Wik made one last attempt. “Sellis should be the one to meet the tower challenger. She has been training longer.”
Rumul silenced him, holding up a single finger. “She and one more novitiate will challenge on the same day.”
In the quiet, I spoke again. This time with force behind each word. “I am ready.”
Challengers would receive several days to try to learn the Gyre, though no Singer would help them. I could practice, ask Wik and Sellis to help me.
Rumul smiled. “Then you will defend the city from this challenge. Succeed and you will become a Singer.” He did not need to say again what would happen if I failed.
Around us, an invisible weight shifted and rustled, waking.
Rumul took my arm and led me from the pens with Wik following.
As we emerged in the windbeaters’ tier, Rumul spoke again. “You will defend the city against your challenger today, Kirit Spire. Prepare yourself.”
19. NADIR
High on the council tier, as the sun brightened the Spire, Singers dressed me in a white robe. They tightened my wingstraps and whispered encouragements. They poured me chicory.
I had been allowed several hours’ rest. It had not been nearly enough.
“Be fast,” said the older, brass-haired woman. Viridi’s sister. “Don’t forget to look behind you. Above and below too.”
I wished I had my father’s lenses, with their reflective mirror. I couldn’t find them in the morning when I’d rushed back to my alcove, and couldn’t remember where I’d seen them last.
When they finished preparing me, Wik bent low and whispered in my ear, “Be careful.”
I turned, eyebrows raised. He doubted me still?
“This challenge comes sudden. That is not tradition. You should have much more training. And days to practice. Choose the weapon you know the best. Be careful.” He stepped away. Only for a moment did I feel his hand on mine, when he pulled it from me.
“The challenger has chosen the bow as his weapon,” said a young woman at my side. Her brown eyes were hemmed with silver tattoos against her olive skin.
She cleared her throat, pulling my focus to the workbench glittering with sharp edges. Glass knives with bone hilts. Bone blades. Spears. Hooks.
I pointed, making my decision.
The young woman had sun chancres across her dark face. She did not smile as she handed me my weapons of choice: knives. The worn bone hilts had comfortable grips wrapped in sticky raw spidersilk. The blades were new: each a glass tooth so sharp it nearly hummed.
Rumul watched from the edge of the council’s balcony, Wik beside him. Sellis was nowhere to be seen.
Moc pulled on my sleeve, suddenly beside me. “The windbeaters will help you. Look for strong gusts in the Gyre.”
I looked down at him while the Singer strapped the triple sheath to my arm. “What did you give them?”
He looked worried. “You need help, Kirit. You’re still learning. I had to give them your lenses. You haven’t been using them much.”
“My lenses! Moc—”
But the Singer securing my robes at the ankles hushed me. “The challenged should reflect in silence. It is tradition.”
She finished binding my robes, and I walked quickly to Rumul and Wik. I let my wings unfurl, shimmering in the daylight. My footsling dragged behind me, making a skittering sound on the tier floor. Other Singers gave me a wide berth.
Rumul held out a hand towards me, then gestured to the Gyre.
“Your birthright, Kirit. You’ve proven that.”
Rumul’s words shredded the doubt Wik’s worries had laid down. I could do this.
Below us, a white-robed challenger waited. I couldn’t see them on the downtower balconies, but I knew that they must be close, if not already in the Gyre.
“The challenger has demanded answers we cannot give. They have threatened to rouse the towers against the Spire. Worse”—Rumul paused and stared at me—“they’ve broken Laws in the past. You will stop them, for the city’s sake.”
Behind us, Singers stood together, a wall of gray. “You must not fail.”
Far below, the windbeaters readied their giant wings, their rot gas. The vents opened, and the Gyre gust swirled up until it reached me. I leapt into the maelstrom.
* * *
Singers watched from the galleries as I swept around the Gyre, seeking my prey. The challenger who had come so far and dared too much. The one who did not understand what Singers were willing to sacrifice.
I locked my wings in position and took a knife from its sheath on my arm. The wind kept pace with every move I made, lifting me as I circled. The galleries rustled with whispers as I glimpsed a flash of white from the corner of my eye. The challenger, behind me. They must have clung to the wall below the council balcony until I leapt, then followed me out.
Sneaky. Just as some claimed the Lawsbreaker would be. Just like the Lawsbreaker I had been. I could do a service for the Singers, ending this danger to the city. Prove myself. As soon as I got the challenger off my tail.
An arrow arced wide past me, then clattered against the Gyre wall. Their aim was off. The enclosed space and strange winds gave me an advantage. Still, I swallowed hard and tightened my grip. Hurry, Kirit.
The windbeaters’ drums quickened, and I heard the wind whistle through the galleries. There was a drop coming.
Another arrow seared far too close, the fletching scraping my ear. The bone point missed its mark, but I was windbit already from the Gyre’s howl. The brush of the weapon stung my skin.
By arching my back, I angled my wingtips and slowed my glide. The challenger hurtled over me, into my wind shadow. I angled away as the challenger dropped like garbage, spinning out of control.
As they fought to find a stronger gust, I moved in above. Looked for the best place to slash the challenger’s wings. To end this quickly. To succeed and gain my birthright.
I raised the knife. It glittered from the sun and spun as it split the air.
The challenger turned fast. Shadow and wing, strong arms bent hard to the elbow hooks. Fingers wrapped tight around a bow.
We nearly collided.
Dark curls. Angry eyes.
I spun away at the last minute. Knowing the Gyre helped keep me from dropping us both into the pits.
But it was far too late. I’d seen his face. Knew the shape of it from just one glance.
Black hair; those eyes. His earnest look turned gaunt and scarred.
Nat lived.
He had challenged the Singers? He’d threatened the city?
I searched for a gust to take me higher so I could think. Not him. Not this. I found none. The windbeaters stirred the gusts to drive us together again.
Wing against shadow. Arrow against knife. Untried Singer against her challenger. Me to my best friend. Kirit to Nat.
My fight dissolved, crippled by relief at seeing Nat alive. But he, righted now, and flying fast, nocked another arrow.
Perhaps he hadn’t realized who he fought. He wouldn’t shoot, would he?
I banked fast, trying to reach him. Sheathed my knife. The galleries groaned in protest.
Nat’s wings dipped and wobbled. He didn’t know how to fly the Gyre. He was tiring fast as well. But he held his bow horizontal. Drew back the arrow. He looked up to aim as we circled.
When his eyes met mine, his hand wavered. I saw his mouth start to form my name. Then he clamped his lips shut. His fingers tightened on the bow.
Ducking my head and bending my knees slightly, I dropped fast. The arrow hummed past me, disappearing into the Gyre’s shadows.
I took hold of the wing grips and twisted into a sharp turn. The windbeaters saw my maneuver and stirred up gusts to add more force. I rocketed past Nat and circled above him again, locking my wings in fighting position.