I kept my eyes on Ezarit and the traders while I mulled Nat’s mad plan. “You’d have to challenge the Spire to ask your question, Nat. Like Ezarit did. Can’t trade secrets.”
“Maybe not, unless the secret is big enough. Tobiat sure made it sound so, though he can’t remember everything.”
I shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. Had Tobiat drawn Nat into his madness? Nat had followed readily, filling the space where his pride had been.
“I want to go during Allmoons,” Nat added.
“Allmoons? Against Laws? What could possibly go wrong, then? You can’t mean to fly at night?” I asked and threw my arms in the air. Nat’s frown deepened at my tone, but I continued. “Why don’t you ask a Singer when they come to deliver the wingmarks?”
His face clouded darker.
He was talking about going to the Spire. Not for a market. Not to trade. To find a way to make the Singers give up a secret. Which the Singers were sworn not to do.
I shivered as I thought about Singer Wik’s fiat. No, they did not surrender their secrets lightly.
The hurt in Nat’s eyes took the fire out of me. He had a half year of waiting, of scrambling to get by, before he could make his path in the world. Because the Magisters had switched for Group and he’d been paired with Sidra and Dix.
“Come on, Kirit. It’ll be like old times.”
It could have been me with broken wings. But it wasn’t.
“I need to think about it, Nat,” I said. I didn’t meet his eyes. I looked across the balcony, to where Ezarit stood at the center of a crowd of bettors and traders. She turned to look for me too. Beckoned. I went to her.
* * *
Only five wingfighters remained aloft; the rest were in the nets. Macal flew for Mondarath against four Viit fliers. Viit observers were already counting the goods they’d take from Mondarath at the loss. Mondarath bettors shouted at the five men and women gliding in tight circles between the towers. The fliers were cut and bloodied, but still better off than their companions in the nets. Aliati among them, a sharp cut down her arm. She shouted encouragement to her sole teammate: Macal wasn’t giving up.
One Viit flier’s wing tore on the sharp edge of Magister Macal’s pinion.
Ezarit shouted at another bet won. She was in her element.
I pulled a marker from my new purse and held it aloft to see if I could catch a bettor’s eye. “One, on that Mondarath,” I said, imitating Ezarit. A bearded man took the chip from my fingers. Aliati’s team. Macal’s. The trader’s laugh boomed when a Viit flier knocked Macal hard, nearly into the net.
“You’ll learn,” he said. “You bet early, before they tire.” He clapped his hand against my furled wings, rattling the battens. I backed away. Moved closer to Ezarit. Watched Macal continuing to fight out of the corner of my eye.
When the match had only one Viit flier left aloft against Macal, she put a hand on my shoulder and pulled me into the group. “My daughter, Kirit,” she said, introducing me to the men and women with whom she’d been betting.
They wore their tower marks around their necks and in their hair. Not the fashion in our quadrant, where we kept them in purses in pockets. The one who’d taken my marker a moment ago extended his hand, “Doran Grigrit. My wife,” he gestured to the trader by his side, “Inaro.” She inclined her head, and I made a small bow to them. In my mind, I pictured the tower map I’d assembled earlier that day. Southwestern quadrant, where Ezarit went for honey. Far from here indeed.
“I have arranged,” my mother said, “a most fortuitous apprenticeship for you, Kirit.”
I heard her words, but there was something strange about them. That wasn’t how you announced your own apprentice. She seemed to be speaking through the long end of a bone horn, her words distant and warped. She kept going, but my mind had stopped listening.
Not partners, then. Not a team.
A roaring sound rose in my ears. One of my mother’s best trading skills was the bait and switch. And I realized too late that I might be the bait.
I forced myself to listen to the terms: “…’s daughter will apprentice with me, and you will work with the Grigrit fliers. You’ll learn much more than I could ever teach you.”
There was more roaring. She looked at me, held my gaze. She expected me to compose myself, to seem pleased. While she sent me away.
She’d made this arrangement while she was on her trading run. She hadn’t told me when we were alone. She hadn’t wanted an argument.
The horns blew for the end of the wingfight. Viit had won, but Macal had made it a close thing. Each tower bound the wounds of the opposing teams’ players, even as the winning tower began to plan how to transport the tithes it would take from the losers.
All around me, tower markers changed hands, bets were paid, and treasures pulled from robes. The tower was rich with trades. Something about Mondarath made people less cautious. My mother laughed, and the beads in her hair sparkled.
My new wings felt heavy on my shoulders. I tugged at the lenses around my neck, wishing I could take them off and hand them back. Instead, I smiled as she’d taught me. Don’t show disappointment; that gives the other trader an edge.
And behind my smile, locked tight, my voice keened silent and broken. Yoked to an apprenticeship I had no say in. Sent away without warning.
Doran continued talking, oblivious. “Just like fledges. Feed ’em, flip the nest when they’re prepared. Mine know they’re ready.”
“Kirit is a hard worker,” Ezarit said, proud of her trade. I wondered what she got in return besides Doran’s daughter, but I refused to let it show. I locked my smile and pretended to listen, though much of what I heard was the roaring in my ears. “She’s done very well in flight.”
He turned to me. “Good! We’ll teach you the rest.”
I already knew plenty. I’d been watching the best trader in the city. But this was not enough. I prepared my objections, but Doran turned his attention to the group again.
“Tower children don’t know half what they should until they apprentice. We’ll make sure she learns the right way to trade. And the traditions. My father’s still alive. His songs about when we came out of the clouds, and before, they’ll make your skin crawl.” Doran’s eyes lit up at the thought of it. And he was right; my skin was crawling already.
Ezarit still played dealmaker. “Doran has the best trade routes in the south.” She jutted her chin, and I saw his quilts were richly embroidered. He was very wealthy, then. “We will make them welcome at Densira tonight, and you will leave tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. I stared at her, and she rumpled my hair. “We’ll meet in the sky,” she said. “Traders are never far. And I know you’ll be safe with Doran.” For a moment, her face grew serious, and her eyes begged me to agree. Then she became lighthearted again. I did not know what to think.
Doran laughed and reached for a wineskin that was being passed around. He took a pull and pointed outside with his free hand. “Ah, Singers!”
I blanched, then remembered these Singers bore wingmarks. Smiled.
Too late, for Doran saw my look. “You’ll learn respect for Singers too, Kirit. I’ll have no Lawsbreaking in my tower. Singers saved us. They kept us from fighting to death in the clouds. They found the few left alive, taught them Laws. They learned how to raise the towers faster. On their wings, we rose.” Doran actually wiped a tear from his eye, and I nodded, even as I edged backwards.
For all my studies, I hadn’t realized how different the south was, how traditional. And Ezarit had traded me there, like a weight of tea wrapped in silk.
The Singers landed, with Councilman Vant right behind. I moved away from Doran and the bettors, towards the gathering wingtesters. One last look at Ezarit, her face relaxed now that she’d done her duty and found me an apprenticeship.