Wingborn by Becca Lusher Page A

bond
with a new miryhl was seven months away, but every day brought him
closer to flight. If he could just keep going he would be airborne
again eventually. He flexed his hands and shook his head, wishing
that telling himself such things actually made a difference.
     
    “YOU CAN COME out now. He ’ s gone. ”
    Mhysra blinked. “ Who? ”
    Her miryhl chuckled. “ The handsome one, with pale hair and sharp
eyes. Don ’ t think I
haven ’ t
noticed. ”
    She raised her eyebrows. “ Noticed what? You ’ ve apparently noticed a lot more than I
have. ”
    “ Liar.”
Cumulo chortled. “You won’ t even speak to him. Taken with
him, are you? ”
    Pushing away, she stared at the eagle
incredulously. “ Don ’ t be
daft. The man despises me. He barely waited for my back to turn
before trying to steal you. Taken with him? Ha! ”
    Cumulo ’ s eyes glowed with amusement. “ My mistake. But he i s a fine looking
human. ”
    “ He’ s a miserable killjoy, with eyes that could cause
cloud frost. I prefer Lieutenant Stirla. ”
    “ Well, I
like Lieutenant Lyrai. Even his name sounds better. If I
wasn’ t bonded to you, I ’ d be tempted. ”
    “ Except
you wouldn’ t be here, because you ’ re too young. And by the time you were old
enough he ’ d be bonded
again, so wipe that smug look off your face. You ’ ve got me, you were born with me and
you ’ re stuck with me. Be
happy. ”
    Lowering his beak against her chest, he
hummed contritely. “ I am
happy, chickling. No one could be happier than me. Well, maybe I
might be if …”
    Sighing, she shoved him away. “ What now? ”
    “ My
saddle. Come on, misery, let’ s fly. ”
    Mhysra ’ s grouchiness vanished. She no longer cared that
every Rider within ten leagues wanted to steal her miryhl, nor that
her miryhl was too vain to stop them from trying. She
didn ’ t even care about
Cumulo teasing her over the lieutenant anymore. He wanted to go
flying. Having never turned down such an offer – rain, snow or
sunshine – she ran to the tack room, snatched up his harness and
put it on with practised efficiency.
    “Where are we
going?” she asked, as he strutted out into the bitter day.
    “Anywhere, as
long as it’s up,” Cumulo replied, stretching his wings. “Hop on,
chickling, we haven’t long before it snows again.”
    When he
lowered his wing, she stepped onto the joint and straddled the
saddle, slipping her feet into the stirrups and her knees under his
wings. She wasn’t really dressed for a long flight, but even
without a cold-weather flying coat or flight helmet, she wanted to
escape. Anything to get away from the ground and all the things
trying to hold her back from this life she had been born to.
    “All set?” she
asked, picking up the reins.
    “Hang on.”
Cumulo flapped to make sure nothing interfered with his flight
muscles, then spread and waggled his tail, just for show. He hopped
two paces. “All’s well.”
    Bounding
forward one stride, two, he opened his wings and jumped. The first
flap barely lifted them off the ground, but the second carried them
higher and, with a last push of his feet, they were airborne. He
flapped laboriously, grunting with each downward pull as they
covered the field and rapidly approached the cliff. Cumulo shrieked
as he angled his wings and tail, holding them fully extended, and
swept around in a steep curve that barely avoided the
mountainside.
    Mhysra whooped
as he flapped again, tilting them into a wide spiral to glide
steadily upwards. He was big and strong but out of practise at
ground-launching with a passenger.
    “You’re
getting lazy, Cue.”
    He shrieked in
outrage and banked heavily to the right, a risky manoeuvre for any
rider less experienced than she. Mhysra laughed at his tactics and
spread her arms, tipping her head back. Air swept over her, pulling
her hair from its pins as Cumulo dived. The world rushed up to meet
them, then the miryhl opened his great wings, skimmed the grass