Aquila's War

By Becca Lusher

The Rift Riders are ready.
Yullik is waiting.
The fight for Aquila is about to begin.

After siege and exile, the Rift Riders have drifted around the Overworld for long enough. The troops have been gathered, the dragons are willing to help and everyone is ready to depart. Now they only have to get there.

While Mhysra, Lyrai and their friends prepare for the battle ahead and Yullik lays his traps, hidden on the far side of Aquila, Mouse and Nightriver have their own challenges to face. Despite everything, the mountain has a few surprises in store for all of them yet.

For Aquila is waiting to be won and the stakes are high. When war rocks the citadel, even the winners may end up losing...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Becca Lusher
• Release date: Jul 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463634257

Becca Lusher

Having an overactive imagination hasn’t always been a good thing: I spent much of my childhood scared of the dark and terrified by the stories my older sister told me (mostly to stop her being the only one afraid of the dark). These days I find it useful. I love stories, I love fantasy, I love things with wings, stars and the world around me, and I have great fun combining them all into my stories.Born in the UK, I live in the wild south-west where I run around with my dogs and get bossed about by cats, while taking photos of gorgeous landscapes, reading lots of books and climbing rocks.I’ve also been known to write stories.

Book preview

Prologue

Aquila

23rd Thaw Month, 788 Cloud Era

RIDERS FILLED THE northern horizon. At first nothing more than tiny specks, they soon grew and multiplied. Stretched out in a long line, they drifted closer like an inescapable net.

Standing in the mouth of the cave, he watched them come, one hand buried deep within Nisha’s feathers. She trembled alongside him; she knew what was coming.

"Time to hide, sweethearts. A gentle hand brushed through his curls, stroking his cheek before picking him up. Nisha was scooped up too, the pair of them squished into his mama’s arms. Remember what we told you. Remember what we said." She carried them to the very back of the cave, where the shadows were thickest and slender cracks could be easily overlooked.

With his feet back on the ground, he scrambled through a tiny gap between two rocks, reaching to help Nisha climb in behind him. They burrowed as far back as possible, squashed together, cold and trembling. It wasn’t the first time they’d done this. They knew what to do. They were good at it.

"Good boy, my clever boy." His mama couldn’t follow him in here, so he crawled back to the opening. Her hand stroked his cheek, but he couldn’t see her face in the darkness. He could feel her, though, and that was enough.

"Now remember, she said, crouching in front of him and taking his hands. Remember what you promised Dada and me. Soft as shadows, silent as stone. She squeezed his hands tightly. And don’t come out, not for any reason, until Dada returns. Do you promise?"

He promised, nodding his head and pressing his hand over his heart. He hadn’t unlocked his words yet, but he understood everything and could make himself understood.

"Good boy," she whispered, hugging him tightly. She must have been cold too, because she was shaking. They both were. He felt all squirmy and trembling inside and he didn’t want to let go, but he had to, he knew he did. He’d promised and there wasn’t enough room for her to hide with them.

"Good boy, she said again, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Brave boy. Back you go now, back with Nisha. Soft and silent, remember. Stay safe."

He held onto her hand for as long as possible, but she had to leave and his arms were short. His fingers lost their grip and she turned away, walking to the front of the cave, hands swiping briskly at her face.

For a moment he saw her clearly, lit up by the cave mouth, slender and small, but strong, so strong. She pulled herself into her miryhl’s saddle and looked back.

"Soft as shadows, silent as stone, she told him with a smile. Be good and wait for your father. I love you, sweetheart." She blew a kiss towards the shadows and urged her miryhl outside into the morning to draw the Riders away. Sunlight washed over chestnut feathers, shining on the black cap of his mother’s hair.

Then they were gone.

And he never saw her again.

WAKING IN THE darkness, Yullik pressed a hand to his lips and flattened his palm over his aching heart. I love you too, Mama.

Chapter One

The Gifts of Maegla

Nimbys, Imercian

1st Nesting

LADY MHYSRA KILPAPAN stood in the midst of the Rift Rider students, willing herself not to fidget. Not that she would be the only one. All along the line of Riders, figures twitched here and there, pulling at collars and rolling their shoulders, uncomfortable and awkward in their uniforms, some of which were itchy with newness and hastily made.

Because when Aquila fell to the kaz-naghkt and the young trainees of the Overworld fled – along with their instructors, officers and fellow Riders – a smart change of clothes had been the last thing on their minds. The scrambling months that followed, in which the dispossessed survivors were scattered across the Overworld, crossing mountain ranges and wide expanses of the Cloud Sea in the middle of winter, hadn’t been entirely kind on their existing uniforms either. Something about which no one had cared at the time. Especially when the kaz-naghkt had sprung a surprise attack on Nimbys and nearly triumphed in the supposedly-safe west.

Only afterwards, when the city was secure, the wounded were tended and the population was jubilant, did such thoughts enter the Riders’ minds. Because the ruler of all Imercian, and most prominent monarch of the Overworld, Stratys Henryk III, had decreed that a ceremony of celebration and commemoration was to be held at the Cathedral of Maegla. It would be presided over by his own majesty and His Holiness, the High Tempest, and held on the first day of Nesting month, a mere eight days after the announcement.

At which point the gathered survivors of Aquila and other Rift Riders, who had come to prepare for war, had looked at each other and realised they had nothing to wear.

Normally that wouldn’t bother the vast majority, even if rumour hinted that the Stratys might actually wish to meet some of them, because Riders were practical and not much interested in fashion. Except it wasn’t just ordinary Rift Riders who had filled up Aquila of late, officers had also come, including two generals and the most important Rider of them all: Wing Marshal Phirro Pheneso. The great man, and ultimate commander of all Rift Riders across the Overworld, had bestirred himself from the Flight Command fortress in Southern Imercian to oversee preparations for the upcoming war. A rare appearance and all the more meaningful for it.

Under those stern and uncompromising eyes, the Riders had scurried to make sure they were as well turned out as possible, despite the short notice.

Which was why Mhysra was trying desperately not to fidget, even though her collar was too tight and the inseam on her new breeches was uncomfortably itchy. Her sister, Milluqua, an expert in such things, had also done something strange to her hair, which had involved a lot of pins, pulling and oil, and had left her with an aching head and smelling a trifle odd.

Although that might also have been due to the fact that she’d been standing out in the cathedral square all morning, with the bright spring sun glaring into her eyes. Even now, as it rose above the great building itself, it still found gaps between the ornate decorations around the main spire to jab spears of light into her face.

The Sun God Heirayk apparently enjoyed tormenting her today. Possibly because He was jealous that all the thanks and praise for their recent victory was going to His sister, the Storm Goddess Maegla, patroness of the Rift Riders, instead of His fiery, exalted self.

Whatever the reason, Mhysra wished she could either go inside the cathedral or the sun would hurry up and go behind the spire. It would be cold standing in the shadow, since spring was barely hinting at the summer to come, but her head couldn’t take much more of this.

The former was sadly impossible, since the recent influx of Riders had swelled their numbers from the one hundred or so that usually guarded the city, to almost two thousand. Then there were the city residents who wanted to show their support and join in with the celebration. Since even the great cathedral could not hold such high numbers, they’d been packed into the square in front of it instead, with the Riders lined up right in the middle, directly under the shiny sun. Which wasn’t far off going behind the spire now, so Mhysra might just get her wish after all.

In recognition of the gifts Her greatness has bestowed upon us, let us pray! The High Tempest, head priest of Maegla across the Overworld, may have been an elderly man, but Mhysra admired his stamina as she bowed her head with the congregation for yet another prayer to Maegla’s goodness and glory.

Not that she didn’t agree. Maegla had always been her personal goddess of choice, even before she knew or understood what the Rift Riders were, but they’d been out here since dawn. It was almost midday now and the High Tempest was still managing to talk. His only breaks had come every bell or so, when the choir would stand up to sing. Then the old man had been given a chance to refresh himself and sit down. Mhysra wouldn’t mind either of those herself, letting the priest’s words drift over her as she wondered for the umpteenth time how much longer this would go on for.

Surely there wasn’t much else to be said. The tale of the Cloud Curse had been retold, about when the gods cursed the world to be covered in clouds, leaving only mountaintop islands peopled by desperate survivors who struggled to stay alive. Then came the tale of the miryhls, when Maegla assisted clever dragons in creating a new breed of giant eagles, strong enough to carry people on their backs. The emergence of the other flying beasts was glossed over, since the goddess had played no part in that. Instead, after a song about miryhls, the High Tempest had turned his attention to what Maegla did next: taking the miryhls and forming the Rift Riders.

There had been more songs before the mood turned sombre. The fall of Aquila had been retold, a lament for the lost had moved many of the crowd to tears, Riders included, then came some rousing speeches about the battles already fought and those yet to come. The recent skirmish over Nimbys had been recapped in loving detail, with the names of the fallen read out, the wounded recognised and the victorious officers praised.

Which led them to the most recent prayer. Mhysra stifled a yawn as the sun finally drifted behind the spire, leaving her part of the square in blissful, bitter shadow.

Do you think he’s ever going to mention the dragons? her friend Corin murmured beside her. I know they can be bloody annoying, but you can’t deny they’re the only reason we won.

Mhysra’s lips twisted in wry acknowledgement.

Dragons were annoying, especially two of the three she and her friends had brought back from the Cleansed Lands, having accidentally entered the hidden dragon territories the previous year. It hadn’t been planned and she wasn’t certain how it would all turn out in the end, but in the case of the battle of Nimbys, it was undeniable that without their assistance the city would have been lost. Since then, more and more Riders had poured into Nimbys, meaning they could easily hold it now, but less than a month ago they’d been outnumbered and taken by surprise.

That wouldn’t happen again. The Riders were alert and prepared now and had more confidence in their ability to beat their enemy than they’d had in years. Especially with the support of dragons behind them. The powerful roar of Reglian kin Thunderwing Clan Skystorm and the ferocious lightning of Rhiddyl kin Tempestfury Clan Skystorm were weapons no army could resist. Coupled with the control and strength of Elder Goryal Clan Starshine, and even three dragons could make all the difference in the upcoming war to regain Aquila from pirate and kaz-naghkt hands.

Except they didn’t have only three dragons, technically they had five. Mhysra’s visit to the hidden Cleansed Lands hadn’t been entirely accidental, and Corin and Jaymes had come back with little dragons of their own. Although Mhysra wasn’t sure if Skybreeze and Emberbright counted as full dragons, being less than a year old and of a different subspecies. Still, her friends’ strange young partners might yet prove every bit as important to their future victory as Reglian and Rhiddyl.

Mhysra’s memory of the Battle of Nimbys, when a flock of kaz-naghkt had burst into flames, still awed her. But the sight of Jaymes’ horrifying injuries afterwards made her uneasy about what else the dragonets might be capable of. For now Emberbright, like Jaymes, was in a deep healing sleep, but Mhysra knew she would wake up one day. She only hoped the kaz-naghkt were close by when she did.

Thinking of the dragonets, Mhysra cast a sideways glance at Corin, whose own little partner was keeping Emberbright company, and wondered what Skybreeze might accomplish once his airborne powers grew in. Which was a mildly terrifying thought. Mhysra didn’t know who to pity more, their enemies or themselves.

Still, for those not quite as close to the dragons as Mhysra and her friends, confidence in their future success was high. Many Riders were agitating to leave at once, today, tomorrow, yesterday if it had been possible. But while Riders and miryhls were pouring into Nimbys in ever-greater numbers each day, the logistics of getting them all from western Imercian to Aquila, an island in the middle of the Overworld, surrounded by days and days of empty Cloud Sea, was proving somewhat tricky to organise.

Of course he’s not going to mention the dragons, Derrain, Mhysra’s best friend, chuckled. "Maegla can’t be blamed, er, I mean praised for them."

Mhysra and Corin stifled their giggles as another friend, Dhori, shook his head. Not this time, anyway.

Catching Corin’s eye, Mhysra rolled her own and they both snickered, making fun of Dhori’s perpetual need to make cryptic comments regarding the goddess. Of late Mhysra had formed some unusual suspicions about the tall student who knew so much and gave so little away. Especially regarding his parentage. The sort of thoughts she might once have considered ludicrous or awe-inspiring. However, after the last few years, she was no longer surprised by anything. It didn’t matter where Dhori came from, how old he truly was or if his parents were extraordinary, he was her friend and a man she would trust at her back through any danger.

That, in her opinion, was the real reason to stand here today, shivering in the shadows, praising Maegla’s name. Not for the victory that truly belonged to the dragons, nor for the miryhls, although Mhysra was exceedingly grateful that they existed, but for the Rift Riders themselves.

Without them she would never have met Dhori or Corin, nor poor, injured Jaymes, nor Lieutenants Lyrai, Stirla or Honra, nor Captain Myran or any of the other Riders she had come to know. Some of them had been lost at Aquila, and she mourned them deeply, but she was so very grateful for all the other Riders spread out across the Overworld, the ones she knew and the ones she might never meet, who were gathering together right now, making plans and preparations, mustering their courage, preparing for the fight ahead. More than anything Mhysra thanked Maegla for the friendship and family the Riders represented.

That was a gift beyond any price.

Filled with a rush of affection, Mhysra looked up the shadowy spire and smiled. Then grinned when she realised the silhouette had grown into the shape of a young storm dragon and a handful of miryhls. No doubt two more dragons in their human forms were up there too, listening to the proceedings below and wondering why they were all wasting so much time standing around in the cold.

Nudging Corin and Derrain, she nodded towards the cathedral roof and chuckled with her friends. All thoughts of uncomfortable uniforms and fidgeting were forgotten as the High Tempest stepped down and the choir raised their voices in another beautiful song.

SWEET MAEGLA, WOULD this morning ever end? Lyrai raised his eyes to the bright blue sky, wishing he could be anywhere but where he currently was. Even if it was just one row back and a few places to the left. Rising at dawn to spend all morning standing in the shadow of Maegla’s cathedral had been bad enough, even if he was fond of the High Tempest and quite enjoyed some of the hymns. What was really making Lyrai miserable, though, was the company he was being forced to keep.

As a lieutenant of the Rift Riders under Captain Myran’s command, he should have been standing with Stirla, Fleik and Honra, and the captain himself. Except Lyrai wasn’t just a Rift Rider. Especially in Nimbys. No matter how much he might wish to forget it, in this city he had little hope of denying his birthright: second son of the Stratys, prince of Imercian.

Instead of lining up in the second row with the other Rider officers, he found himself front and centre, with his father the Stratys on one side and Wing Marshal Phirro on the other. Many would it a position of honour, but Lyrai’s relationship with his father was strained and he’d never met the Wing Marshal. Mostly he regarded Phirro Pheneso with an absent sort of awe, like most Riders, knowing the name and deeds of the man but never expecting to actually meet him.

Few did. The Wing Marshal was no longer a fighter and rarely mixed with ordinary Riders. Rather he was the ultimate administrator, ensuring miryhls and Riders stayed fed, clothed and armed across the Overworld, while also making sure that new recruits had schools to train at and miryhls to pair up with come the Choice. He was a warrior of words and lists, rarely venturing beyond the Flight Command fortress buried deep within the valleys of South Imercian. He decided where each Rider, lieutenant, captain, commander and general was stationed across the Overworld. He knew all their names, but few of their faces, and when it came to the Rift Riders his word was law.

Which left Lyrai standing uncomfortably between the Overworld’s highest ranked Rift Rider and its most powerful monarch. He was also feeling horribly conspicuous, in a garish scarlet coat that did little to keep out the cold, and impractical white breeches that might as well have been painted on for all the warmth they gave him.

Nor were the two men the only illustrious company he was keeping. On his father’s far side, two princesses of Havia were wrapped up against the chill. Technically, Demolie was a princess of Imercian now, married to Lyrai’s older brother as she was, while exactly what Princess Neryth’s status was at the moment was anyone’s guess. After travelling across half the Overworld with Stirla as an unofficial Rider-in-training, she was here without an official role and certainly not her father’s permission. King Heryff was not well-known for his love of Riders or his indulgence towards his children.

Thoughts of the princesses made Lyrai wonder, not for the first time, where his brother was and why he hadn’t joined them this morning. Henryn had always preferred going to bed at dawn rather than rising with it, but marriage had been expected to settle the Stratys’ heir’s wilder side down, preparing him for the day when he would take up his father’s rule. Except Henryn wasn’t here and Demolie didn’t look the least bit pregnant, despite the pair having been married for over two years. Which might explain why his father kept summoning Lyrai to the palace.

He had been reluctantly obeying one such order when the kaz-naghkt had attacked, and had been successfully dodging the follow-ups ever since. Until today, when he had no choice but to stand by his father’s side, with little hope of escape once the drawn-out ceremony was finally over. Not that Lyrai believed this whole kafuffle had been created purely for the Stratys to pin his elusive second-son down, but at the same time, Lyrai wouldn’t put it past him.

Beyond the Havian princesses were his own sisters, although his mother, like Henryn, was noticeably absent. Lyrai frowned, hoping all was well. It had been a long time since he’d been in a place to receive a letter from her and even longer since they’d spoken.

Worried, he turned his thoughts to his other side and the figures lined up beyond the Wing Marshal’s wiry form. Two generals, Keipen of the South and Jastenor of the East, along with four commanders. Behind them stretched several lines of captains, twenty in all with four lieutenants each, followed by the regular Rift Riders in their flurries beneath their sergeants’ eyes. Finally, bringing up the rear – although to Lyrai’s mind, many of them deserved to be in higher places of honour – came the students. Barely forty had survived the fall of Aquila. They were now surrounded by the newest recruits, some of whom hadn’t even been paired with their miryhls yet, they were so new.

All were here because of Aquila, ready and raring to fight to reclaim their home from the monstrous kaz-naghkt. Yet amongst the thousands of men, and handful of young women, barely a hundred truly knew what they would face.

Lyrai knew, as did Captain Myran and his other lieutenants. The older students definitely knew, since they’d been trapped in the citadel, with few skills to fight off the invasion. The mixed core of regular Riders, from three different captains, had fought so hard and bravely to defend the citadel, its students and the town below, and had paid the highest price of all. Only those few survivors truly understood what had become of their home. They alone knew how much it would cost to win it back, but they were ready.

Lyrai was ready.

Which was why it chafed so badly to stand around in the cold and the shadow, listening to empty words trying to turn death, desperation and defeat into bravery and glory, all the while knowing that there were plans still to be made, transport to be secured and weapons to prepare. Instead of standing there, dressed up on display for the whole city, Lyrai would far rather be out training students or even filling in forms. He didn’t need to stand around singing Maegla’s praises, not when Her favoured Rift Riders remained homeless and adrift. Surely the best way of giving thanks to the goddess would be to win Aquila back and return Her Riders to their rightful place in the world.

But this moment wasn’t about praise or glory, it wasn’t even about the Riders or the city, or gratitude or commemoration. It was politics, pure and simple. Uniting the powerful Stratys with the glorious Rift Riders. Not just through the presence of the Wing Marshal, but by the evidence of the son at his side, a prince and a Rider, a true hero of Imercian.

Lyrai hated it. He hated the pomp and ceremony, the unnecessary waste of time, the empty promises and foolish ideology. It was all so fake and false. Give him the wild wind and a miryhl’s wings any day of the moon over this nonsense.

A chair might also be nice, since his legs were starting to ache and these boots had not been designed for comfortably standing around in. He had no idea how the High Tempest or the Wing Marshal were coping, since both men were long past their sixtieth birthdays, and far less active than Lyrai. But just as Lyrai was a symbol of the unity between Nimbys and the Riders, the Marshal was a living embodiment of the Riders’ strength. He could not be seen to be weak, so he could not be seen to be sitting while everyone else stood. What the High Tempest’s reasons for remaining so long on his feet were, Lyrai couldn’t tell. He only wished the old man would hurry up and stop talking.

All souls gathered together here today, let us pray!

Lyrai stifled a sigh as he bowed his head along with everyone else crammed into the chilly square, mouthing the words that followed by rote.

All Gods, Lords and Ladies of Life and Creation, to Thee we gladly pray. Thanks we give to Thy glory, honour we bring in Thy name. Life You have given us, faith we return. Sustenance You provide us, praises we sing. Hope in the darkness, light in the spring, we honour Your great gifts and live in Your name. All Gods we thank and may All Gods blessings fall upon us. Our life in Your hands. So let it be.

As the last echo faded from the square, a soft hush followed as everyone exhaled in blessed relief. It was over. Finally.

All Gods be thanked indeed.

Go forth in good health, my friends, the High Tempest called, beaming as he looked out over the congregation. And glory to the Riders!

Glory to the Riders! many of the crowd cheered, though Lyrai and his companions were not among them.

Glory, a dry voice with a thick Sutheralli accent muttered. I’d prefer a victory and a few years of peace and quiet.

Lyrai’s lips quirked at the marshal’s low words, but wasn’t sure whether or not he was supposed to have heard. The blank expression on the old man’s face gave nothing away when he studied Lyrai with whisky-brown eyes.

Unsure if he should say something, Lyrai started to salute, only to be dragged off balance as a firm hand clamped around his arm.

A word, Lyrai, the Stratys commanded in his smooth voice, one that had the power to entrance a room of courtiers, but had always sent shivers down Lyrai’s spine. If you can fit me into your busy schedule.

Lyrai turned and met ice blue eyes with his own cold stare. They were of a height, and had been for years, but they had never been equal. Nor were they now. However, caught at the front of a crowd eager for another glimpse of their illustrious ruler, wasn’t the place to kick up a fuss about it.

So Lyrai bowed his head in acquiescence. My time is yours, sire.

He expected a sneer or a scoff, since that was how their conversations usually unfolded, but his father simply nodded, turned and strode up the steps into the cathedral. Come then, lieutenant, it is long past time we spoke.

Lyrai’s footsteps faltered upon hearing the title so long ignored, overlooked and belittled by his father, and a chill ran through him. He paused and looked back over the crowded square, noticing anew the family members who were missing, and remembering the strange deference that had been shown to him when he’d last visited the palace. His eyes landed on Princess Demolie, standing tall and remote beside her sister, her beautiful face etched with strain. He saw the way his own sisters clustered up close, whispering together, as guards and attendants came to usher them safely away.

Not one of them looked at him, not one of them acknowledged his presence, but the way they pointedly averted their eyes was just as telling.

He hesitated, catching Stirla’s eye in the crowd and seeing the worry on his best friend’s face. It wasn’t too late to run. It would be easy to dash back down the steps and melt into the crowd. Even in this red coat he could blend in amongst the other officers and become a simple Rider again. Another face in the crowd. Anonymous. Unimportant.

Lieutenant? A hand pressed against his arm again, but this one was smaller and hard enough only to draw his attention.

Lyrai looked into the kindly face of the High Tempest, the man who had overseen many of his childhood lessons and had supported him against his father in his bid to join to Riders. The man who had been present for both of Lyrai’s miryhl bonding ceremonies, first when he united disastrously with Froth, and again when he and Hurricane became partners in the eyes of the goddess. This priest knew him better than his own father, better than any member of his family, even his mother.

So Lyrai waited at the touch on his arm, stilling the urge to run.

The High Tempest nodded towards the great doors that led inside the cathedral. In you go, he said gently, yet leaving no room for argument. The sooner it’s all said, the sooner you can move on.

Not feeling reassured in the slightest, Lyrai looked up, surprised to find that the Stratys had stopped to wait for him. There would be no escape now.

Casting a last glance over his shoulder and shaking his head at where Stirla was pushing through the crowds towards him, he nodded at the priest. My thanks, Excellency.

The old man’s smile was sad as he touched two chilled fingers to Lyrai’s forehead and tapping them briefly over his heart. May Maegla bless you and keep you, lieutenant.

My life in Her hands, he finished the traditional blessing and bowed his head, knowing the High Tempest was right.

Whatever the Stratys had to say clearly wasn’t going to be pleasant for either of them. Still, the sooner it was said, the sooner they could all move on. Shaking off the fresh chill that ran along his spine, Lyrai strode up the steps to join his father.

Chapter Two

Revealing Reunions

STIRLA BROKE FREE of the crowd just as the cathedral doors closed and two imperial guards took up their positions in front of them.

Probably for the best, Princess Neryth said. Lyrai and his father need to talk.

Stirla couldn’t hold back a snort. Over the many years he’d known Lyrai, he’d seen the aftermath of such talks a handful of times and none of them had been pretty.

The Stratys might need to talk to Lyrai, but I can promise you, Lyrai does not need to talk to him. However, since there was little he could do to help his friend now, Stirla turned away with a sigh.

Neryth was not alone. Sister, allow me to present Lieutenant Stirla of the Rift Riders, who was kind enough to escort me across the Overworld.

It was all Stirla could do to hold back another snort. Kind implied that he’d had some choice in the matter, when in truth Neryth had inserted herself into Stirla’s life and refused to leave until she’d achieve what she wanted – Rift Rider training without any of the risk. Escort also implied a manner of comfort and luxury on a scrabbling trip that had been as much about surviving the Heighlen winter as reaching their intended destination. Fortunately, years of tedious etiquette lessons prevented any of that from showing as he bowed politely to Neryth’s sister, Princess Demolie, Crown Princess of Imercian and Lyrai’s sister-by-marriage.

At your service, Highness. He pressed a hand against his heart and clicked his heels in the western manner. Demolie might be living in the east now, but she would always be Havian.

The tall woman gave him a wan smile and offered a cold hand. It is a pleasure to meet you, lieutenant. My sister has told me much about your joint adventures. I confess it all sounds rather exciting. The words were everything that was correct and polite, but her tone lacked enthusiasm and her eyes were already wandering.

Stirla might have taken it as an insult, except the princess didn’t look well, especially when stood beside her sister. Although clearly still the prettier of the two, Demolie’s skin looked dull and dry beside Neryth’s glowing vitality. There were bags beneath her dark eyes and pinched lines around her mouth. All was clearly not well with the princess and the way her eyes strayed towards the closed cathedral doors implied it stemmed from her marriage. Or at least the family that she had married into.

Stirla restrained the urge to turn and look for himself, wishing he knew what all of this was about so that he could help his friend. Lyrai, like the rest of the Aquila survivors, had been through too much this past year to have to deal with family drama on top of it all. He was still on the injured list, for Maegla’s sake. Couldn’t the Stratys show some compassion?

Knowing full well the answer to that, Stirla balled his fists in frustration and looked at the dispersing crowd. Most were leaving to get on with their days, but a small group pressed forward, hoping to get a better look at the princesses.

Squaring his shoulders, Stirla shifted to form a protective barrier in front of Demolie and Neryth. Not that the latter needed his help; she was fully capable of defending herself. Stirla should know; he’d taught her himself.

Oh, look, the carriages are here, Neryth announced, with a forced cheer that was completely out of character.

Stirla’s incredulous look was met with a grimace as the princess took her sister’s arm and steered her towards where Lyrai’s sisters were being bundled away by the imperial guard.

Come along, Demi, time to go.

Her sister didn’t reply, simply lowered her head and went meekly wherever Neryth guided. It was only as she walked away that Stirla registered her