifetime of work.”

“Charming,” she replied. “Are you saying miryhls don’t gain anything from the bond?”

“Yes.”

“But Riders get to fly, so that’s the only reason they care about their miryhls?”

“Something like that,” he agreed, flapping away from the city-side of the mountain.

“So the fact you roost in the best eyries and get fresh meat regularly, whether you work or not, is not worth having?”

Cumulo didn’t answer, taking them on a skin-tingling dive down a gully instead. Clinging tightly, Mhysra gasped, heart racing with the exhilaration of being at one with her miryhl. It was true, Riders did gain a lot through the bond, and the gift of flying wasn’t something she could ever give up, but miryhls were more than just mounts. They were partners, protectors, friends. Or even family.

The base of the gully broke over the mountainside and Cumulo drifted down to the Cloud Sea, its turbulent winds making Mhysra’s teeth chatter. Skimming over a low outcrop, Cumulo kicked off the frozen rocks and took them back up to where the air was warm and clear.

Passing a Rider patrol, Mhysra waved. “Are you sorry?”

Swooping under the other flyers, Cumulo tilted his head and eyed her curiously. “About?”

“Being bonded to me. I know neither of us had a choice, but do you mind?” She’d never considered it before, but his comments worried her. He was the one constant in her life, as important as home or friends. It wasn’t quite breathing, but with Cumulo life was worth living. She’d always assumed he felt the same, but what if he didn’t? If he’d been free to accept another Rider, would he have jumped at the chance, even if it meant leaving her behind? Was their Wingborn status a hindrance to him, where it had always been a gift to her?

Cumulo tucked his wings in and dropped several feet, before catching them again – an airborne sigh. “You think too much.” His voice was a reassuring vibration against her.

“It was a fair question, after what you said.”

He clucked reproachfully. “I was joking. Since you started training you’ve lost all sense of humour. Not that you had much to begin with.”

She smiled into his feathers, loving the clean smell of him touched with a sweet hint of dust. “Did it ever occur to you that you’re not funny?”

“Of course not. The fault has always been yours.”

“Naturally.”

“But even without a true appreciation for my genius, I’d rather have you than anyone. I can’t imagine a better flight partner. You’re my Wingborn. Even though I can’t live without you, I don’t wish to either. I’m yours as you are mine. If I made disparaging remarks about the Choice it’s because I pity all other miryhls. They’ll never have what we have, nor comprehend what they’re missing. You are like flight to me.”

Stunned to hear such words from her proud and often irreverent Wingborn, Mhysra couldn’t speak. Instead she reached forward as far as she could and hugged him tightly. Tears stung her eyes, from the cold and the wind as well as emotion, and she buried her face in his feathers.

“Are you crying?” he rumbled. “You’d better not be crying. Your nose always runs when you cry and it ruins my feathers. I am not a handkerchief.”

Chuckling, she sat up and wiped her face. “I’m not crying.”

“Good. It would damage my reputation should anyone catch you being so unashamedly girlish. There is no room for maudlin sentiment in the Riders.”

“Yes, sir,” she chirped, saluting cheekily.

“Are you mocking me, student?” he growled, in a perfect impersonation of Sergeant Rees.

“Never, sir.”

“Because if you were, student, I would have to take severe action.”

“I would never dare mock you, most gracious and brilliant sir.”

“Good. I should hate, for example, to have to do this!” Wings tucking in tight, he clamped her legs against his sides and plummeted into freefall. Had Mhysra been a little less familiar with her miryhl it would have been terrifying, especially when the world turned and the clouds rushed up to meet them, but after years of flying together she knew him almost as well as she knew herself. Which was why when she felt his wings twitch, she gripped his neck feathers, tightened her thighs and held on.

She still screamed, though, when Cumulo began to spin. Her heart thundered, her chest felt tight and her eyes closed. The wind roared in her ears, slapping her face and pulling at her hair as it raced over them while they tumbled down and around. With a final roll, Cumulo righted himself, swooping across the clouds and scattered rocks below.

Mhysra laughed breathlessly, face buried against his neck. “You’ll kill me one day.”

He didn’t answer. Fresh tension shivered through him and he powered upwards with heavy beats of his wings, lifting them higher with each hard pull. “Ship,” he growled.

She sat up in surprise. A skyship was drifting over the Cloud Sea towards them. Specks circled the unfamiliar vessel, swooping in and out of the hatch doors on the bottom of the ship’s five tiers. Thinner than the broad hulls her family favoured, the dark craft was sleek and slender, perfect for cutting through the air. The gasbag was red and black, the insignia unknown.

She was intrigued. “I’m game, if you are.”

He chuckled. “Far be it for me to deny your pleasure, my lady.”

As they approached, the specks retreated to the hull until only a pair of horsats and some pyrefly patrollers were left. They had been sighted.

“Behave,” she warned as the horsats approached, and Cumulo gave a contemptuous snort.

“Ho, Rider!” the foremost flyer called in a heavy accent. “From Nimbys?”

“Yes,” she shouted back, unsure what more to add.

“The captain invites you aboard Thorncrest. You will honour us?”

Thinking they would be disappointed when they discovered she was only a student, she nevertheless accepted the invitation. Cumulo needed a rest and if they could catch a lift back to Nimbys that would be even better. “We would be delighted.”

With a nod, one of the horsat fliers reined his mount around and galloped back to the ship. The second waited patiently for them to join him, before showing them the best approach.

“Welcome, welcome!” A tall, dark-skinned man dressed in buff leathers and a deep blue coat, strode across the deck as Cumulo glided over the rail and hopped to a neat halt. “Welcome, Rider and fine miryhl.” He bowed respectfully to Cumulo and grinned at Mhysra. His smile faltered as she pulled off her flying hat and slid from the saddle. The crew drew back in confusion.

Mhysra smiled nervously and rested a hand on Cumulo’s wing for reassurance. “Thank you for the invitation, captain. You have a wonderful ship.”

The flattery smoothed over the awkwardness and the captain’s bright smile sprang back. “True,” he agreed, reaching for her hand. After a hearty shake, he raised it for a kiss. “You grace it so beautifully, fair lady. Tell me, have things changed so swiftly in Nimbys? I heard they allowed women Riders again, but did not know they already had such fine jewels in their midst.”

Slightly overwhelmed, Mhysra freed her hand while Cumulo tucked her protectively against his chest. “You heard correctly, sir,” she said, gathering her composure. “I am a new student.”

“But you fly so beautifully. Have we missed the Choice? Do you learn to fly before Aquila now?” The captain acted confused, though his dark eyes glimmered. He was a fine looking man who clearly knew how to use his charms to disarm unwary women.

Determined not to fall under his spell, Mhysra stiffened. “I am Wingborn, sir.”

An excited whisper spread across the deck and the captain straightened to his full, impressive height. “Wingborn, you say? Then we truly are honoured. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Captain Khene Torven of Thorncrest, out of Zvenera. We have sailed across the lonely sea from the edge of the Stormsurge, bringing students and miryhls for the Choice.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Captain Torven. I am Mhysra Kilpapan, student Rift Rider, and this is my Wingborn, Cumulo.”

“Ah.” The amusement sprang back into his eyes. “A Kilpapan. I would be delighted, were your family not so adept at cutting out my trade. You have the look of your mother, Lady Mhysra. Were you not so tall I would have noticed sooner. Still, be welcome aboard Thorncrest, such as she is.”

“Thank you, captain. Perhaps it will ease your mind to know that until this summer I lived with my aunt and know nothing about the Kilpapan business.”

“A little.” He smiled again. “A very little, but I’d be honoured if you would bide a while and share your story, while we return you and your fine friend to Nimbys. It will be an enjoyable journey.”

Exchanging amused glances with Cumulo, she smiled at the captain. “We’d be delighted.”

* * * * *

THE SHORT TRIP back to Nimbys was fun. Despite his spates of flummery, Captain Torven was good company. After asking about Wrentheria and the Lowlands, he regaled Mhysra with tales of his travels and life in the Storm Peaks. All accompanied by an irrepressible twinkle in his eye. Mhysra doubted she could believe a word, but he was amusing. After a while Cumulo settled down for a snooze, satisfied his Wingborn was safe.

When Nimbys came into view, gilded by the evening light, the captain excused himself. Horsat messengers were dispatched and sailors filled the deck, pulling in side sails and adjusting the ballast, while others secured the hold. Leaning against the prow rail, Mhysra peered down at the excited youngsters rushing onto the outer walkways of the lower decks, eager for their first glimpse of Nimbys. These would be her year mates at Aquila, and she hoped that more would prove friends than foes.

“You’re fretting again,” Cumulo murmured over her shoulder.

“Better prepared than surprised,” she replied, while sailors hustled the students away.

Captain Torven ordered the hatches opened and the signaller blew the horn. The sound boomed down the ship’s bow and echoed against the mountainside, until the whole sky rang with it.

The captain approached Mhysra as loose miryhls emerged from the belly of the ship. “Would you guide them to their new home, my lady?”

Mhysra glanced at Cumulo, eyebrows raised. Someone would be coming from the barracks to collect them, but she didn’t mind helping. It depended on her miryhl. He tilted his head, sighed and lowered his wing.

“Is that a yes?”

Mhysra grinned and accepted the hand Torven offered. “It is, captain. Thank you for your company. I hope we meet again sometime.”

“I am sure of it,” he agreed, kissing her hand. “Perhaps sooner than you think.” Winking, he stepped back so she could mount. At her curious glance, he laughed. “Till next time!”

Cumulo opened his wings, cleared the deck with a bound and they launched into a sky filled with miryhls.

~ 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 11, Part 3

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch11.3

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Argh, exams!

Don’t worry, though, there’s no test waiting at the end. At least, not for you.

LYRAI WAS IN a contemplative mood as the exams approached. Out of nine students he had some doubts about Naelyn, Devane and Mouse, but was mostly proud of his group. Jermyn and Dhori were naturally gifted, while the rest worked hard. It boded well for the future and he carried his good mood away from the morning session into the dining room.

“What are you so happy about?” Stirla grumbled, a pile of paperwork at his elbow. Never one to work when he could be having fun, he ended each moon with a two-foot stack and a bad temper. At least this month he had plenty of study supervision sessions to fill to help him catch up.

“Thinking of the future,” Lyrai replied cheerfully.

“I hate this time of year.”

Considering that the school exams always happened in the second quarter-moon of Fledgling, Lyrai knew he should hate it too. Five afternoons of dull prep sessions, supervising his students and taking questions – most of which he wasn’t allowed to answer. The sixth day was the written exam and the seventh was the physical. Hethanon assessed that and clerks marked the papers, leaving Lyrai and Stirla free.

After another quarter-moon, the results were given out and the real excitement began. That was why Lyrai was so cheerful: the Choice was only twenty-one days away. Soon he’d have wings again.

Stirla gave a surly grunt and reached for the top of his stack. “Knowing my luck my lot’ll ask questions all afternoon, leaving me no time to work. Stupid exams.”

Lyrai shook his head, not bothering to remind Stirla about his free evenings and Stardays. Instead he finished his pastry and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Good luck with the Paperstack of Doom. See you at dinner.”

Stirla grunted again, showing no signs of leaving. Lyrai pitied the students who had the lieutenant as a mentor. Remembering his own study sessions six years ago, he winced. No matter how often he’d been assured the exam was easy, he’d still fretted, certain that he would fail. He hadn’t, of course, and the written paper had been laughably easy, but it was no use telling the students that. It was something they had to discover for themselves.

The real test was to survive seven months in the company of Hethanon and the tedious clerks. If a boy could do that, he’d earned the right to try his luck at Aquila. The girls too. The reward was the chance to partner one of the most wondrous creatures in existence.

Smiling, Lyrai collected his subdued students and led them to a classroom, wondering what he would look for in his new miryhl. Twenty-one days, that was all, then he would be able to fly again. He couldn’t wait.

* * * * *

“GODS, IS IT really over?” Mouse stumbled shakily out of the room.

Walking behind him, Mhysra wished he would shut up. When Lieutenant Stirla had told them to stop writing she’d felt pleased, certain she’d passed. The questions had been as easy as everyone said. Or so she’d assumed, until Lieutenant Lyrai took her paper away and Mouse started moaning.

“Gods, Maegla, Gods. I’ve failed, I know I have. I know it.”

“Enough.” Derrain hooked an arm around Mouse’s neck, muffling him under his arm. “It’s done. You can’t change it. Give it a rest, before you mutter Mhysra into apoplexy.”

She jumped, not realising she’d been so obvious. “I’m not worried.”

“Of course not,” Corin chuckled. “That’s why you’re about to dash back inside and stab Lyrai with your quill until he gives you your paper so you can check if you spelled Aquila with two ls.”

Mhysra stopped, eyes widening. “It has two ls?”

Derrain and Mouse blinked. “I hope not,” Mouse whispered.

Mhysra grinned. “Got ya.”

Which earned her a round of quill tickling, until she protested that Corin said it and Mouse started it. Ever fair, they doled out punishment to the others and by the time they reached the streets they were all in high spirits, even Mouse.

“Went well then?” Harlan asked, as he joined them.

“Easy,” Derrain assured him.

“Could have done it blindfolded,” Corin boasted.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Dhori tempered, smiling. “Perhaps with my hands behind my back.”

“Even you would have passed,” Mhysra assured Harlan, who narrowed his eyes.

“Must have been easy then,” he said, and smiled. “I’ll buy the drinks. You’ll need them.”

“A toast,” Derrain agreed, his happiness revealing how worried he’d been, despite all protests to the contrary. “To the easiest exam in history!”

The others cheered and Harlan smirked. “Well, that too, but I was thinking you need to keep your strength up for tomorrow. Doesn’t Hethanon get his claws into you in the morning?”

Their merriment vanished.

“You’re always the happy one,” Corin told him bitterly.

“So you don’t want a drink?” Harlan chuckled. “All the more for me.”

“Ha!” Derrain snagged his collar before he could escape. “With you buying? Who’d be stupid enough to pass that up?”

“Won’t get another chance this century, that’s for certain,” Mouse agreed.

“Better check your pockets for change,” Dhori advised. Cheered up, they spent the walk into town teasing Harlan and his tight-fisted ways, all thoughts of the next morning temporarily forgotten.

* * * * *

BY THE EIGHTEENTH LAP, Mhysra was struggling, but at least she wasn’t the only one. In fact she was close to the front. Derrain, Dhori and three others were still romping along at a swift pace, but they were all tall and athletic, and at that moment Mhysra hated them. However, there were only two laps left, so she pushed on to complete the first challenge, pleased not to collapse when they were finally allowed to stop.

Which was for the best, really, seeing as Hethanon was as merciless as ever, immediately pairing them off for the exercise routines. Finding herself opposite Haelle, Mhysra smiled and started stretching, turning to her partner when two people were needed rather than one. Then they faced a timed obstacle course. No one was surprised when Dhori won, while Haelle just beat Mhysra.

Then it was weaponry and more competitions to see how far each of them had progressed. Naelyn surprised everyone – herself included – by coming top of the girls in staffs, and placing fourth overall, with Mhysra and Haelle just behind. The top place was fiercely contested between Jermyn and Dhori. Jermyn came out the eventual winner, but only by taking advantage of a perilous pocket of ground that tripped his opponent. Corin came second in archery, beating all the girls and most of the boys too.

It was exhausting but enjoyable, and Mhysra was pleased by how well she’d done. Thanks to Hethanon’s rigorous training, she felt she’d acquitted herself well, as had the rest of her friends. Even those near the bottom, like Mouse and Corin, were competent. For the first time her goal seemed within reach and it was likely that all her friends would make it to Aquila.

“At last,” Corin groaned as the girls entered the officer’s bathhouse, which had been temporarily assigned to the girls over recent months. “I’m finished.” Stretching her arms wide, she belly-flopped into the steaming pool.

Jumping in and letting the heat wash over her, Mhysra sighed. The hardest part was over, now the waiting began. But as she scrubbed away the sweat and laughed with her friends, she was unable to shake off the feeling that everything wasn’t quite perfect yet. Perhaps it wouldn’t be until they reached Aquila. Or until after she’d finally told her parents.

Grimacing, she shook her head and let the warmth soothe her worries away. Their exams were done. Soon they’d be real Rift Rider students. Now that was something worth celebrating.

~ 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 11, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch11.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Nothing particularly testing in this installment, just Mhysra, Cue, Corin and Stirla hanging out in the eyries. Well, it is Sunday.

“YOU ARE ONE of the luckiest people I know.”

Blinking, Mhysra looked up from preening Cumulo. Corin leant against an empty perch, eyes closed, basking in a shaft of sunlight.

At the silence, her friend opened her bright eyes and smiled. “Well, you are.”

Mhysra shook her head and returned to work. “I have advantages, but I’m not lucky.”

“Why not?” Corin asked, watching the Riders arrive for their patrol. It was Starday and, despite being a free day for most, Rider duty never stopped. However, when Theryn didn’t appear she lost interest. “Look what you have.” She waved an arm, which Cumulo seized in his beak.

“Cue,” Mhysra warned, and he let go with a snort. “Sorry.”

Corin grinned. “Serves me right for waving it in his face, eh, Cue?”

Though fond of his reputation for being too arrogant to acknowledge lesser mortals, Cumulo occasionally condescended to notice certain people. Of Mhysra’s new friends his favourites were definitely Dhori and Corin, so he gave a regal nod.

Mhysra poked him and glared at Corin. “Don’t encourage him. All the attention he’s had since we arrived has gone to his head. He’ll think himself a god next.”

“He didn’t hurt me,” Corin protested on the miryhl’s behalf.

“But he might have.”

Cumulo crackled his beak, swinging his head around to nudge her. “I am not an idiot,” he grumbled softly enough for only her to hear.

“Be more tolerant,” she chided. “You can’t be grouchy when we’re Riders. Other people will need to touch you from time to time.”

“Not if they thump me in the face,” he muttered, and she tickled his crest.

“Just be careful, please.”

“I’m always careful.” Turning away, he stuck his head under his wing to sulk.

Corin watched the exchange with a smile. “Lucky.”

“What? Because I’ve been tied to this grump my whole life?” She yanked out a bent feather and stumbled as the reflexive twitch of Cumulo’s wing knocked her sideways. “Believe me, there are nicer miryhls. I’ve met them.”

“Lucky,” Corin said again. “You had a dream childhood. And whatever you say about Cue, I know you don’t mean it. If he was that bad half the Riders wouldn’t have tried stealing him away.”

Cumulo’s head came up and he puffed out his chest. When he nudged Mhysra, fishing for compliments, she gave him a shove. “They only want him for his looks. And yes, growing up at Wrentheria was a dream – I’m not disputing that. But that’s where I was born, and Cumulo’s part of that.”

“So what’s not lucky about turning old enough just in time for the proclamation?” Corin asked slyly, picking up a feather from the floor and stroking it straight.

“That had nothing to do with me,” Mhysra protested as Cumulo hopped onto a low perch, putting his legs at waist level. “And you’re here too. Does that make you lucky?”

“I’ve always been lucky,” Corin agreed, blowing the feather into the air. “Just not as lucky as you. Can I help?”

Knowing she wasn’t going to win this argument, Mhysra handed her friend a cloth. “Use this on his talons. I’ll do his legs – the oil needs to be applied by hand and it stinks.”

“Wow.” Corin bent to study Cumulo’s huge talons. Despite needing a clean the golden claws glinted, the edges sharp and deadly. “Remind me never to offend a miryhl.”

Cumulo chuckled and shifted his feet, while Mhysra poured oil into her palm and rubbed it between her hands. “Good advice. Most calm down once they’re bonded, but there are always ones with short tempers.”

“Like people,” Corin agreed, oiling the cloth and setting to work. Dust and grime smeared away as she rubbed in small circles, revealing the translucent shine beneath. “Is this right?”

Cumulo arched his neck and nodded.

“You’re a natural,” Mhysra agreed, tugging loose feathers from where they were caught on the rough skin of Cumulo’s legs and cursing when they stuck to her sticky fingers.

Coming to her rescue, Corin also removed the fluff in her braid. “Thanks for letting me help.”

“It’s good practise. For you and Cue. He needs to get used to being tended by others.”

Cumulo made a sound of protest and engulfed her under a wing, tucking her head and shoulders against his side.

Chuckling, Corin pulled her free. “I never knew how much care they needed. You hear stories about them talking, being created by Maegla and being as intelligent as us and all, so I assumed they could look after themselves.”

“Of course they can,” Mhysra said, while Cumulo squawked at the slight. “Like any wild eagle, miryhls are perfectly capable of looking after themselves. But the rigours of Rider work mean they deserve extra care. Like horsats and pyreflies. Besides I like looking after him and it’s a good way to strengthen the bond.

“As Lieutenant Lyrai says -” Mhysra cleared her throat and adopted a lecturing tone, “ – the form of a weapon is only half its strength. Without care the edge dulls and it will let you down in a thousand ways. A miryhl is a Rider’s first and most formidable weapon.” The bird gave another disgruntled squawk, and she chuckled. “Not that Cumulo would let me down, but oiling his claws every half-moon helps prevent cracks and keeps them strong. While preening the parts he can’t reach easily makes him more comfortable. They’re just little things here and there, but they add up.”

“I’d never have thought of these things on my own,” Corin said admiringly, shaking her head as she moved onto Cumulo’s left foot. “You’re a useful girl to have around.”

“Not all of us think so.” Lieutenant Stirla chuckled as they both jumped, startled to find him behind them “Sorry, I couldn’t help overhearing.” He lounged against a perch, a bridle draped over his shoulder. Across the aisle his miryhl Atyrn ruffled her feathers in preparation for being taken out. She gave them a regal nod, looking glossier than ever, eyes bright, beak shining.

“All the miryhls are grateful Lady Mhysra showed up,” Stirla continued. “Cumulo likes to talk, so no Rider gets any peace these days. It’s all nag, nag, nag. Preen me, bathe me, oil me, feed me more.”

Mhysra hid her face against Cumulo and mumbled something apologetic about baby miryhls and demanding natures.

The lieutenant chuckled. “It’s a good thing, mostly, and it does help with the bond. I know my Atyrn appreciates the extra attention.” He crossed to his miryhl and she crooned in welcome.

Corin sighed wistfully. “I don’t know if I can wait another month.”

“It’ll pass quickly,” Stirla promised, slipping the bridle over Atyrn’s beak. “You’ve already waited six moons. Not that any of you know enough to pick a miryhl yet. Most pairs muddle along and by the end of their time at Aquila they’re familiar enough. No one gets a perfect match right off, except those two.”

Mhysra and Cumulo snorted in unison. “Right off?” she contested. “We’ve been paired for fifteen years. We grew up together. We’re not a match, we’re family.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing,” Stirla chuckled, slipping Atyrn’s saddle into place.

“Do you have brothers, sir?”

“No.”

“Sisters?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Then you’ll know why it isn’t always a good thing.”

Laughing, he secured the two girths tightly. “Even if you had the worst sibling relationship in history, you’d still have a better partnership than half the Riders. But I only have to watch you to know it’s far better than that. I hope you’re taking notes, Corin.” Winking, he slapped his saddle and sent Atyrn outside. “Enjoy your Starday, students.”

They said goodbye and Mhysra finished oiling Cumulo’s legs, before wiping her hands clean.

Corin leaned back against the rail again, shaking her head.

“What?” Mhysra asked, packing up her kit.

Corin’s lips quirked up. “Lucky.”

Hefting her stuff towards the tack room, Mhysra smiled as she watched Cumulo preen in the sunshine. Perhaps, though she wasn’t about to admit it, Corin had a point.

~ Next Chapter ~

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Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 11, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch11.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Never trust a woman in a small office at the back of the house. Clearly she is up to no good…

Eleven

25th Sun

“Mhysra?”

Exiting the servant’s stairway, Mhysra froze, cursing herself for forgetting that her mother’s office was at this end of the house. Until now it hadn’t mattered. Besides, it was still early on the morning after the ball – most people would still be abed. Or most normal people, anyway.

“We must talk.”

Knowing she had no other choice, Mhysra walked into her mother’s gloomy study. Never a big room, it was made smaller by stacks of papers on the shelves, desk, chairs and floor. Despite its haphazard appearance it was all meticulously ordered. Lady Kilpapan would tolerate nothing less.

“Sit down.” Her mother indicated the chair in front of the desk. As Mhysra shifted stack of papers, the countess eyed her critically. “You intend to visit the eyries?”

Perching carefully on the cleared seat, Mhysra raised her chin. “I see Cumulo every day,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “And fly whenever I can.”

Lady Kilpapan narrowed her eyes at Mhysra’s flying breeches. “Do you always visit the eyries dressed like that?”

Mhysra licked her lips, thinking fast. “The eyries are dusty in the summer. It would be a shame to get my riding dress dirty when no one sees me.” Inspiration struck and she plucked at her worn shirt. “No one minds if these old things of Kilai’s get messy.”

Lady Kilpapan studied her daughter’s outfit. “When you say that no one sees you dressed so scandalously, that’s not quite true, is it?”

Mhysra’s heart thumped, but she tried not to let her unease show. She was so close, surely she wouldn’t be discovered now. There was only a month of the selection school left.

“The eyries are always full of Riders, and even if they aren’t everyone assumes that they will be. You endanger your reputation every time you step outside dressed so. Endanger the reputation of the entire family. Have you no care for your sister?”

Relief collided with anger as Mhysra’s heart pounded. So they were back to this. “I have yet to be recognised, mother. I do not believe the risk is so very great.”

“Since you were raised in Wrentheria, I shall let your naivety pass. From now on you will wear a riding costume whenever you go to the eyries, or you shall not go at all. Is that clear?”

Mhysra stared at the wall over her mother’s shoulder, not daring to open her mouth lest she succumb to the urge to make some things of her own clear.

“Mhysra?” her mother repeated, voice hard. “Your aunt raised you to be wilful and your father has done nothing to curb you, but I will not stand for it. I asked you a question and I expect to be answered. You will wear a riding costume when you visit the eyries, is that clear?”

Gritting her teeth, she muttered, “Yes, my lady.”

“Good.” Lady Kilpapan nodded stiffly. Mhysra shifted on her uncomfortable chair, awaiting the dismissal she prayed would come – before her rein on her temper broke.

Picking up a quill, Lady Kilpapan straightened the ruffled edges. “We must seem strict after Wrentheria, especially when you have set your heart on something. If you had been raised in the city you would have accepted our answer, if you dared ask at all. This is not entirely your fault. You are not yet used to our ways. However, as your parents it is our right to make decisions about your future without explanation. But perhaps we should have made the effort.”

Mhysra watched her mother’s neat hands – always controlled, always still – fidget about her desk, straightening papers, aligning ledgers, shifting quills and ink pots. Her mother was nervous. It was not a comforting realisation.

“To you, a child raised to be independent and wilful, a life in the Rift Riders must seem a natural choice for a girl who has spent so much time amongst miryhls. Why shouldn’t you join? Your brother did and he’s the heir.” When Mhysra stared at her, surprised, Lady Kilpapan smiled. “I understand your thoughts, Mhysra, but you do not understand mine.

“As I’m sure you will recall, your father was not keen for Kilai to follow this path. He wanted his heir to learn the workings of the earldom and the family business. Kilai was to unite our assets into one, re-forging the name of Kilpapan. But patriotic duty is important and Kilai’s noble intentions could not be denied. True, there is no other son to follow him, but we have two daughters, and the families of Kilpapan and Wrentherin have no shortage of intelligence.

“Your sister, whether you are aware of it or not, has spent the last three years learning about the earldom from your father. This is why she has yet to marry. In time she will make the match she deserves, but she will still be a Kilpapan and the earldom will always have her to rely on. She knows her duty.

“And you, my youngest, have your own duties to attend to.” When Mhysra opened her mouth to state that her duty was to Cumulo, her mother held up a hand. “You are a Kilpapan, Mhysra, and your duty is to the family. Many daughters marry to fulfil that duty, as will you, but you will also learn about the business. When I retire, you will succeed me.”

Mhysra blinked. “You wish me to go into trade? To deal with men daily? To spend months on skyships in the middle of nowhere? And this would be different to a life in the Riders how?”

The quill in her mother’s hand snapped. “Let me be blunt, daughter, your life is with your family. If you wish to keep Cumulo, you will accept this. If you persist in this foolishness, I will send him back to Wrentheria. Or,” she added when Mhysra opened her mouth, “to Aquila. You say they are short of miryhls. They will not turn him away.”

Mhysra’s nails dug into her palms as she fought the urge to correct her mother. To do so would reveal her secrets. After this conversation, she realised she didn’t dare. True, she didn’t believe anyone would ever succeed in taking Cumulo away, but she couldn’t risk them trying. He might get hurt and she would never forgive herself.

Eyeing her daughter’s tight expression, Lady Kilpapan nodded in satisfaction. “Life aboard a skyship differs greatly from the Rift Riders. Yes, some families view a life in trade as demeaning, but their fortunes are fading. Their power wanes and they will soon sink beneath the clouds like the setting sun. Those of intelligence know trade is the only way forward, so your reputation will not suffer. Skyships, unlike the Rift Riders, have always had a place for women. True, that has only recently expanded from the galley to the crew, but there are female captains now. There is no shame for a woman in a fleet. Especially not in mine.

“My ships have very strict rules,” she continued firmly. “There are no romances. Life is too close upon a skyship to allow for such complications. Our fleet is not alone in maintaining this standard, so it is deemed eminently respectable for a young woman.

“Life in the Rift Riders is not. How can it be when women have only just been readmitted? Who knows what measures will be put in place to watch over them? As for Aquila, to keep so many young men and women in close quarters away from the guiding and restraining influence of society is asking for trouble. It does not matter how chaste or well behaved they are, rumours will fly faster than any miryhl. So many young persons from all tiers of life are bound to have an adverse affect on the morals of the entire group.” The countess sniffed, as if the prospect of so many different people mixing together was unpleasant to her. “What might be acceptable for dock workers or the middle classes will never be acceptable for you.

“You are a Wrentherin and a Kilpapan,” she reiterated, as if Mhysra could ever forget. “Your lineage is noble and your bloodline impeccable – your reputation must remain pure. It will not be wasted on the eyries. Your father and I will not allow you to throw everything away so foolishly. Your place is in Nimbys, learning about the fleet until you marry or I begin your apprenticeship. That is the duty you bleat so earnestly about. This is the life you were born to. The sooner you accept that, the happier we all will be.”

Mhysra stared at the countess, barely able to take in what she had just been told. This was the life they had planned for her, these people who abandoned her to be raised at Wrentheria. Part of her was pleased that they had such faith in her, but she also knew this wasn’t a choice. She could be as dumb as dirt and they would still force her into this. Because Kilai wasn’t here. Her brother had been granted his freedom, so his sisters had to pay the price.

No.

However, she was not so foolish as to say that, no matter how much the word scrabbled inside her, trying to force its way out. Instead she rose from her chair and curtsied. “You do me too much honour, my lady.”

Lady Kilpapan smiled. “You are learning, child. In time you will be fit to take my place.”

Mhysra felt sick. “May I be excused?”

“Of course.” Lady Kilpapan nodded graciously. “You will wish to change before your morning lessons with your sister.”

Taking deep breaths, Mhysra walked from the room, when every instinct screamed to run to Cumulo, to let him soothe her and remind her of all that was good in the world. Mindful of her mother’s threats, however, she returned to her room and picked out her most expensive – and despised – riding dress, pulling it on over her uniform. Only then did she leave.

Derrain’s eyebrows rose when he saw her. “Did the Midsummer ball turn you into a girl?”

Conscious that her mother’s office overlooked the mews, Mhysra forced a smile. “How droll you are, Derrain. Will you accompany me to the eyries?”

Staring at her as though she’d grown a second head, he looked back at the house. Spotting the countess watching from the window, he sucked in a breath and hurriedly offered his arm. “If you’ll do me the honour, my lady.”

Tucking her arm through his, she ducked her head and dragged him away from the house. “Quickly, Derry, if you don’t mind. I can’t bear it here another moment.”

As soon as they were out of her mother’s sight, Derry wrapped an arm about her shoulders. “Does she know?”

“Not yet,” she whispered, leaning against his chest, grateful for his strength.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not yet,” she repeated, anger stirring at the memory. “I couldn’t without screaming.”

He tightened his grip. “Let’s go see Cumulo. And be thankful she leaves tomorrow.”

Wiping her sleeve across her eyes, she took his arm again and matched his swift pace. “I thank Maegla for that,” she whispered. “Every single day.”

~ Next Chapter ~

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

Books, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 10, Part 3

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch10.3

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Shall we dance?

AS LYRAI MOVED around the ballroom, meeting acquaintances and dutifully writing his name on the dance cards he should, he crept closer to the top table and his mother. Occasionally he glanced at the Riders enjoying themselves, or at the flock of young men surrounding the Kilpapan daughters. Lady Milluqua handled them deftly, while her sister stood awkwardly to one side. He felt sorry for her.

On the training field Mhysra was an intelligent pupil, quiet, but willing to put herself forward when required. With her miryhl she was an undisputed expert. Here she was clearly uncomfortable. Too tall, too thin and too awkward for this gilded sphere. Having once struggled to move between such different worlds himself, he’d gladly put his name down for two dances. Even though she didn’t like him, he thought she’d find him easier to dance with than a stranger.

As he watched, Stirla insinuated himself into the group by talking to Mhysra. “Wily old fox,” Lyrai chuckled, seeing the smile of gratitude Lady Milluqua sent his friend for paying attention to her sister. Stirla was full of tricks and Lyrai didn’t doubt he would use them all before this night was through. It was just curious that a wellborn lady was his objective. Stirla rarely played his games where the odds were so heavily stacked against him.

Still, what Stirla got up to was his own business, so Lyrai approached his mother. He kept an eye out for his father, but knew the old man preferred making late entrances.

“Lyrai.” His mother angled her cheek for a kiss. “How dashing you look. There isn’t a woman present who doesn’t long to dance with you.”

He smiled at her radiant appearance. “There is only one lady I wish to dance with.”

She arched an eyebrow and chuckled. “I am long past the age for dancing, dearest.”

Looking at her golden dress, glittering with diamonds in a style that wouldn’t look amiss on a newlywed wife, Lyrai shook his head and tugged her to her feet. “Nonsense. You’re the prettiest girl here. No one would imagine you the mother of five nearly grown children. Come, dance with me, and we shall wow the city with our splendour.”

“You ask so sweetly, how could I refuse?” Resting her hand on his arm, she allowed him to sweep her onto the floor. As he swung her around she laughed like a child and he smiled to see her so happy. It reminded him of long ago days when she would visit the schoolroom to dance with him, much to the dismay of her servants and his tutors. In time his father had put a stop to it, but Lyrai still treasured the memories.

“I’ve missed dancing with you, my Lyrai,” she murmured as they stepped together, turned and joined hands with two other couples to make a circle.

When they came together again, he saw tears in her eyes and squeezed her hands. “I will always dance with you, mama.”

She smiled and when the dance was over asked to be taken back to her table, where she remained for the rest of the evening, isolated in her golden splendour. She danced with no one else and after Lyrai’s father finally arrived the gentlemen stopped asking.

* * * * *

WINCING AFTER A particularly clumsy romp with a young lord whose name she’d already forgotten, Mhysra limped back to her table. Her father was busy with an acquaintance, her mother similarly engaged across the room, while Milluqua was dancing with Lieutenant Lyrai.

Dreaming of the moment when she could take her shoes off, Mhysra watered down her wine and took a sip, thinking she ought to eat something. She wasn’t hungry, but the night was barely half done, so getting drunk probably wasn’t a good idea. Except she would have to get up if she wanted to visit the food table. Her feet throbbed. She couldn’t bear to put weight on them yet.

“Evening, my lady. May I join you?”

She looked up and smiled at Stirla. “Please do, sir. My sister won’t mind.”

“She’s a popular partner,” he said, sitting down. “I don’t think she’s sat out a single set.”

“She likes to dance.”

He smiled at the understatement and poured a glass of wine, eyes widening as he tasted it. “You have better stuff on this side of the room.”

Mhysra laughed, no longer feeling the need to perform for the strangers looking down their noses at the gangly country girl. Lieutenant Stirla knew her and she liked him. “I’d say you’re enjoying yourselves more.”

They looked at the far tables where a raucous toast was going on. “Savages.” He grinned.

She wished she could sit with them. There was no pretence with the Riders. They’d been granted an evening off and were taking full advantage of it. She wished she could do the same.

“I suppose your sister will get married soon,” Stirla said, staring at Milluqua as she skipped around Lieutenant Lyrai. They made a striking couple; her darkness complimenting his light. “Probably to some high lord or prince.”

“My parents are very ambitious,” Mhysra agreed, wondering for the first time how much say her sister would have over her own future.

Stirla’s smile was self-deprecating. “My parents are wool farmers.”

She smiled back, feeling sorry for him. “You’ll make a fine captain, sir.”

He nodded towards the floor. “I believe this is our dance.” When she cast a disgusted glance towards her slippers, he chuckled. “Or we could sit it out and have something to eat instead.”

“A damn fine captain,” she said, and he rolled his eyes as he left to fetch food for them both.

* * * * *

AS DANCES WENT, Lyrai mused while waltzing with Lady Mhysra, it wasn’t the worst he’d experienced. Some conversation might have been nice, but it was difficult to talk to one’s partner when she was watching her feet so intently. Not that he minded the quiet; he was fond of this piece of music and the orchestra played to perfection.

Despite her nerves, Lady Mhysra danced surprisingly well. Considering her age and height, she was graceful. Nothing like the beauty of movement that set her sister apart from everyone else, but for a young lady not fully grown, she did well. Years of flight gave her excellent balance and her natural rhythm made her a good partner. He was almost enjoying himself.

Until the music stopped, she stepped on his foot and someone tapped a glass.

“Sorry,” she whispered, as he helped her regain her balance.

Lyrai looked around the quiet room, saw his father standing at the top table and froze. “It’s all right,” he said, wishing he was back at the Rider tables. He felt exposed out here on the dance floor. Vulnerable.

“What’s happening?” Lady Milluqua appeared beside her sister, Stirla at her shoulder.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly at Lyrai. “Do you know anything about this?”

Lyrai shook his head. “My father doesn’t confide in me.”

“Your father?” Lady Mhysra looked up, eyes wide. “But that’s the Stratys.”

“Yes.”

“He’s your father?” she squeaked.

He nodded, too worried and distracted to explain now, and waited with the rest of the room for the man to speak.

“My lords, ladies and distinguished guests,” Stratys Henryk III spoke into the expectant hush. “I welcome you to the Feast of Our Father of Glory, Divine Heirayk, God of the Sun. The Midsummer Ball goes back far beyond our forefathers to the days before the clouds came and our world was changed forever. A time of celebration, of veneration, to honour and thank the greatest of gods. It is an event where matches are made, promises given and futures entwined forever. A night when fresh hope is born.” He paused to raise his glass, waiting for the silence to gain an impatient edge as all wondered where his speech was going.

“Friends, I ask you to join me in celebration. Tonight, my oldest son, your beloved prince and heir to the Stratys throne, wishes me to announce his betrothal.”

A flurry of excited whispers broke out and Lyrai glanced at his brother, who looked thunderstruck, a red flush creeping up his neck. Beside him, he felt Lady Mhysra turn away and Stirla step closer.

Lady Milluqua swayed, whispering beneath her breath, “Please, no. He didn’t. He wouldn’t. He promised. Divine Lithaen aid me. He promised, Mhysra, he promised me.”

“We could not be more pleased with his choice of bride,” the Stratys continued, oblivious to the fact that his oldest son was arguing with his friends, shaking off the more persistent as he tried to leave. “Join with me, dear friends, in wishing them every future happiness.

“To Prince Henryn and Princess Demolie of Havia.”

The crowd dutifully echoed the toast, while the ballroom doors slammed shut behind Henryn.

“Oh, father,” Lyrai murmured, as the crowd began to whisper. “What have you done?”

“My apologies to your brother,” Lady Milluqua said shakily. “But I am mightily relieved.”

Lyrai stared at her, truly taking in her glowing prettiness for the first time and smiled. “As am I, my lady.” Stirla scowled at him over Milluqua’s head. Eager to annoy his friend, he bowed over her hand until he noticed that his parents were watching. He dropped it hastily.

Lady Milluqua stepped back and smoothed her skirts before turning to Stirla with a bright smile. “I believe this is our dance, lieutenant.”

“Of course, my lady.” As the music restarted, Stirla swiftly whirled his partner away.

Which left Lyrai with Mhysra, who watched him with raised eyebrows. “What are your feelings on marriage, Your Highness?”

He grimaced, having eschewed his title all his life. “Lyrai, please, or lieutenant if you must, or even sir. But I beg you, not Highness.”

Eyebrows still raised, she nodded. “I see.” He led her through a series of tight twirls. “About marriage, sir, what are your thoughts?”

“Why?” It was Lyrai’s turn to raise his eyebrows, unable to resist teasing. “Are you asking?”

He was rewarded with a horrified squeak and she stared at his shoulder again. “I thought it only fair to warn you, that’s all.”

“About what, marriage? Rest assured, my lady, I am already wary.”

Overcoming her embarrassment with visible effort, she glanced at his eyes, then quickly away. “Perhaps not wary enough. It wasn’t just your parents who watched you smile at my sister a moment ago.”

Lyrai spat a curse that would have made any proper miss swoon. Thankfully he was dancing with a Rider-in-training and she laughed, albeit softly.

“As ambitious as my parents are, at least marriage by proxy was outlawed last century,” she said. When he glared at her, she grinned. “When do you leave for Aquila?”

Not soon enough, he thought, whirling her one last time as the music slowed. “The same time you do,” he reminded her. “The end of next month.”

“You might want to go into hiding until then,” she advised. “My parents are tenacious.”

As were his. Making a great show of returning her to her table, he kissed her hand and smiled wryly. “A suitable endeavour for any Rider lieutenant.” Spotting Stirla and Milluqua approaching, he made a hasty retreat.

Now that the Stratys had arrived, the evening was stiffening up. The pitchers on the Rider tables appeared to contain more water than wine and the food was cold. As such Stirla, Fleik, Imaino and a host of others were only too happy to accompany Lyrai as he made his escape.

If several expensive bottles intended for the top table disappeared at the same time, well, it was sheer coincidence.

~ Next Chapter ~

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

Books, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 10, Part 2

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch10.2

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Welcome to the Midsummer Ball!

“AN EVENING OF dancing, fine wines and even finer women – what more could a man wish for?” Stirla chortled, as they pushed through the crowd inside the ballroom. Jewels winked and glittered beneath five enormous chandeliers and everywhere glinted with gold. A rainbow of dresses swirled across the dance floor, their male counterparts almost as bright. An impressive sight, especially for four Riders more familiar with austere barracks and cold mountainsides.

Rees gave a surly grunt and tugged at his collar. “More slack in the stitching,” he growled, wandering towards the knot of Riders lingering by the punch bowl.

Despite having little desire to be present himself, Lyrai wasn’t sorry to see Rees go, though the man did have a point about the tight jackets. “How soon do you think we can unbutton?”

“Just take shallow breaths,” Honra advised.

“You’re too skinny, that’s your trouble,” Stirla said, as they accepted wine from a footman and headed for the Rift Rider table. “You need more muscle on your chest.” He thumped his own. “Then you breathe in deep at the fitting and get some give in your gear. You’re such a runt – it’s no wonder you’re trussed up tighter than a Midwinter goose.”

Lyrai shook his head and tasted his wine. “I’ll bear that in mind.” Sitting near the head of the table, he looked around for his family. He couldn’t see his father, but his brother was laughing too loudly across the room, already drunk, while two of his sisters were dancing. His mother sparkled at the top table like captured sunlight.

“See anyone interesting?” Lieutenant Fleik wanted to know. One of Myran’s senior lieutenants, he’d been patrolling the area around Nimbys for the last six months. Since the kaz-naghkt attack the captain and the rest of his flight had come into the city. They’d stayed for the festivities and would leave again in two days. Lyrai wished he was going with them.

“Lots of interest,” Imaino, the other senior lieutenant said. “But no one I know.”

“Lyrai can supply the names,” Stirla volunteered, already on his third glass of wine.

Fleik laughed and shook his head. “How, when he’s been running wild with us for five years? Society changes – only the daft rules stay the same.”

“I know some,” Lyrai replied, goaded into defending his normally despised social credentials. “That fat, bald man pawing that poor girl is Lord Leivn.”

“Leivn the Letch.” Imaino grimaced. “Even I know him.” The lieutenant came from Mistrune – an isolated, inhospitable place half-submerged in the Stormsurge most of the year – and frequently claimed to have been born under a rock. “Try again, Lyrai.”

“Aye, like the name of that little beauty.” Fleik nodded towards the door.

Lyrai recognised the man first, towering above his three companions. He carried himself like a king, dressed in the sombre dark green of his house. “Earl Kilpapan,” he told his audience. “The woman on his arm is his countess. Formerly a Wrentherin.” Dressed in the same colours, Lady Kilpapan looked small but regal, walking confidently beside her husband, every inch his equal.

Their two daughters trailed in their wake, dressed in shades of blue and gold. “The tall girl is Lady Mhysra,” he continued. “Who happens to be training with us this year.”

Fleik raised his eyebrows. “Rather forward thinking of her parents.”

Despite still having doubts about that, Lyrai smiled. “She was raised at Wrentheria.”

The Riders murmured their approval and turned to watch the family again. Fleik focused on the shorter, more curvaceous woman in gold. “And the other?”

“Lady Milluqua,” Stirla answered to general surprise, since the women he typically associated with could rarely be described as ladies. He fiddled with his wineglass. “I met her at the eyries. Looking for her sister.” Everyone watched him for a long moment, but Stirla remained silent.

Shrugging, Fleik turned away, asking Imaino, “When do we take our turn in Nimbys again?”

Stirla sighed and Lyrai smirked. His friend had failed to mention just how many times he’d met the lady at the eyries. As one of the Riders’ chief gossips, Stirla should have known better.

“You’re drooling.”

Stirla shot him a scathing look. “Why don’t you go visit your mother?”

“And dance with a pretty lady along the way?” Lyrai asked. “I just might. This uniform does all the talking for me. Do you think Lady Milluqua will approve?” He slid from the table, chuckling at the growl aimed at his back as he strode away.

* * * * *

LADY MILLUQUA KILPAPAN hid a yawn behind her fan and smiled at her sister. They had barely arrived and her dance card was almost full. Even Mhysra had accepted a few offers, though her dancing lacked confidence. Milluqua glanced across the ballroom, smiling as Mhysra looked the same way. Though many Rift Riders came from good families, they were mostly younger sons and rarely moved in society. The Nimbys Midsummer Ball was one of the few events at which they were all welcome. It certainly made things interesting.

“See anyone you know?” she murmured in her sister’s ear, watching a Rider officer make his way across the room. Even amongst the peacock shades, his scarlet coat stood out.

Pale and uncertain in her beautiful dress, Mhysra smiled weakly. “Some,” she admitted. “Captain Myran’s whole flight is here, but I only know half of them.”

“What about him?” Milluqua pointed her fan at the golden-headed officer approaching them.

“Lieutenant Lyrai,” her sister replied. “My training instructor. You’ve seen him before.”

“That’s Lyrai?” Milluqua blinked, but shut her mouth as the lieutenant bowed before them.

“Good evening, Lady Milluqua. Lady Mhysra.” He smiled politely, though his attention was mostly on Mhysra. It was an unusual sensation for Milluqua, who was used to receiving the full focus of any man in her vicinity. She was more amused than disgruntled, though, especially at her little sister’s discomfort.

“I trust you’re enjoying yourselves,” the lieutenant enquired, accepting a glass of wine from a footman. “A pleasant change from your daily routine.”

“Yes, sir,” Mhysra murmured, toying with her glass and not looking at the lieutenant.

Catching Milluqua’s eye, he smiled in silent acknowledgement of Mhysra’s shyness. “My lady, would you grant me the honour of a dance this evening?” Then, almost as an afterthought, he turned to her sister. “And you too, of course, Lady Mhysra.”

As ploys went, Milluqua thought it masterful. Now Mhysra was frowning because Lyrai had almost forgotten her and presented her dance card without protest after he scrawled on Milluqua’s. She hid her smile behind her fan when he wrote his name down twice for her little sister, after claiming only one dance with her.

“Until later, ladies,” he murmured, bowed again and left.

They watched him walk away, while Milluqua languidly plied her fan. “He seems nice.”

Mhysra started to shrug, then remembered it was undesirable behaviour in a young lady, so sighed instead. “He’s very stern. I don’t think he likes me much.”

Milluqua said nothing, concentrating on folding her fan just so.

“He envies me Cumulo. Well, most of the Riders do, but for him it’s worse since he’s grounded. At first I thought he didn’t want women in the Riders, but he treats the other girls fairly. It’s just me he doesn’t like.”

Smiling, Milluqua tucked a stray curl back into Mhysra’s chignon, proud of how elegant she looked after all the hard work of getting her to the fittings and the torture of making her sit still this afternoon to get ready. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about men, love, it’s never to second guess what they’re thinking. Especially when it comes to women. Men are rarely as complicated as we believe. I’m sure he doesn’t dislike you.”

“I hope not,” Mhysra grumbled, grimacing as she studied her dance card. “I’m to dance with him twice. Maegla preserve me, what will we talk about? I can’t even look the man in the eye.”

Delighted that her sister appeared to be noticing men at last, even if she didn’t realise it yet, Milluqua suppressed a chuckle. “I’m sure you’ll find something.”

~ Next Chapter ~

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Thanks for reading!

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

Wingborn: Chapter 10, Part 1

Becca Lusher

WB_Ch10.1

(First time reading? Catch up Here!)

~ Previous Chapter ~

Gossip and grumblings…

Ten

23rd Sun

For the next month all anyone spoke about was the kaz-naghkt attack. Speculation was rife, though most reports were greeted with scepticism. Everyone knew kaz-naghkt came from the west, usually in large numbers – the only surprise was when they appeared.

“I ain’t never seen no kaznak,” a kitchen maid grumbled one morning as she wiped the work table. “I bet Riders make ‘em up to scare us normal folk.”

Eating her breakfast in the corner, Mhysra grimaced. She’d never seen a kaz-naghkt either, but the look on Derrain’s face whenever they were mentioned was enough to convince her that they existed. Not much made her merry friend grim, but the word kaz-naghkt never failed.

“I ‘eard they’re yumans what sold their souls to the Dark God for wings,” a footmen said, snatching a fresh roll while Cook’s back was turned and winking at the chatty maid.

She turned her nose up at him. “People don’t fly. Gods, or no. They ain’t real.”

“I ‘eard they was dragons from the Stormwash what lost their magic. Sounds mad ter me.” The bootboy shook his head, apparently disappointed by the world’s most ferocious enemy.

“Dragons,” the maid scoffed. “They ain’t real neither.”

Cook picked up a broom and poked the girl in the back. “If yer lucky Maycie, ye need never think different. Me, I’ll believe all kinds of things, so long as the Riders keep ‘em far from me. For somethin’ that don’t exist, plenty of people think they do. Call me a mug, but I’ll stick to trustin’ the Riders to keep me safe.”

The maid scowled as she took the broom. “I know what I think, an’ I’ll be stickin’ with it.”

How quickly they forgot Feather Frost, Mhysra thought. Not just Feather Frost, but Thrift Edge, Heston Point and Shune. All were Rider bases with reputations for defeating the enemy. Only Feather Frost was destroyed, but the others had been damaged enough to allow women back into the Riders.

Cook shrugged at Mhysra and snapped her fingers at the maid. “Floor needs sweeping.”

Not that any Rider complained if the city folk didn’t believe the stories. Better a sceptical populace than a panicked one. Not that there was anything to worry about, according to Captain Myran’s official statement. A small scouting party of kaz-naghkt had been spotted and sent about their business. Since no Riders had been killed and all injuries were minor it was easy to believe the placating words. But Mhysra didn’t and nor did her friends.

How could they when the enemy had been sighted over well-protected Imercian, to the east of Nimbys? Kaz-naghkt never came from the east. No one would bother making that up.

Luckily for the officers at the selection school, the majority of their pupils soon had other things on their minds.

* * * * *

“I DON’T SEE why I have to go,” Mhysra grumbled, tugging Bumble’s lead as she walked along the street with her friends. It was a glorious day in Nimbys, when everything seemed magnified by the sun. Cool water, sweet strawberries, the green mountainside, honey-gold streets – the dark despair of family machinations.

“Because you’re Lady Mhysra of the almighty Kilpapan clan, destined rulers of the world,” Harlan replied.

Derrain chuckled, swinging the empty basket that had been filled with food just that morning. “You have no idea how close you are. Be thankful you’ve never met her mother.”

“Or my father,” Mhysra added.

“Your mother is a hero to my family.” Corin laughed at the disbelief on Mhysra’s face. “The things she’s done with the Kilpapan business is every merchant’s dream. She’s a legend.”

“Yes,” Mhysra said feelingly. “I know.”

“And your father’s top of the tree too,” Mouse put in, struggling with his basket despite its emptiness. He collided with a wall, careened into his cousin and rebounded into Dhori. Not once did he stop talking about Mhysra’s father, his social status or the work he did for Stratys.

“Yes,” Mhysra repeated, after he finally shut up. “I know.”

Dhori smiled consolingly. “Parents can be hard to live up to.”

She raised her eyebrows, having never heard him speak of his family before. Out of all her friends he was the one she knew the least about. It wasn’t that he refused to talk about himself, he just manipulated every conversation so that he never gave anything away. It drove Corin mad.

“I don’t care about living up to them,” Mhysra said, exasperatedly. “It’s having to fight to make my own choices that bothers me.”

Dhori tweaked the end of her braid. “Well, you’re doing a good job so far.”

“That’s because they don’t know what she’s up to,” Derrain said. “Until now the Countess hasn’t been around to watch her.”

Mhysra scowled, not appreciating the reminder that her mother was home. Luckily it was Midsummer, a five-day holiday with the Feast of Heirayk in the middle. All celebration and no school. It was the perfect time for her mother to return.

Unfortunately it also meant the Midsummer Ball; an annual event held by the Stratys for Nimbys’ most important residents. As Mhysra had been allegedly receiving social training from her sister for months, her father had ordered her to attend. He didn’t want to waste an opportunity to marry her off before the autumn, no matter her age.

“It’s not fair,” she whined. “I don’t want to go.”

“You’ll enjoy it,” Derrain assured her.

“I won’t. You wouldn’t either if you were forced to go.”

“Since I’m not that point is moot.”

“You sound like Clerk Brenai.”

“Thank you, that was the tone I was aiming for.”

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Corin said, diving into their bickering before Mhysra could thump Derrain. “Think of all those rich, good looking, socially adept men.” She sighed. “Riders in uniform. It’s enough to make a girl swoon.”

“Not this girl,” Mhysra sniffed, though the prospect of Riders in dress uniform did make her feel a little weak about the knees.

“Lieutenants Lyrai and Stirla,” Corin continued dreamily. “Scarlet jackets and tight, white breeches, their boots polished to reflect candlelight. Swords at the hip.”

Mhysra said nothing, the image a little too clear for her comfort.

“And your sister is a leader of fashion,” Corin went on sulkily, “so you’re bound to look amazing. And Theryn will be there. If you dance with him I may have to hurt you.”

Though Derrain and Dhori were Corin’s everyday flirts, with the lieutenants as distant crushes, Rider Theryn was the one she truly adored. A redhead with a blinding smile, he wasn’t the most handsome Rider, but he was funny and popular.

“Is it still all right for me to come and see your dress before you leave?” Corin asked as they approached Kilpapan House.

“Milli says you’re quite welcome.”

“And can I -” she began, but Dhori clapped a hand over her mouth and towed her away.

“Until next we meet, milady!” Harlan called, and she waved forlornly as her friends headed into the city, leaving her on the doorstep with Bumble and Derrain.

“It’s just one day,” Derrain consoled her.

“And one night.” She sighed. “One very important, frightening and stupidly grand night.”

“You’ll be fine.” He patted Bumble’s head and ruffled her ears, before patting Mhysra on the head and ruffling her hair. “Milli will look after you. And both your parents will be there.”.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she grumbled, entering the house to the sound of his laughter.

~ Next Chapter ~

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