(COMPLETE)
Lady Mhysra Kilpapan was blessed from birth with a distinguished family, a glorious home and a giant eagle miryhl of her own. Fully aware of her luck, she wants for nothing in life - except a chance to become a Rift Rider. The elite force...
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LYRAI STOOD AT the window of the yellow parlour, counting pigeons as the city flock wheeled over the streets below. The view was beautiful: Nimbys basking in the winter sun. He smiled at the nearby Rider barracks, lying so close at hand. It would have been quicker for him to have walked than to have taken the carriage, but appearances mattered.
So short a journey, yet it felt vast. He'd passed this very building numerous times since his return, but had only seen his family once. Just a brief glimpse of his mother, father and brother on his arrival, when Captain Myran's officers had paid their respect to the Stratys' court. He'd been awaiting a summons ever since, knowing his mother would welcome him any time – and his father would not. While appearances mattered to his mother, formalities were everything to his father. She would have needed his permission before daring to invite her second son into her presence.
Lyrai was used to it. Much as he loved his mother and was distantly fond of his sisters, it had been years since he'd felt comfortable with them. Their insular, rarefied world had grown stultifying long before he'd joined the Riders. It was the one family tradition that Lyrai had welcomed. The oldest son was the heir, the next was the spare. One honoured the family by maintaining the legacy, the other died gloriously.
The door opened and heavy steps stumped to a halt. "That you, Lyrai?"
He glanced over his shoulder and blinked. "Henryn. You look... well."
It was a lie: his brother looked fat. His cheeks were ruddy, while the rest of his skin was pallid and sweaty. His blond hair, even fairer than Lyrai's, was a unkempt thicket. His clothes were a mess, straining over his paunch, and his eyes were bloodshot.
"Late night?"
Pushing the door shut, Henryn shrugged and crossed the room until they were face-to-face. The same height, they shared their father's eyes mixed with their mother's colouring. Once they had been alike enough to be mistaken for twins. Now Henryn's features were fleshy from dissipation, while Lyrai's had been chiselled by wind and training.
"Rider life suits you," Henryn said, his tone wistful and Lyrai pitied this brother he barely knew. Their lives had been set on different paths from birth, yet whenever they met they rubbed along well enough. It would have been nice to have known Henryn better. Had he wanted to join the Riders when he was young too? Was he angry that their father – and tradition – had decided differently?
"How's life in Nimbys treating you?" Henryn asked. "Still flying that pretty feather?"
Lyrai shook his head. "Froth's been retired. Wounded."
"Ah. Shame." They dropped into silence, uncomfortably aware that they knew nothing about each other. Familiar strangers. "You'll get a new one soon, I dare say."
"At the Choice," Lyrai agreed. "I can't wait. It's hard being grounded for so long."
"Yes, 'spect it is. Not that I'd know. Never flown." There was that wistfulness again.
