Wingborn (16 page)

Lord Kilpapan looked up from his account
books and nodded approvingly at her outfit. The skirt was overlong
and overfull, all the better for modest maidens to mount horsats
without unseemly displays of ankles. It was a compromise, since it
allowed women to ride astride without any loss of reputation.
Side-saddles had an unfortunate habit of unbalancing all but the
biggest horsat stallions, and all agreed that they were no mount
for a delicate lady.

Mhysra hated riding skirts. Her long flying
coat, reaching almost to her knees with a split vent at the back,
was a different story. It didn
’
t surprise her that the earl wrinkled his nose at
the coat
’
s condition –
she wore it every day.

“You spend too
much time at the eyries.”

Straightening her spine, Mhysra stared over
his left shoulder.
“
It
’
s
Starday, sir. I am permitted to spend this day however I wish,
according to the agreement Milluqua and I drew up. Which you
approved.
”

Lord Kilpapan made a noncommittal noise.
“
I would prefer you
spent less time there.
”

And Mhysra would have preferred him not to
be such a narrow-minded bigot, but few got what they wanted in
life. If he thought she would give up Cumulo on his command, he was
doomed to disappointment.

“Your sister
should not have to track you down in such places. It is to her
credit that she chooses to go herself rather than send a servant,
but it casts shadows over both your reputations.”

Then stop asking for me when you know
I
’
m
there,
Mhysra thought, but stayed silent. After the scene
she
’
d just witnessed
between her sister and Captain Stirla, Mhysra knew the real reason
why Milluqua chose not to send a servant. She also had to concede
that her father might have a point about eyries and reputations,
but she would rather cut out her tongue than admit it. What
Milluqua got up to was her own business.

At her silence, the earl nodded as though
something had been decided. It had, though Mhysra doubted
they
’
d reached the same
conclusion. Silence was a valuable tool when talking with her
father. The less she said the happier he was, leaving her free to
carry on as before without making false promises.

Putting his quill aside, Lord Kilpapan
looked at her over the ledger.
“
You have been studying under your sister
’
s supervision for two months now.
From both her reports and our meetings, I have decided that it
i
s time your new skills
were put into practise.
”

Mhysra tightened her hands, hoping that her
father didn
’
t notice her
white knuckles. He wanted her to enter society? To become a useless
butterfly like so many others? When pyreflies hatched kittens!

“I am honoured
by your confidence in me, sir,” she murmured demurely, mind racing.
How many functions would he expect her to attend? When? What would
Milluqua say?

“Your sister
is a fine tutor.” The praise was grudgingly given.

“But am I not
too young, sir?” she asked, trying to sound feeble and
self-conscious. It was one of the only things Milluqua had actually
taught her, claiming it never failed.

Lord Kilpapan frowned, tapping his fingers
together.
“
You turned
seventeen last autumn, correct?
”

Mhysra blinked and thought a quick prayer of
thanks.
“
I am but
sixteen, sir.
”

“
Ah.”
The earl pursed his lips. Clearly he’d hoped to
be rid of
her before she could start pestering about the Riders again. But
although girls of Mhysra
’
s age were sometimes invited to society parties, it
was frowned upon to engage any well-born girl before seventeen,
while few married before eighteen. And if there was one thing about
Lord Kilpapan that could be counted upon, it was his strict
adherence to society
’
s
unwritten rules.
“
Perhaps not yet then. No matter. Continue as you
have been. We will review your progress in the new year.
”
Picking up his quill, he returned
to his figures. It was as polite a dismissal as she could expect,
so Mhysra curtsied and left the room.

Milluqua was waiting in the library.
“
Well?
”

Mhysra smiled and tugged her towards the
stairs.
“
Disaster
averted.
”

Raising her eyebrows, Milluqua glanced back
at the study door.
“
For
now.
”

“
That’
s good enough for me.
”
Chuckling, Mhysra grabbed her skirt and
hurried up the stairs, not caring who saw her ankles.

THE AUDIENCE
CHAMBER
was empty as the steward announced Lyrai
and
left him to his fate. Walking
across the echoing floor, Lyrai glanced up at the galleries where
pairs of guards stood at intervals, then looked at the eight men
positioned around the dais. Four more waited behind him. All wore
the ceremonial armour of Imercian – the sun rising over clouds –
with their weapons of status – sword, axe and spear – clasped
close. Their sapphire-plumed helms faced straight ahead. Statues
who came to life only when the Stratys was threatened.

Lyrai wished he could send them away. How
ever statue-like they appeared they weren
’
t deaf, and he
’
d never enjoyed meeting his father before an
audience. He looked at the throne, unsurprised to find it empty.
The Stratys knew Lyrai had no respect for his authority, especially
when he lorded it over his youngest son. So instead Lyrai was
forced to search the room for his eminent presence.

Wishing there was n
o
need for such games, he paused, boot
tapping impatiently. He already knew that the galleries were empty,
so didn
’
t bother looking
there. It was also unlikely that the Stratys would lurk behind his
own throne. Lyrai looked towards the columned walkways beneath the
galleries on the left, with their velvet-shrouded alcoves. More
than one secret passageway lay behind those curtains, disguised as
frescoes and statues, but Lyrai doubted his father would slink
away. He preferred to give his humiliations in person.

Turning to the right, he studied the windows
and, sure enough, halfway between his position and the dais, a man
sat upon a cushioned sill, staring outside. A handsome specimen,
even more handsomely dressed in sumptuous velvet, trimmed with the
finest furs. The grey in his brown hair only added to his
distinguished appearance. The face that turned as Lyrai bowed was
dignified and proud, the eyes pale blue and hard as ice.

“So you have
come home,” the Stratys said, his rich voice echoing in the
deserted hall.

Lyrai knelt, as was expected, and lowered
his head.
“
Majesty.
”

“You have seen
your mother and sisters?”

“Yes,
sire.”

“They were
pleased, no doubt.”

“I hope so,
sire.”

“
Word
has reached us that you are without a mount at present, yet despite
this you continue your duties and Captain Myran is full of praise
for you.” There was a questioning lilt to the end of the sentence,
as if the Stratys could no
t believe that anyone would think
well of his youngest son.

Lyrai clenched his fists and kept his head
down.
“
Captain Myran is
all kindness.
”

“Indeed.” A
strained silence settled, which Lyrai had no idea how to break and
his father had no wish to. It had always been this way between
them: distant, tense, difficult. Lyrai had long given up trying to
understand why. “We trust you will choose more wisely this
time.”

He gritted his teeth at the censure. Like
most, his Choice had been impulsive. It was just bad luck that it
had ended badly. What sixteen-, seventeen- or even
eighteen-year-old could be trusted to make such a decision wisely?
Even now, at twenty one, his new Choice would be more luck than
judgement. It was the way things were.

“
We
shall await news of your progress. You have not disgraced your
family.” The unspoken
yet
hung in the air.
“
It was
…
pleasant to see you.
”

Lyrai marvelled at how the man could sound
fatherly yet distasteful at the same time. He was also amazed at
how many hidden messages could be conveyed in so few words. Not
only had he been belittled and disparaged, but also politely banned
from returning during his stay as well as dismissed.
Impressive.

Rising, he bowed, studying his father from
behind his fringe. The Stratys glanced at him, lips pinched
disapprovingly at the length of his hair – a constant battle
between them when Lyrai had been growing up, which was why he wore
it so long now – before he returned to studying the view.

“An honour, as
always,” Lyrai murmured, took two steps back and turned. Not for
him the polite reverse shuffle all the way to the doors. A sigh
huffed behind him and he almost smiled.

As he
understood all of the Stratys’
slights and schemes, so his
father knew his. Yet while he was within sight of the guards, whose
eyes and ears were in full working order, like their loyalty to the
Stratys, Lyrai
’
s
expression remained blank.

It wasn
’
t until he was back in his mother
’
s carriage that he allowed himself a
rueful smile. Such a loving family.
“
But what would I do with one of those?
”
he murmured, suddenly eager to
end the farce.

The coachman looked startled as Lyrai hopped
out of the moving carriage and flicked the man a casual salute.
“Thanks for the lift.” Of about
twenty feet. Still, he felt a lot better as he sauntered back to
the barracks.

Inside the officers
’
common room, Stirla looked up from
reading a newspaper.
“
How
’
d it
go?
”

Shrugging out of his jacket, Lyrai poured
himself a glass of spirits.
“
Duty done.
”
He downed his drink, enjoying the burn as it slid
down his throat.
“
Thank
the gods.
”

Stirla tossed him the paper.
“
This
’
ll cheer you up. Kaz-naghkt attack on Kevian.
Thirty civilian fatalities, two pyrefliers and mounts, four Riders
and six miryhls.
”

“
Maegla,” Lyrai whispered, sinking into a chair to read the
report. “The sooner I get a miryhl and we’
re out in the
world again, my friend, the better.
”

Grunting his
agreement, Stirla crossed to the sideboard and poured drinks for
them both. They were going to need them.

A
S THE SNOWS
of Cold month drew to a close, the world
began to warm again. Winter Rains lived up to its name and
Mhysra
’
s fortitude was
tested every morning as she slogged through mud and sleet. The
winds were merciless, but nothing compared to Hethanon
Armsmaster.

Regardless of whether it was because of the
training master or the weather, fewer and fewer students showed for
their morning torture sessions. As the end of the year crept
closer, the fifty recruits had been reduced by half. The remaining
six girls and nineteen boys were now able to jog eight laps without
pause. They could also handle a staff competently, with the promise
of archery lessons should they make it through to the new year.

Thanks to their dropping numbers, the
students were granted one blessing: Sergeant Rees was released back
to his regular duties. The three students who
ha
d survived his regime rejoiced. Though
the same could n
o
t have
been said when Sergeant Honra was also dismissed.

For the most part, Mhysra kept her head down
and worked on her staff skills, often paired against Dhori. She was
one of the best girls and in the top half overall. Derrain also did
well, a natural athlete and of a similar disposition to Lieutenant
Stirla, who treated him more like a brother than a student. Harlan
quit with the first downpour, but he met up with them on most
Stardays to complain about his boring clerk apprenticeship. Ulla
vanished amidst the snow and was last seen by Harlan boarding a
south-bound trade ship.

Mouse and Corin remained, though Corin
preferred their afternoon lessons, being a bright girl and not
really built for the rigours of Rider training. But she was
determined to succeed. The longer Mouse trained the less nervous he
became, though he still talked too much and was never still.

It was monotonous work, both in the mornings
and the afternoons, but Mhysra knew she was making progress when
she no longer fell asleep, no matter how dull the lesson. The work
became easier too, even if the subject matter was supposed to be
harder. As the new year washed out winter and ushered in spring,
she and her friends felt confident that they would last.

“
Four
months and we’
ll be Riders,
”
Derrain remarked one Starday, as the friends lazed
at their favourite picnic spot in the pastures above Nimbys. It was
one of the few places they could go and not be disturbed by Riders
wanting tasks done or city brats picking fights.