Doran laughed heartily and clapped her on the shoulder. She had the dignity to raise an eyebrow, and he pulled his hand away.
The sun was a pale slip on the cloudtop. The Singers’ wings were tinted red with the light. The day neared Bethalial by the old Laws.
“We congratulate Viit on its win,” the Singer with the silver streak in her hair said. “We will hurry to get you to your home towers before nightfall.”
Behind us, the bantering and the post-wingfight win recapping faded as everyone turned to listen to the Singers. The members of my flight clustered forward. Nat kept to the back, in the section of the tower already fallen into shadow.
The two Singers who bore the wingmarks were the woman with the silver streak in her hair and the older man. Wik was not with them. For that, I heaved a sigh of relief.
The female Singer held the bag of wingtest markers, a thick-spun silk dyed goldenrod. I could hear the markers click together from here.
Sidra joined the press towards the Singers. I kept myself back a little, soaking up the feeling of almostness. The moment before I could hold my future in my hands stretched out — the length of a breath, held.
The wingmark would open the city to me and would free me from the Singer’s plans.
A tattooed hand dipped into the bag, then handed gold markers out. First to Beliak, then Aliati. Six more fliers tied wingmarks to shoulder straps. Ceetcee, Dikarit.
Sidra shifted her feet, impatient. She couldn’t be serious. Not after recieving partial chips in Laws and Group.
Dojha took her mark. Someone cheered in the background. The bag was nearly empty.
The Singer paused. Her mouth formed a frown, as if she was about to say something distasteful. “The reason for the late awarding of wingmarks was our need to confer with the council. Two fliers performed well in many aspects of the test, but failed in other ways.”
My heart skipped a beat. Nat. Perhaps they would let him pass after all.
The Singer continued. “A strong argument has been made in the case of one of these fliers.”
Then Sidra held a wingmark in her hands. She turned to tie it to her shoulder strap, caught my eye, and smiled.
I was baffled. How could she earn her wingmark after the disastrous Group flight, not to mention failing Laws? And arguing.
Ezarit came to stand by my side. Her hand touched my shoulder. “We do not buy our wings,” she whispered. And I understood. I waited to hear what Nat’s fate would be, knowing that Elna would never bribe the council, even if she had the means.
Ezarit’s hand rested on my arm, and I remembered what she’d just done. Doran Grigrit. I shrugged her away. First I would get my wingmark, then I would try to negotiate my own apprenticeship, without her help. And then I would help Nat.
But the bag was empty. The Singers unfurled their wings and prepared to leave. Impossible. Where was mine?
I pulled the test chips from my wing as I hurried towards them, shouting, “Wait!” There in my hands were Laws and City, Solo and Group. I’d passed them all, whole and well. I held them out.
But the Singers shook their heads. The older Singer smiled. “You are Densira? You broke the Silence. In Solo. After breaking Fortify. Your lack of tradition and discipline failed you, set a bad example for others. Try again next year.”
All around me the bettors fell silent. No one had thought to put money on that outcome. I heard Doran call for his party. They were leaving. Ezarit scrambled to slow them, to renegotiate.
Many of us had broken the Silence. Sidra especially. But her father had tipped things in her favor. And the Singers, I realized, had tipped things in theirs.
I stood, stunned, at the balcony’s edge, as the Singers leapt into the wind. Doran and his wife followed, without a backwards glance.
Behind me, I saw my mother, wan and staring. She could not fathom what had happened, her plans gone to shards around her. My luck had tainted hers. She took a step back, then another.
I looked every direction, hoping for a place to hide and sort this out. Soon, Wik would come to speak to Ezarit, and perhaps she would give me up to them instead. I had to get away, if not to hide, then to rage. Where no one in the towers could see me.
Those from Densira who’d come for the wingfights pulled their faces into careful masks when they saw me. So unlucky. They whispered warnings against my dangerous behavior to each other.
Beyond them, in the shadows, Nat watched me. Then he turned and slipped from the shade-side of the balcony into the sky. In the commotion, no one else noticed.
I slid through a break in the crowd, between figures turned to watch the departing Singers, and edged towards the empty part of the balcony. My neighbors let me go. I was unlucky again, and beneath their notice.
In one quick motion, I opened my wings and flew after Nat. A cold gust pushed me out fast. The tower shrank behind me before I realized he was headed far from the city, into the open air.
8. CROSSWIND
“I’m coming with you,” I shouted across the sky, loud against Mondarath’s fading noise.
Nat let me catch up with him. “We’ll take the crosswind in,” he replied.
We were two Lawsbreakers, flying without wingmarks, at Bethalial. Allmoons’ time of quiet. If we were caught, we would be weighed down with even heavier markers than before. But what did that matter, when we were already so burdensome to our families, to our tower?
“Where are we going?”
Nat’s feet dangled at awkward, overgrown angles from his wings’ footsling. The wings supported him, but barely. “You’ll need to let me draft on your wings for the turn,” he said. That was not an answer.
We passed the broken tower, Lith, at the northern edge of the city. The winds here were plainer, less easy to read. They were also less prone to shifts and wind shadows. Few flew the edges of the city. I knew my mother did because the winds were also faster here. But I wondered at Nat. The crosswinds picked up farther south. To catch them on this angle, we’d need to fly a long way into the open sky.
“Turning where?” I asked. I didn’t care what his answer was. We were in the open, no tower to turn to, no place to land safely.
My eyes burned from staring hard at the blue, looking for ripples, air currents, skymouths, danger.
We could turn back. The city meant safety. Still, I wanted to keep flying until we disappeared into the distance, until they lit our banners and set us free.
“Into the center,” he said. “Soon.”
For now, all we had was sky ahead and cloud below. No towers, no colorful wings. No skymouths, I hoped.
Beyond the city, the air felt much colder. We closed on the point where a crosswind usually cut in. Ezarit had said once it was the fastest route to the center, but the most dangerous. In that moment, on that day, we didn’t care.
I spotted the cloud drift that marked the windstream first, and whistled to Nat. He turned his head to sight an angle off the receding towers, then whistled back. Time to turn. I took the lead, dipping my right wing low and spreading my fingers in their harnesses to stretch the upward curve of my left wing.
I turned, a blade of fury carving the sky. Behind me, I heard the crack and flap of Nat’s wings fighting to cut the same arc. He teetered, then pulled straight and steady. We aimed for the city.
I didn’t realize I was crying until my cheeks began to crackle with the cold of the crosswind. The lenses dangled around my neck, unwanted, but necessary. I tucked my arm from my wing and yanked them up over my nose. My cap slipped as the strap dragged on it, but didn’t fall.