Wingborn

by Becca Lusher

  Seven

  Students

  11th Blizzard

  IT WAS STILL dark when Mhysra crept down the backstairs, but the servants were already hard at work. Maids pumped water for the laundry, cleaned fireplaces and fetched milk, eggs and newspapers from the markets, while Cook prepared breakfast. The butler designated the day’s tasks to the footmen and the boot boy worked on his basket of shoes. No one paid any attention to the earl’s daughter slipping between them. It wasn’t the first time and everyone knew it wouldn’t be the last.

  Only Cook acknowledged her, handing her a warm pastry with a smile. “Luck, my lady.”

  Mhysra grinned and stepped out into the darkness, glad that she’d left her puppy behind. “Please behave,” she murmured to the absent Bumble.

  “I’ll be the best boy in the city, I promise.”

  “Derry!” she yelped, grabbing his shoulders as he goosed her ribs and almost dropping her breakfast. “Don’t do that. Gods!”

  He grinned at her overreaction. “Nervous?”

  Nervous was too weak a word for how she felt – bone-deep terrified was more like it. Just because she’d grown up around miryhls, was Wingborn and had been flying all her life, didn’t mean this was going to be easy.

  “Me too,” Derrain chuckled, shivering. “Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

  “Not on the first day,” she agreed, blowing into her gloves and offering him half of her pastry. “But by next quarter-moon you’ll be singing a different tune.”

  “OH, HAPPY DAY.” Stirla was in a disgustingly good mood as he met Lyrai in the Rider’s mess at dawn. But then he would be – he was on morning duty, so getting up this ungodly hour was normal. Lyrai wasn’t. His flurry didn’t fly until the afternoon, so he had every right to still be sleeping. Yet, as an officer, his presence was expected. Gods, he hated being stuck in Nimbys.

  “This is the first day of a glorious future. Aren’t you excited?”

  Lyrai grunted, his mouth full of eggs, a handy excuse not to talk, and was relieved when his sergeant sat down beside him.

  “Morning, Honra,” Stirla greeted.

  “Morning.” Honra was a pleasant-natured fellow, an experience Rider and the perfect go-between the flurry and Lyrai’s own occasionally stiff and moody nature. Honra never got offended, even when Lyrai was having an off-day – of which there had been plenty since Froth retired. After Lyrai had finished his captaincy training, he planned to back his sergeant for promotion. Honra had earned it the hard way.

  Stirla and the sergeant chatted amiably throughout breakfast, while Lyrai pretended he was still sleeping like sensible folk. When they finished, he followed them outside, where they joined Stirla’s sergeant, Rees – a sharp-tempered Rider who rarely spoke when he could bark. He’d been paired with Stirla to provide the distance an officer needed from his men. Stirla was too quick to share jokes with everyone. Rees, it was suspected, had no sense of humour. His response to Stirla’s cheerful greeting was a sullen grunt.

  It was another fine winter morning in Nimbys, with frost shimmering on the flying field and snow dotting the cliffs. The air was freezing, but it hardly mattered since the fifty new students were too nervous to stand still. Had the weather been inclement, they would still have been expected to wait outside, blizzard, hail or sleet. They didn’t realise how lucky they were.

  Between the ages of fifteen and eighteen, they ranged across the social spectrum from the son of a duke to a couple of dockhands. Anyone could enter a selection school if they had a recommendation from a guardian or sponsor of consequence, and handed it in before the deadline. Or after, Lyrai amended, spotting Lady Mhysra in the crowd. Special treatment was understandable for a Wingborn. As long as she didn’t expect it too often.

  Amongst the fifty, Lyrai counted eight girls, some not looking fit enough to run one lap of the field, let alone fly a thousand miles. The same could be said for some of the boys too, but that was the point of the selection training. Fifty students might apply to each of the six schools across the Overworld, but over the course of the next two seasons most would drop out. Some wouldn’t be able to take the discipline, others would find the training too tough. There might even be failures at the end of year exams, easy though Lyrai remembered them to be.

  Then, and only then, would they be allowed to choose a miryhl and move to Aquila. Only the most dedicated and capable lasted that long. If there were twenty students left at the end of all this, Lyrai would consider it a bumper crop. Ten would be average. He wondered how many of them would be girls.

  “Morning, everyone!” A brusque voice rang out across the field, silencing most of chatter as the students turned towards the speaker. Short, stocky and scarred, Hethanon Armsmaster was the best selection trainer the Riders had ever had. He took no cheek from anyone, regardless of who they were born to be. A native of Ihra, an isolated state to the north, he knew everything about harsh conditions and human limitations. He pushed his students hard, because he expected them to be the best. Lyrai had studied under his yoke and had nothing but respect for him. He didn’t look like much, but a boy underestimated him at his peril. Same for the girls.

  Though most of the crowd was quiet, two girls continued to gossip, while a knot of boys snickered amongst themselves. Honra clicked his tongue and the lieutenants shared a smirk. Rees sniffed.

  “Lieutenant Stirla, if you please,” Hethanon invited.

  Over six feet in height, with shoulders to match, Stirla had an imposing presence when he chose to use it. “Silence!” Not to mention a ferocious bellow.

  The students flinched, the hush so complete that a pair of squabbling ravens halfway up the cliff could be heard in raucous detail.

  Hethanon stepped forward. “Obedience is the first rule of the Rift Riders. Respect for command. The ability to hold your tongue,” he added, glaring at one of the snickering lads; the boy blushed. “Insolence breeds contempt and mistrust. A Rider follows his officer, no matter what. To question is to die. To disobey is to die. To disrespect is to die. If you cannot obey a simple order then you have no business here. No one is forcing you. No one will stop you. Leave if you wish.”

  He looked around as if he could see every face in the crowd, even those right at the back. None dared make eye contact. There was a lot of nervous shifting and a few titters, but nobody left. Most likely believed it would be shameful to walk before the day had even begun. They’d learn better soon enough.

  “Five laps of the field!” Hethanon’s bark made everyone jump – Riders included.

  The youngsters stared at each other in dismay. No one moved.

  “If you cannot obey an order, what are you doing here? Five laps. Now!”

  They obeyed reluctantly, breaking into groups as they trotted towards the far end of the field, slipping and sliding over the ice. Complaints abounded, along with insults about pipsqueaks who thought too much of themselves.

  Hethanon rocked smugly on his heels. When the students reached the cliffs, he turned to the lieutenants. “Shall we show them how it is done?”

  “No.” Stirla had never studied under Hethanon, but he’d heard the rumours along with Lyrai’s own stories. Which was why when Hethanon started jogging, Stirla and the others went along too.

  “NOT… WHAT… I… expect-ed,” Derrain puffed as they completed their laps. They were among the first to finish, though plenty had claimed to be done earlier. Except the little man with the big voice had the eyes of a hawk. The cheaters probably wished they hadn’t bothered now, Mhysra thought, watching the stragglers stump out two extra laps.

  “Evil,” she gasped, bending over to catch her breath. Before this morning she’d thought herself fit. At Wrentheria she’d regularly run with the fledgling miryhls, encouraging them to fly, or played chase with her cousins and the nakhounds. That had been fun. This was torture, with every breath stabbing frozen knives inside her chest. Even Derrain was worn out and he was used to scrambling around skyships in the middle of a storm, h
auling himself up ropes and other such daring stuff.

  “Still alive, though,” Derrain said as he straightened. “I feel ready for anything now.” He stretched his arms over his head and went to fetch their coats from the pile of discarded clothing.

  “Unnatural,” Mhysra grumbled, noticing some of the other girls eyeing her friend. She smiled when one walked over and introduced herself.

  “I’m Corin.”

  Derrain returned, shrugging into his coat with a grin. “I’m Derrain, and she’s Mhysra.”

  Mhysra accepted her own coat and nodded politely to the newcomer, surprised when the girl dragged her eyes away from Derrain long enough to nod back. Short and stocky, Corin was pretty when she smiled, lighting up her amber eyes. “You both did well back there. I don’t think you got barked at once.”

  “Alright for some.” A scrawny girl limped over, clutching her ribs. “I never moved so much in me life, and all to get right back where we started. Ain’t what I was expecting. Ulla.”

  “Corin,” the short girl replied, and pointed at the others. “Derrain. Mhysra. I’ve seen you around the docks.”

  The scrawny girl nodded, scratching her tight brown curls. “Aye. Me da’s a gladhand.” Which was docker slang for men who turned their hand to anything to earn a coin. She nodded at Corin. “You’re merchant stock.” She looked at Derrain. “You’re off the ships.” Turning to Mhysra, she narrowed her eyes. “And you’re new. Don’t know what you do, but I seen you about.”

  “Impressing people again, Ulla Bright-Eyes?” asked a tall boy with a broad grin.

  “Harlan,” the girl grumbled. “An’ Mouse.” This was said to the small lad in Harlan’s shadow. Whereas one boy was tall and exuded confidence, the other was small and fidgety. “Thought you said you weren’t gonna bother.”

  “I needed to do something over the winter.” Harlan shrugged. He looked too fine for the Riders, with his artfully arranged curls and brightly polished boots, now sadly splashed with mud and slush.

  While they waited for the rest of the new students to finish, they got to know each other a little. Corin and Harlan’s parents both ran moderately successful skyships, Mouse was Harlan’s cousin, fresh from the mid-Imercian countryside and Ulla had grown up on the docks. Being his usual charming self, Derrain quickly fitted right in. He was just explaining how he knew Mhysra, when their instructor clapped his hands.

  “Who wants to go home now?”

  Harlan looked at his mud-flecked boots and sighed, making the others chuckle. There were a few discontented mutters from the crowd, but no one left. The little man smiled, his expression filling Mhysra with dread.

  “Good. I am Hethanon Armsmaster and your mornings belong to me now. With me you run and sweat until you break. Eventually I may let you touch a weapon. Because before you go near a miryhl with a pointy object, you must prove that you can use it without maiming yourself. Understood?”

  There were a couple of mutters, a few affirmative replies, but mostly subdued silence.

  “So much to learn,” Hethanon said pityingly. “When I ask a question, you reply. Understood?”

  “Yes,” they replied, mostly together.

  “Something is missing, students,” Hethanon continued, voice growing sterner with every word. “When I speak, you answer, and when you do you call me sir. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Better,” Hethanon said. “Now your instructors. Real Rift Riders whose time could be better spent than on you. Do not waste it, do not test their patience and do not forget that they are worthy of your respect. Always.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Sergeants Honra and Rees,” Hethanon introduced them, pointing to each. “Lieutenants Stirla and Lyrai. You address them as sir and obey at the first time of asking. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Then pay attention. You are too many, but that will change. For now I will divide you up, and you will not complain!” His bark silenced the dissenters before they could even begin. Mhysra shot Derrain a worried glance; she hoped she was in his group.

  “I will point at you and say a name. That is your group. Go stand by them.” Hethanon nodded at the Riders, who spread out. “My group wait in the middle.” He started to point, barking Stirla, Honra, mine, Lyrai or Rees, making more than one student jump. His method was swift and effective, splitting up any groups he spotted and placing any potential troublemakers under his or Sergeant Rees’ command.

  “Stirla.” He pointed at Derrain, who sighed with relief.

  “Honra.” He pointed at Corin.

  “Mine.” Ulla.

  “Lyrai.” Mouse.

  “Rees.” Harlan.

  He divided the group in front of Mhysra, before coming back to her. “Lyrai.”

  Her heart sank and she trudged towards her group. The lieutenant was expressionless, despite the eight students chattering behind him. She joined Mouse, who was pitifully pleased to see her. A couple of lines over, Derrain made a sad face, though he had nothing to complain about with Stirla. It was just her luck to end up with the man she already knew didn’t like her.

  When Hethanon finished, she looked at Lyrai’s group and suppressed a sigh: she was the only girl. Stirla and Honra had two each, Hethanon had three. There were none in Rees’ line.

  “Great.”

  Mouse smiled shyly. “Bet I’m the last person you wanted to be with, but it’ll be good, you’ll see. But if it does get bad we can always thank Heirayk we’re not stuck with Sergeant Rees.”

  “There’s a bright side,” she agreed, morosely studying the other boys in their line. Two were highborn and showed it. Four were friends already, while the remaining two didn’t seem to know anyone. One was even smaller than Mouse. He was shaking and she doubted he would last long. The other was tall and calm, looking around curiously at all the fuss. Catching Mhysra’s eye, he smiled.

  “All right, everyone.” Lieutenant Lyrai clapped his hands for their attention. “I’m going to teach you some exercises to build up your strength and keep you warm, then we’ll do more to improve your fitness. The Rift Riders are about more than flying pretty birdies.” He caught Mhysra’s eye, and she could have sworn there was a hint of a smile as he referred to the day she’d forced her way into the Riders. Then his gaze passed on and he was as cold as ever.

  “I’m sticking with you,” Mouse whispered as Lieutenant Lyrai began pairing people off, telling them about Rider life – it wasn’t easy, they had to be fit and willing to fight at any moment, and so on. Reaching them, he pointed Mhysra to the far side of the line and positioned Mouse next to her.

  Mhysra bit back a smile as Mouse groaned: he hadn’t got his wish. Standing opposite her was the calm lad who’d smiled earlier. Mouse was paired with the timid boy. It was obvious why the lieutenant had done it, since they were of a similar size. And twitchy temperament.

  “I’m Dhori,” the lad facing her said, as tall as she was and just as lightly built.

  “Mhysra.”

  That was all they had time for, because the lieutenant was talking again, demonstrating stretches, jumps, pattern steps, blocks and holds, some of which required two people, hence the pairings. A quick glance around showed that everyone else was doing similar exercises. So she smiled at Dhori and started counting star jumps, followed by tucks. It looked daft, but at least she wasn’t alone in her folly. Derrain and Ulla had said it right earlier – this wasn’t what she’d expected. Not at all.

  THEY TRAINED UNTIL noon, then were shown the bathing chambers beneath the Rider offices. Fresh uniforms waited and, once clean and changed, they ate in the hall. Afterwards, they were divided into those who were literate and those who weren’t. Since there were only twelve who couldn’t write, the remaining thirty-two were split again into two groups. This time Mhysra managed to stay with Derrain. They were joined by Harlan, Mouse, Corin and Dhori, while Ulla, who could read a little but not write at all, was taken elsewhere.

  Though the s
tudents’ mornings might belong to Armsmaster Hethanon, their afternoons would lie in the hands of the clerks. It would be up to them to the students’ literacy and arithmetic, as well as teaching them geography, history and languages. The lieutenants would instruct them about life in the Riders later in the term.

  Mhysra tried to take in all the things being said, schedules being made and plans being explained, but she was not the only one smothering yawns after their busy morning.

  “Remember we asked for this,” Derrain murmured, as they settled into a classroom.

  If she’d had more energy she would have hit him.

  “Now we know why there are so few Riders,” Harlan grumbled. By now his boots were sadly scuffed and no longer shiny. “Gods, I don’t think I can take much of this.”

  “Don’t be soft,” Corin scolded. “This is a great opportunity. I’m not giving up yet, not after a paltry bit of exercise. I might change my mind when they start lecturing us on poetry, but I’m hoping they’ll skip that.”

  “They save it for Aquila,” Dhori said, taking the seat next to Mhysra.

  “That’s something to look forward to,” Mouse chuckled.

  Corin and Mhysra groaned, “Great,” and shared a grin.

  Moaning, Harlan put his head on the desk. “Wake me if anything interesting happens.”

  It didn’t, and at the end of the day Mhysra waved farewell to her new friends before going to see Cumulo. He hopped down two perches to meet her.

  “Well? How did it go?”

  Smiling, she tickled his head. “It’ll do.” She’d already made some new friends and if it stayed like this everything would be fine. “I can cope.”

  Tilting his head for a stroke, he sighed with relief. “Good. Tell me the same tomorrow.”

  THE NEXT MORNING Mhysra and Derrain met up with Dhori on their walk through the city. The air was icy, promising a blizzard before dark. Not that Hethanon cared, sending them straight off on another punishing run. Cold to the bone, the students trudged to their training masters and went through the motions with mind-numbing weariness.

  “Tired, my lambs?” Hethanon cooed, but his sweet smile rapidly faded into a scowl. “Toughen up or leave.”

  The morning after that brought the first desertions, with not one training master retaining all of their students. Sergeant Rees’ line looked particularly thin. Mouse had lost his partner already and, unfortunately for him, was obliged to train with Lieutenant Lyrai instead.

  “He’s evil,” he whimpered at midday, flexing his shoulders. “It’s bad enough when he’s shouting, but working with him is torture. He wants to kill me.”

  “You’re getting off lightly.” Harlan was unsympathetic. “Try having Rees on your back.”

  Mouse changed his tune the following quarter-moon when he was paired with Mhysra, after another student left and Dhori was moved to work with someone else. It was a day of changes. Since they could all now manage the exercises without injury, Hethanon brought out staffs for them to use.

  “The staff is an all-purpose weapon, in training and in combat. Master it and you may try something more difficult. No one picks up a sword who cannot handle a staff. This is the opening exercise.”

  Mhysra was soon grateful to be opposite Mouse, who though shorter was of equal strength. At Wrentheria, Mhysra had taken daily staff lessons with her cousins from the age of seven, and had yet to develop any fondness for it. By contrast, Dhori looked as though he’d been born to wield it. Lieutenant Lyrai complimented the lad on his prowess and sparred with him to demonstrate how a sequence of moves should be done at full speed. Not that the rest of them did the same. For the moment everything was done slowly, building up their muscles and numbing their brains.

  The afternoons were no better, and Mhysra finally understood all of her brother’s complaints about the selection school. It was no wonder so many students dropped out – the boredom was staggering. Only her new friends and the thought of Cumulo kept her going.

  24th Blizzard

  WINTER MIGHT HAVE been holding Nimbys in a merciless grip, but after completing her first half-moon of Rider training, Mhysra couldn’t remember feeling happier. That morning she’d attended the service at the Cathedral of Maegla and had sat in the seats reserved for the Riders. She’d been able to do it without fear, since her father attended the service for Heirayk, God of the Sun, held elsewhere in the city.

  Now she was with Cumulo, preparing him for their first flight in days.

  “Hurry up,” her impatient miryhl ordered. “I’ve got so much to show you.”

  While Mhysra might not have had time for flying lately, with her days spent training and her nights spent at home pretending that all was well, that didn’t mean he hadn’t been out on his own. “You’ve become quite the adventurer without me, haven’t you?” she chuckled, running her hands under his girths to check that they weren’t twisted and his feathers weren’t uncomfortably ruffled.

  As she brushed beneath his belly, he jumped. “That tickles.”

  “Sorry.”

  “As you can see there’s space here for upwards of a hundred birds. A full Rider flight.” A familiar voice drifted in from outside. Mhysra and Cumulo looked up. Lieutenant Lyrai was outlined in the doorway, a handful of students clustered behind him, evidently here for a tour of the eyries. Mhysra’s heart sank.

  Cumulo chuckled. “Now you’re in for it.”

  “Hide me,” she muttered, diving under his wing.

  “Mhysra,” he rumbled, half-amused, half-exasperated. “That isn’t going to work.”

  “Hush.”

  “We have around fifty miryhls at the moment, from the combined Riders of Lieutenant Stirla’s and my flurries. The other half of Captain Myran’s flight is patrolling the mountain communities around Nimbys.”

  They were coming closer. Mhysra shrank against Cumulo’s side and held her breath.

  “Whose miryhl is that, sir?” another familiar voice asked, making Mhysra bite back a groan: Corin.

  “Why is it tacked up?” And Mouse. Lovely.

  “And why does it have two extra legs?” She was going to kill Derrain. After she killed Cumulo; she could feel his chuckles across her whole body. “Two human legs. A new breed perhaps?”

  Lieutenant Lyrai laughed – he actually laughed – and Mhysra remembered why she didn’t like him. “Either you’ve been caught, student, or something’s terribly wrong with Cumulo.”

  “Cumulo?” Mouse chirped. “Is that the miryhl’s name?”

  Cumulo, the traitor, raised his wing and nudged his Wingborn out into the light, his rumbling laughter audible to everyone as she emerged ruffled and flushed.

  “Mhysra!” Everyone but the lieutenant, Derrain and, strangely, Dhori chorused in surprise.

  Pushing her hair off her face, Mhysra mustered a weak smile. “Afternoon, everyone.”

  “Why are you hiding under that miryhl’s –” At Cumulo’s indignant squawk, Corin apologised. “– sorry, Cumulo’s wing? Did you tack him up? Are you going to fly?”

  “Is that allowed?” one of the other students, a girl Mhysra didn’t know, demanded.

  “Are there miryhls we can practise on? Can we fly too?” an unfamiliar boy wanted to know.

  “Can we?” Corin and Mouse echoed, turning to Lyrai with excitement.

  Looking almost as startled as Mhysra, the lieutenant raised his eyebrows. “No.”

  “Then how come she gets to?” the unfamiliar girl asked.

  Derrain smirked. “Yes, Mhysra, how come you get to fly Cumulo?”

  She glared at her friend and realised everyone was staring at her, waiting for an answer. She studied the straw wisps on the floor and mumbled, “He’s mine.”

  “What was that?”

  “What did she say?”

  “Speak up!”

  “He’s mine,” she repeated, raising her voice.

  Silence greeted her announcement.

  Then Corin frowned. “I don’t understand.”

/>   “Neither do I,” said one of the boys. “I thought only Riders or ruling families could own a miryhl.” He eyed Mhysra critically. “You’re not the daughter of the Stratys, are you?”

  Lieutenant Lyrai choked on his amusement and she scowled at him.

  “There is another exception to that rule,” Dhori said, calm in the face of their confusion and growing resentment. When everyone turned to him, he smiled. “Wingborn are allowed miryhls.” At Cumulo’s low rumble, his smile broadened. “Wingborn miryhls are allowed humans too.”

  “I like him,” Cumulo whispered in her ear.

  “You would.”

  The group fell silent, blinking at each other. Then Corin’s lips began to twitch, Mouse started snickering and the whole lot of them burst into laughter.

  “Wingborn!”

  “Oh, that’s rich.”

  “We might be newbies, but we aren’t that stupid.”

  “Wingborn, ha!”

  As they continued to laugh, Mhysra sighed and rested her head against Cumulo’s neck.

  “Should have known we couldn’t fool you,” Lieutenant Lyrai chuckled. “You’re such a smart bunch. What was I thinking?”

  As the students continued to laugh, Mhysra grew fed up of listening to them mock the most important thing in her life. “Glad I could amuse you,” she grumbled, interrupting another round of, “Got to get up early to fool us, sir,” and “I haven’t believed in Wingborn since I was eight!”

  “Come on, Cue.”

  Sensing her mood, he didn’t argue, hopping to the nearest hatch and diving out. Shoving students aside and making sure to elbow Derrain along the way, Mhysra stalked after her miryhl.

  “Where are you going?” Mouse asked, bouncing after her. “It was a good joke.”

  “I’m off to fly my imaginary Wingborn,” she retorted, still smarting from being laughed at. It was like being back in the offices again, facing down Clerk Brenai in front of all the Riders.

  “This I have to see,” one of the strangers chuckled, no doubt anticipating a quick dismount.

  Mhysra smiled. She might not have liked the laughter, but she was going to enjoy this.

  “Are you sure?” Corin eyed Cumulo warily. Standing with his chest puffed out, he looked regal, intimidating and huge. “He’s so big.”

  Mhysra snorted, both at Cumulo’s display and her sudden lack of escorts. The students had halted ten feet away, none daring to come any closer now that they were outside. Derrain and Lieutenant Lyrai stood smirking at the back.

  “Idiots,” she grumbled, and stepped onto Cumulo’s lowered wing. When he boosted her into the saddle, she settled down to gasps from the students.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Corin called worriedly. “I believe you.”

  “She doesn’t,” Cumulo said, as if Mhysra had been foolish enough to think otherwise.

  “Sir, you have to stop her,” Mouse pleaded with the lieutenant.

  “She could get hurt,” Corin protested.

  “She could,” Lyrai agreed, smiling at Mhysra’s glare. “But she won’t. Have a little faith. They know what they’re doing.”

  Having tinkered long enough with things that didn’t need adjusting, Mhysra tucked up her legs and gathered the reins. “When you’re ready, Cue.”

  “All right, chickling,” he chuckled, opened his wings and screamed. As the students covered their ears – and Corin covered her eyes – Cumulo crouched and sprang upwards, thumping the air with great flaps of his wings. Another, then another, got them airborne and spiralling on the updrafts to gasps of awe. “Always nice to be appreciated.”

  Lying against his back, Mhysra chuckled. “Show-off.”

  “No one doubts my Wingborn and gets away with it.” So saying, he let his left wing drop, banking towards the cliffs, and swept back across the field over their audience’s head.

  She clung to his back, familiar with her arrogant miryhl’s routine, while Cumulo executed an array of tricks that left the crowd below in no doubt about who he belonged to. Satisfied, he rose above an appreciative chorus of cheers and whistles.

  Reaching forward, she hugged him hard. “You’re my hero.”

  “Anytime, chickling,” he chuckled, carrying them into the winter sunshine. “Anytime.”