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Shayne Lyro and How it All Began in the House of Lyro

Shayne and Panola were enemies. In some ways, it was because they were natural opposites. Panola aimed to make the biggest ruckus of any Lyro whenever she could, always causing trouble, always laughing at inappropriate moments—including once during a political debate at the Silver Senate Tower. And Shayne was a more mischievous childling. He kept his ruckus quiet and secret. He never let on that he was the one behind the things he did. It was funnier that way, even if he did wish he could be loud sometimes like her.

At least, that was how it all was in the beginning.

Fairy nobles labelled Panola easily. “That female,” they’d say, “is the Lyro troublemaker. What a commotion she makes everywhere she goes. If only someone taught her how to be quiet.”

Little did they know that half the mischief Panola was accused of was really Shayne’s doing as he giggled from the side and watched the drama unfold. Panola always took the blame. It seemed she didn’t care. That defending herself was more work than her breath was worth. It wasn’t a sport, exactly, but there was certainly competition involved when she would retaliate against Shayne later. And it wasn’t that fun to compete, either—it was just something to do.

But on a crisp, sunny morning of their pre-teen years, Shayne came out of the maze in the House and overheard Panola arguing with Kahn-Der in the dining room, and everything that was once fun became infected by the same virus Kahn-Der infected everything with.

“You’re an embarrassment, Panola. You must learn how to hold your tongue, or you’ll lose it!” Kahn-Der scolded.

Shayne remained by the doors, watching through a slender crack as Panola threw her head back and laughed. “You think I’m an embarrassment? What about you, Brother? What about how Father has passed over you and means to hand the title of heir to one of us instead?”

The look that came over Kahn-Der’s face was priceless. However, Shayne was too busy hosting his own startlement to revel in it. It was the first he’d heard anything about his father’s selection. The first he had even an inkling that he or one of his siblings might be forced to step over Kahn-Der to take a High Lord’s seat.

Shayne certainly wouldn’t do it. Kahn-Der could have the title. Shayne would tell their father that if he was asked.

But Kahn-Der smiled at Panola crookedly. His icy eyes narrowed. “You don’t really think he’d choose you , do you?” He stepped in a little.

Panola grunted. “Why would he choose me? I make noise, Brother. I throw fits and bring trouble wherever I go. I’ve worked very hard to ensure that I do not ever become the heir. But he won’t choose you either. You’re reckless and murderous, and I’m loud and embarrassing.” She folded her thin arms. “And father would never hand over the chair to Jethwire who gambles away everything he owns, or Massie who’s so terribly warped and cruel and tortures any living thing he comes across for fun.” She laughed. “Don’t you see, Brother? He’ll choose Shayne. Shayne is the only Lyro with a sound mind. At least, that’s what I’ve made sure Father thinks.”

Shayne drifted back from the doors. He slowly lifted a hand and pressed it over his lips as those words sank in. This had to be a rumour; Hans-Der couldn’t possibly pass over Kahn-Der and choose an alternative heir. Kahn-Der was the oldest. Kahn-Der was the most menacing. Kahn-Der always got what he wanted.

“You’re lying,” Kahn-Der said from the dining room. “Father is planning no such thing.” But his voice wavered, a spool of anger unravelling as he seemed to think it through.

Panola smiled, her curling pink lips assuring Kahn-Der that she already knew this for certain, that she had perhaps come by the information to confirm it. “He will announce it tomorrow. And I will watch how you take the news from my seat.” Her grin widened.

Kahn-Der bit his lower lip, his flesh tight over his body. Then he said, “I’ll kill you for even suggesting such a thing if you’re making this up.”

Panola grunted. Then she turned, and to the whole House, she shouted, “Let’s die together then! Tonight!” The invitation echoed down the hallways, making lesser fairies turn and bringing Massie out of his bedroom far down the hall. Shayne was sure there wasn’t a single soul in the House who hadn’t heard.

Panola leaned in toward Kahn-Der and added in a whisper, “If you really think I’m making this up.”

The two stared at each other—crystal blue eyes and solemn faces. Until Panola smiled. And that gloating little reaction cost her.

Kahn-Der grabbed her by her Lyro coat.

Shayne burst into the room. “What are you doing?” he demanded as Kahn-Der dragged Panola across the dining room. Panola only laughed.

“Don’t stop him, Brother!” she called to Shayne. “He doesn’t have what it takes to be an heir, and he doesn’t have what it takes to destroy me, either.” She was yanked into the side entrance stairwell that led up to the pagoda roof.

Shayne decided to let them go. He shook his head as the sounds of her laughter echoed down the stairs. He turned to head back to his room, grabbing a handful of squish fruits on his way. He shoved them into his mouth and chewed them the whole walk back through the maze.

Panola was just trying to rile Kahn-Der up. Shayne had never been more sure of anything. He decided not to be worried about his sister’s claims—about the idea that their father would hand the role of heir to Shayne.

That was, until the next morning when Shayne learned Panola was dead.

Word spread through the House, making the lesser fairy servants stir and putting the hunter fairies on edge. Hans-Der stormed through the spaces, a menacing sight for all to behold. Fairies were questioned; investigators searched rooms. Shayne stayed back and watched as his room was torn apart by hired officials in blue robes.

A trial was held. Hans-Der placed every suspect into a line before his High Lords’ seat. Shayne was among them. So was Kahn-Der, Jethwire, and Massie.

Shayne peered over at Massie. The youngest Lyro appeared far too delighted at the sight of all the chaos. Jethwire, too, had reasons to hate Panola. She’d recently ousted him for betting with other young lords and collecting rare, magical items, some of which were banned in the North Corner of Ever.

But though Panola had shouted through the House, only Shayne had seen what had happened the day before. And as Kahn-Der leaned forward and glanced down the line, he locked gazes with Shayne. The oldest Lyro brother’s icy eyes held a reminder. It was of Panola’s voice, saying, “Let’s die together then. Tonight.”

Shayne had stayed quiet throughout the trial. He had not given his testimony. He did not point Kahn-Der’s way. He wondered all the while if their father suspected Kahn-Der anyway.

Because the next day, Hans-Der sent an announcement through the House on crimson parchment. It arrived at Shayne’s door in the hand of a lesser fairy. The scroll read:

THE HEIR HAS BEEN SELECTED.

SHAYNE LYRO SHALL INHERIT THE HIGHEST CHAIR IN THE HOUSE.

That marked the day Shayne made a very important discovery.

Panola had never truly been naturally loud or crazy or insolent. She’d been brilliant.

Even as a childling she’d set herself up to avoid the one thing she didn’t want. She made sure she’d be free of the chair and the chains that came with it. Panola Lyro would have gotten away with it, too, if she’d just kept her mouth shut one more week.

Shayne dropped his crimson notice in disbelief.

It wasn’t too late. He was still young. Eight years was a long time, time enough to convince every watching eye that he was not the quiet, calculated being they knew him to be. It was more than enough time to walk the halls of the House without composure. To shout, and meddle, and attack, and toss tables. And laugh…

Oh, how Shayne wanted to laugh. To be free, like Panola. To be loud, just like her.

“Well done, Sister,” he whispered into his dark, ripped-apart bedroom.

And he laughed.

He laughed until his stomach hurt. And then he laughed some more.

The sound of his laughter lifted across his room, through the hall of the maze, filled every nook of the ballroom and the dining room and the basement and the balconies, making heads turn and servants go still.

Perhaps it was because they thought they heard a ghost.