Wingborn

by Becca Lusher

  Ten

  Midsummer

  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’ve never seen no kaznak,” a kitchen maid grumbled one morning as she wiped the work table, her soft mid-Imercian accent rich with doubt. “I bet those Riders make them 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 heard they’re humans what sold their souls to the Dark God for wings,” a footman said, his Nimbys accent a cocky drawl, 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 heard they’re dragons from the Stormwash what lost their magic. Sounds mad t’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 you’re lucky Maycie, you need never think different. Me, I’ll believe all kinds of things, so long as those Riders keep them far from me. For something that don’t exist, plenty of people think they do. Call me a mug, but I’ll stick to trusting the Riders to keep me safe.”

  The maid scowled as she took the broom. “I know what I think, and I’ll be sticking with it, if it’s all the same to you.”

  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.

  23rd Sun

  “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 fine 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 the 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 Mhysra 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.

  24th Sun

  “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 go
ld. 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 – although 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 barrel version. “Then you breathe in deep at the fitting, hold it as long as it takes for them to measure you and that’s how you 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 at his friend’s familiar teasing and tasted his wine – and grimaced at the watered down taste. “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. As 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 at 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, 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. She was looking for her sister.” Everyone watched him for a long moment, but Stirla remained silent.

  Shrugging, Fleik turned to 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 and expected to attend. 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 claimed a space on Milluqua’s. She hid her smile behind her fan when he wrote his name down twice for her little sister, after reserving 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 must have remembered that it was undesirable behaviour in a young lady and 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 her sister 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.”

  AS LYRAI MOVED around the ballroom, meeting acquaintances and dutifully writing his name on the dance cards he should, and a few he actually wished to, 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 appeared to be his objective this time. 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. Which should leave plenty of time for a dance.

  “Lyrai.” His mother angled her cheek for a kiss. “How dashing you look. There isn’t a woman present who doesn’t long to stand up 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 to be the mother of five nearly grown children. Come, dance with me, and we shall astonish the city with our splendour.”

  “You ask so sweetly, how could I possibly 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 but, 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 soon 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 and her mother was similarly engaged across the room, while Milluqua was dancing with Lieutenant Lyrai.

  Dreaming of the moment when she could take off her shoes, 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; 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 it 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 bro
ther, 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 again. “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 definitely contained more water than wine now and the food had long gone 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.