Wingborn by Becca Lusher

she
asked.
    Cumulo flexed his wings and nodded. “ Good. ”
    Slipping the bridle over his beak, Mhysra
secured the strap across it and another behind his head. Then she
looped the reins back over Cumulo ’ s neck, grabbed the puppy, hiked up her skirts and
clambered astride. It wasn ’ t particularly dignified, nor her favourite way to
fly, but at least the skirt was full enough to cover most of her
legs.
    “All set?”
Lieutenant Stirla asked, politely averting his eyes while Mhysra
arranged her clothes for maximum modesty. Thankfully, the puppy was
smart enough not to fuss and simply lay down across Mhysra’s
lap.
    “Whenever you
are, sir,” she agreed, and waited while Atyrn – the senior miryhl –
hopped towards the cliff edge and dropped out of sight.
    “I hate it
when you fly in skirts,” Cumulo grumbled, as they waited for the
other eagle to swoop back up into view.
    “ I’ m not particularly fond of it either, ” Mhysra sighed. “ But this ’ ll be the last time, I promise. ”
    Giving a disapproving sniff, Cumulo shuffled
to the edge of the cliff. “ It ha d
better be, ” he told her. “ Now, shall we show them
how it ’ s
done? ”
    Without waiting for a reply, he leant
forward, opened his wings and kicked off into the empty air
below.
    Wind rushed up to meet them, tugging at
feathers, hair and clothing. Hunching over to protect the pup,
Mhysra forced her skirts as flat as she could and held on for the
ride. Closing her eyes against the rush, she buried her face
against Cumulo ’ s
shoulder and laughed, waiting for the lift of her stomach as he
spread his wings and swept up into the sky.
    Atyrn ’ s sharp cry reached them over the swirling winds
and Cumulo screamed his reply, the pup yipping along. Mhysra opened
her eyes as they wheeled away from the high mountain and skimmed
down towards the city. Rocks, snow and ranks of trees whizzed
beneath them, until, suddenly, the mountain seemed to open its
arms. Cradled protectively against the valley ’ s heart, the city of Nimbys sparkled in
the late afternoon light.
    It wasn ’ t the biggest city in the Overworld, nor the most
populated. It wasn ’ t the
oldest, nor the most holy. It wasn ’ t the highest, nor was it even the warmest, but it
was memorable.
    No matter what Mhysra ’ s personal feelings were about the city,
even she couldn ’ t deny
that from this angle it was an impressive place. Shaped by the
contours of its mountain, Nimbys was certainly different to any
other settlement she had ever seen. Narrow and built up high,
sparkling towers rose from the haze of buildings and, at the open
end of the city, the Cathedral of Maegla dominated as only the
Storm Goddess could. The northern edge of the ravine belonged to
the Stratys Palace, the white marble glowing in the winter sun.
    The city between the two wonders was a
mismatch of society and styles. The docklands throbbed with life
and business, while skyships bobbed serenely at their mooring posts
or were beached forlornly in the dry docks. The miryhls rushed
effortlessly above them all, casting shadows across the markets and
streets below, before lifting high to crest the ridge on which the
palace and Flying Corps ’ headquarters stood.
    Following Atyrn ’ s lead, Cumulo swooped around the official building
and drifted over the wide field beyond. Off-duty Riders ran out of
the eyries and offices, bundled up against the cold, eager to view
this newest curiosity.
    Eager to be admired, Cumulo landed with a
series of bounding hops, head high, chest puffed out, freshly
preened feathers gleaming. Mhysra muttered dark things behind his
proud head. Such a landing might look impressive, but it was
horribly uncomfortable, especially when one was trying not to drop
a squirming, brainless pup.
    “ That’ s why it loves you, ” Cumulo remarked as Mhysra released the dog. It
flapped once, then dropped like a stone. “ It hasn ’ t enough intelligence to do otherwise. ”
    Sliding from his