Boreal

Chapter Five

It was as though, in that moment, the world held its breath. The voice was soft and definitely female, coming from directly behind them. Shyam let out a little squeak of alarm as he placed her on his shoulders. He fought to remain calm as he turned around.

The girl was around his age. Her skin was a flawless ebony, the skin of a Strider, but her hair was a brilliant white, falling in curls around her shoulders. And her eyes, by the Triumvirate her eyes; they were amber, bordering on orange, like those of a wolf.

She was dressed in what he could only describe as street clothes - a faded beige tunic, black ankle-length trousers, and a pair of well-worn riding boots – the kind of clothes the children in Hayd would wear on their off-days. A fiddle was secured by a strap over one shoulder, and over all of it, she'd draped a crimson cloak.

The girl stood up a little straighter, suspicion plain on her face. Ptarmigan licked his lips. He didn't trust his voice, and so simply nodded in her direction. She looked him up and down and scowled.

"You don't look like an Altar boy."

"Neither do you."

"Well maybe I'm not."

"Well, I'm not either."

"So, why're you here?"

"Could ask you the same question."

"I asked first."

"This isn't worth it, Tarm," Shyam whispered.

The girl flinched, and then her eyes widened, as if only now she'd noticed the wyvern perched on his back. She pressed her lips into a thin line, but for a moment, her scowl faltered, replaced instead by confusion. But as quick as it was gone, the scowl was back, deeper this time.

"How did it do that?"

Shyam squeaked, indignant.

"It?"

"What?" Ptarmigan asked.

"That bird, it just spoke. I didn't even-" She caught herself, taking a moment to regain her composure. "How did it just speak?"

"It?"

"Bird?"

Ptarmigan frowned. His wyvern's crest was up, shifting her weight from foot to foot, injury all but forgotten, just about ready to launch herself at the girl's face for insulting her. Her twin tails curled and writhed. How could anyone mistake Shyam for a bird?

"Don't call her a bird," he snapped, "Shyam's a wyvern."

"A-a wyvern?" The girl let out a soft sigh. "So, y-you have to be a racer?"

"Aye."

"W-what are you doing here? I thought the racers stayed in the Academy?"

He'd thought that, too. Hayd had only really had its Academy, the Citadel little more than a small building down on the dockyard. He hadn't expected to be carted away to study things he didn't care about, when the Academy was so grand, so perfect for teaching them.

"We have classes here with the Paters. What're you doing here?"

"Why aren't you in class?"

Ptarmigan shrugged.

"'cause it's boring."

The girl nodded, and finally, her shoulders dropped. The tension she'd been holding dissipated. She glanced up, checking the windows to make sure no one was watching them.

"I'm supposed to be in service."

"So, you are an altar boy?"

"Yes?"