Five
Derry and Dinner
9th Blizzard
“I DON’T KNOW what you’re worrying about,” Mherrin told Mhysra three days later as they ambled through the Cathedral market. “You’ve got an official letter from Mam already, which should be enough for even the highest sticklers.”
“Except that sniffy clerk,” Mhysra grumbled, slapping her gloved hands together to generate some warmth. It had snowed heavily overnight, making her doubly grateful that Cumulo now had other miryhls to huddle up with. “He wants a letter from my father.” Deep down she wanted one from him too. Surely after all these years of ignoring her, the earl could do this one small thing to secure her future happiness. He’d done it for Kilai.
“I can write you a letter from your father,” Mherrin assured her blithely, as though forging an earl’s seal was no small feat. “I’ve been practising.”
He sounded so pleased with himself that Mhysra had to smile. “What would your mother say?”
Mherrin grinned. “It was her idea in the first place.”
Knowing she should be shocked, considering the potential illegalities, Mhysra shook her head, unsurprised by the attitudes of both her aunt and cousin. To them the solution was simple, so everything else was nonsense. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Forgery carried heavy penalties, such as imprisonment and work camps.
“We won’t get caught,” he said confidently. “And it’ll save you from continuing to bang your head against that brick wall. You know he’ll never change his mind.”
“I know,” she sighed, but she still couldn’t stop hoping. It was all so underhand. She hated starting out her Rift Rider career based on a lie, but what choice did she have?
“Well, well, look what the pyrefly dragged in.”
The cousins stopped as a young man stepped into their path. Mhysra tilted her head right back to meet a pair of merry brown eyes.
“Derry!” She launched herself into his arms and was wrapped in a great bear hug.
Slapping him on the shoulder, Mherrin started asking questions: “When did you get back? Did you come on the Illuminai? Was my aunt with you?” Looping an arm around Mhysra’s waist, he hauled her backwards. “Try not to strangle the man, cuz.”
Laughing, Derrain ran a hand over his ruffled hair. “We got back this morning. Yes, I was on the Illuminai. And yes, the countess is home.”
Mhysra shared a grimace with her cousin, then smiled at Derrain. The Illuminai sailor had been a regular part of Mhysra and Mherrin’s life over the last eight years, having spent most of his grounded Storm Seasons at Wrentheria. In fact, outside of her family and Cumulo, Derrain was Mhysra’s closest friend, always ready to lead or follow her into trouble.
“It’s good to see you, Derry.”
“You might not think that in a month or two.” He winked at Mherrin.
Mhysra frowned, sensing that she was missing something. “A bit late for the Storm Season, aren’t you?” That autumnal month seemed far behind now, though the memory of the horsat obstacle course relay still made her smile. “Or has the captain finally seen sense and pensioned you off?”
“In a way,” Derrain agreed, with a mild and infuriating smile.
She narrowed her eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?” At a chuckle from her cousin, she turned to glare at him instead. “What do you know, Mherrin?”
“Plenty,” Mherrin said, highly amused. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”
Rolling her eyes, she turned back to Derrain and poked his broad chest. “Spill it.”
Catching her finger, he swung her arm wide, twirling her in the middle of the busy market square. “You know how you talked and talked and talked my ear off all the way from Wrentheria about becoming a Rift Rider?”
Stumbling to a stop, she frowned. “I wasn’t that bad.”
“Yes, you were,” the boys chorused.
“You weren’t even there!” Mhysra cried indignantly, elbowing her cousin in the ribs.
“But I can imagine,” he retorted, and gave a theatrical shudder. “Ai, Maegla, can I imagine.”
Chuckling, Derrain grabbed Mhysra’s hand before she could punch Mherrin’s arm, and spun her around again. “Ignore him, I’m talking. You need to know that all your words worked.”
Grabbing his hands to stop him from spinning her again, too dizzy to think straight, she shook her head. “What?”
“I’ve decided to become a Rider too.”
The world seemed to whirl again as she stared up at the familiar face of her oldest friend. “But you’re a skysailor,” she said, confused. “And enrolment closed days ago.”
“A marvellous thing messenger post,” he said lightly. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
“I-I am,” she stuttered, though in truth she felt shocked. “But I don’t understand. You love being a skysailor.”
Derrain smiled. “I’ve been doing that for ten years, and I’m seventeen now, practically an adult in some places. I fancied a change and, like I said, your talking worked on me. You made it all sound wonderful and I’ve always wondered how it feels to fly a miryhl.”
Both cousins looked sceptical. Not once in all his years of staying at Wrentheria had Derrain shown the slightest interest in flying on miryhlback. In fact, he’d often said he preferred his flight with a solid deck beneath him.
Derrain’s smile faded again and he ran his hand through his hair with a sigh. “I thought you could use a friend. I know you have Cumulo,” he added, before she could interrupt, “but he can’t be with you all the time, and well, this girl Rider thing is so new. I thought it wouldn’t be so bad if we did it together.”
A great rush of affection swelled inside her and she hugged the big, brawny sailor again. Any miryhl he tried to ride would have to be enormous, but there would never be a truer-hearted Rider. “You’re the best, Derry.”
“Hey,” Mherrin protested mildly. “I thought that was me.”
“You’ve been usurped,” she told him with a sniff.
“Fickle female,” he grumbled, pretending to be offended, and shook Derrain’s hand. “I think you’re both fools, but good luck with it anyway. Who’d you get to recommend you?”
As the elite force across the Overworld, the Rift Riders had long been a stronghold for well-born second sons and rich families, but that didn’t mean it was entirely exclusive. Anyone could join, as long as they had a letter of recommendation from someone trustworthy. In times past these letters had come from sponsors, who paid for a young Rider’s education. These days taxes took care of such things, but the recommendation tradition remained.
“The countess wrote one for me. She said it was a fine ambition for any young man, and wished me well of it.”
The cheerful words caused a physical ache in Mhysra’s chest. She was happy for Derrain, truly she was, but the idea that her mother could so easily wish him well, while denying her own daughter a similar chance at happiness, was hurtful.
“Where will you be staying in Nimbys?” Mherrin asked Derrain, the pair of them oblivious to her pain. It pulsed afresh when her friend explained about the room the countess had given him in the Kilpapan mews. He’d be sharing with two footmen, but still, it was a roof over his head that enabled him to stay and attend the selection school.
It wasn’t much, Mhysra knew, just a small thing compared to everything the Kilpapans had, but the opportunity it represented was more than her parents had ever done for her.
“So I’ll be seeing you in a few days,” Derrain said, squeezing her shoulder. “Bright and early, outside the mews. Don’t be late. It won’t look good on our first day.”
He was so cheerful about it all, so happy, when he’d effectively changed his life for her. It wasn’t his fault how it had come about. All that really mattered was what he had done.
So Mhysra dragged a smile up past the ache and nodded. “Can’t wait.”
Saying something about shopping for new gear, Derrain gave them a wave and v
anished amongst the milling crowds.
Taking a tight grip on her arm, Mherrin steered her in the opposite direction. “Breathe,” he ordered softly. “It’ll be all right, just breathe.”
“I’m fine,” she told him numbly, massaging the ache in her chest. Actually, now that she was moving again she was starting to feel better. When he urged her onto the crowded steps of the cathedral, she roused enough to shake him off. “Mherrin, I’m all right.”
“Your face went as blank as the clouds,” he muttered, pushing her down and crouching in front of her. Taking off his gloves, he patted her cheek for some unknown reason. “You even swayed. I thought you were going to faint.”
“Well, I didn’t,” she grumbled. “Thankfully. Poor Derry, he didn’t deserve that. I think he expected me to be more excited.” Groaning, she rested her forehead against her drawn up knees and wrapped her arms around her legs. “I’m a bad friend. I don’t deserve him.”
“He is better than you, I agree,” consoled her loving cousin, ruffling her curls. “But you’ll have plenty of time to make it up to him. Shame he’s already sent his letter in. It would have been much easier to copy his. Alas, our forgery will have to start from scratch. Whose signature is easier, the countess’ or the earl’s, do you know?”
Lifting her head, she peered at him through his curls. “You are a bad man.”
Grinning, he hauled her to her feet and linked his arm through hers. “And you don’t deserve me either.”
AFTER VISITING CUMULO that afternoon, Mhysra hung around the eyries to talk to Lieutenant Stirla and a few Riders about what to expect in training. She got so caught up in their horror stories and competing boasts that she had to run home afterwards or risk being late for dinner. Which would have been serious, since this would be her last chance to gain her parents’ permission. Tomorrow was the last day of Midwinter, when she’d promised to hand a letter of recommendation over to the fussy little clerk. Mherrin had already forged one for her, but her own honour demanded she try one last time.
Going straight up to change, she arrived in the drawing room just as the gong rang. She barely had time to greet her mother before her father led them into the dining room. Knowing what was coming, Mherrin had chosen to spend his last evening in the city elsewhere. He’d never been comfortable dining with the earl, and having the countess around only made things worse.
As the earl escorted his countess into the dining room, Mhysra’s sister took her arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. Milluqua knew how Mhysra felt and was on her side. Not that she’d ever intervened, since it was not her place. Mhysra didn’t mind: she preferred to fight her own battles.
Lord Kilpapan sat at the head of the dining table, his countess at his right hand, his oldest daughter to his left, leaving Mhysra to sit beside her mother. She wished she was beside her sister, but swallowed her protests. During the early courses, her parents discussed the countess’ recent journey, while the sisters sipped their soup and shared commiserating looks.
Next her mother grilled Milluqua on which families were wintering in Nimbys and what she had missed while she’d been away. Finding the conversation dull, Mhysra focused on her food. Knowing a lapse in manners would do her no favours, she waited for a pause.
“I saw Derrain this afternoon.”
Lady Kilpapan smiled at her. “I am pleased. He wished quite desperately to share his news with you and was disappointed to find you away from home.”
“What is this?” the earl rumbled, leaning back in his chair so that the next course could be served.
“Derrain fra Canlen, my dear, a midshipman from the Illuminai. I mentioned him to you briefly, do you not remember?”
The earl looked bored, crew being beneath his notice, but Milluqua nodded. “I recall it, mother.” She narrowed her eyes at her sister in silent warning. “He wishes to join the Rift Riders.”
“Ah.” His lordship nodded. “A fine ambition for any young man.”
Mhysra scowled.
“I wish him well,” the countess said, drawing the subject to a close.
Not in Mhysra’s mind. “Thank you, mother, for easing his way. He’s very grateful.”
Milluqua dabbed her napkin against her lips and shook her head, but Mhysra ignored her. She fiddled with her fork, aware that her father was watching, and decided to try one more time. “I wondered… Have you heard the proclamation, mother?”
“Don’t fidget, Mhysra,” Lady Kilpapan chided, waiting for her to take her hand off the cutlery. “Which proclamation?” Her tone was humouring and Mhysra’s frustration simmered.
Just because she had no interest in commerce or people with more letters in their names than brains in their head, did not make her a child to be humoured.
“The one permitting women to –”
“Enough!” Lord Kilpapan slammed his fist on the table, making the wineglasses wobble and the candlelight dance. “Gods have mercy, girl, do not try me again. I have said it a thousand times, the answer is no. It will always be no. I will not answer again. Do not ask!”
Mhysra balled her napkin on her lap and stared at her white knuckles, fighting her anger.
“What’s this?” Lady Kilpapan enquired.
“Our daughter wishes to join the Rift Riders,” the earl growled. “She wishes to pair up with an oversized chicken and remove to Aquila, to live amongst men of uncertain breeding. There she will learn to fight and fly, putting herself beyond all bounds of common decency. Since no other respectable family would be so foolish as to permit their daughters to subjugate themselves to such folly, she will likely be the only female amongst hundreds, and what will become of her reputation then? She will be known as the Whore of Aquila and the taint will stain this entire family. I will not have it! No daughter of mine will fight like a commoner, nor spread her legs for any passer-by, in rumour or in truth!”
There was a stunned silence. Breathing heavily in the aftermath of his outburst, the earl drained his wineglass with an unsteady hand. “That is the answer you have plagued me ceaselessly for, daughter. Be satisfied. You are a Kilpapan of Imercian. You owe your duty to your name, to be honourable and demure, even after your marriage. That is how it shall be. That is how my daughters behave.”
At first she was beyond words, unable to believe that this man, this stranger could speak of her thus. But it was the approving glance he sent Milluqua’s way that finished her off.
“Your daughters, sir?” she said softly, fighting to keep her tone even. “Have you another we have never met, because from you recent behaviour you appear to only have one. I am no daughter of yours.”
“You are a Kilpapan –”
“I was raised by my aunt!” she snapped, cutting off her father before he could start again. She had suffered his condescension for twelve despairing days. She would not sit through this lecture again. Her reputation was not the only thing that mattered. “She cared for me, she raised me, she knows me. She is more my parent than either of you will ever be. I am Wingborn. I never dreamed I could join the Riders, because women were not allowed.
“But now they are. Why deny me this chance, which I was clearly born to take? I was not raised to any of this.” She waved her hand at the elegantly appointed dining room, the ten course meal, the silverware, the fine gowns and best wines. “I breed miryhls and feed them raw meat with my bare hands. That is the role I was prepared for. You took me away from that without a thought because you believe a Kilpapan daughter should be in Nimbys.
“Well, I am here and I let you take me from all I have ever wanted. But now there is a new chance for me, a fresh opportunity. Now women can join the Riders. I can join the Riders, and I will. With or without your permission, Maegla as my witness, I will. Reputation be damned. If I take anything from this benighted family then let it be my honour. And if anyone says otherwise, I will answer them. Fear not, my lord, I shall not expect you to defend me.”
Lord Kilpapan trembled at the indignity of being so spoken to, but his wi
fe rested a hand on his before he could speak.
“All students require a guardian’s permission.” The countess’ tone was cold.
“I am Wingborn,” Mhysra repeated, voice shaking. “They will not turn me away.”
“They will not willingly make an enemy of your father either,” Lady Kilpapan warned.
“They won’t turn me away,” Mhysra repeated, knowing she had no choice now but to use the forgery. She only hoped Mherrin would not be caught.
“You would turn your back on your family?” her mother asked.
“Why should I have to?” Mhysra demanded, clenching her fists. “Kilai’s already at Aquila. The family duty you cling to has always contained Rift Riders. Women as well as men, before we were excluded. Why am I any different from my brother? Why is my honour questioned and his praised?”
“You are my daughter,” Lord Kilpapan growled.
Mhysra raised her chin. This was it, the moment she’d wished to avoid, but had feared would come all along. There would be no going back. “Not if you deny me this,” she said, fighting to steady her voice. Milluqua gasped, and Mhysra shot her an apologetic glance. “I am willing to do my duty to the Kilpapan name, but my duty to Cumulo comes first. He is mine, as I am his. We bonded the day we were born, twins in different forms. He hatched the moment I first breathed. He is part of me. I won’t let him suffer needlessly. I love him too much.”
Her words hung in the silence. She knew she was not loved by her parents – how could she be when she’d met them only a handful of times? And yet, surely, deep inside, they must feel something for her. She prayed to the gods that they did and it would be enough.
Lord Kilpapan pushed his chair back from the table. The servants had long departed, driven from the room by icy glares from the countess and Milluqua. No doubt they were listening outside the door, but for now there was no one in the room except the family, and his lordship was slow to rise.
He held out a hand to his wife. “My lady, I believe it is time to retire.”
“Certainly, my lord.” Placing her slim fingers upon her husband’s, she rose smoothly and they left the room, neither sparing a glance in Mhysra’s direction.
It was only when she was certain they had gone that she allowed her head to drop into her hands. That had not gone well.
Milluqua pulled her to her feet. “Come. Off to bed with you. Things might seem better in the morning.”
Feeling battered and bruised, Mhysra nevertheless straightened her shoulders. “Yes. At least I know what has to be done now. They’ve made their choice. Now I will make mine.” When her sister made a sound of distress, Mhysra smiled and squeezed her hand. “It’s all right, Milli. It will all work out. You’ll see.”
It would have to.