Sellis glared at me from beneath her eyelids as Viridi pulled me closer and held my hand before the city. I startled at the sensation: heat pulsed from the bonecut. The metal smell was stronger.
“Swear, Kirit Spire, that you will guard the city before all else, even yourself.”
I thought of the oaths I’d already sworn, the promises I’d made so far in order to keep living. Pull yourself together. I considered what I’d learned in the Spire. That there was good here. And sacrifice. Important work, not all of it pleasant. I thought of the city’s beauty, as only Singers know it. I pictured myself flying in Singer gray, helping maintain city order and peace. Helping the city. I wanted that. Still. Always.
I imagined flying the Gyre again and standing watch at Conclave, or, worse, escorting a cloudbound Lawsbreaker to his or her release. My hand froze in Viridi’s grip.
“Kirit!” Sellis said, teeth clenched. “Singers do not hesitate.”
We did not, it was true. “I so swear,” I said, emphasizing each word.
Finally, Viridi rose and bowed as Rumul and Wik joined us. She made no mention of my hesitation.
Sellis and I climbed to our feet. She stood first before Rumul so he could make the next mark: the oath tattoo on her left cheek. She looked unflinching into his eyes and waited for him to mark her Singer for all the towers to see. Tradition. We saw the evidence all around us. But Rumul held nothing in his hands. No ink. No brush.
“I advise you to sleep well,” he said. “You will be Nightwings. You have one final rite of initiation.”
Initiation.
At mention of it, Wik turned away, but not before I could see his grim smile.
We bowed to the Singers. Then we lifted our wrapped wings and carried them with us back to our alcoves.
On the way, Sellis tucked her wings under one arm and grabbed the tender spot on my elbow with fingers shaped like pincers. “I thought you were true, Kirit.”
I stared at her.
By my hand, my friend fell this day.
She screwed up her face and stepped forward, until her nose was less than a hand span from my own. “This day was supposed to be perfect, my birthright. I was pleased to share it with you.” Her words came from deep in her throat, thick and angry. “But you break traditions. You sat with the city bared before you, your greatest charge, and you barely listened. You had no respect.”
“I was listening.”
“And trying to overhear the council’s discussion too. You may have fooled Rumul and the others. You once fooled me. And now you think you are free to do as you like, but I will watch you, Kirit, every move. Until you reveal yourself a traitor again.”
She pushed me towards the ladders, gave me time to think while I descended. She followed me all the way to my tier, her eyes boring into the back of my neck. When I could tolerate it no longer, I turned on my heel and faced her.
“You saw what I did. That challenger was my oldest friend,” I said. “How could I hope to prove my loyalty beyond that?”
Her smile stretched thinner and wider as she thought over my words. “How indeed, if your loyalty is worth so little in the first place? You could not even keep silent.”
Her words were so loud that it felt as if the very Spire stopped and listened.
In the sudden quiet, she bowed her head. “I love the city, Kirit. And the Spire. All true Singers do. We respect it. I will sing with you tomorrow and honor the dead. But I will be watching too.”
I pulled my robes tighter around me. She turned to climb the ladder back to her tier, to await the next part of the ceremony.
“And your voice is still hideous,” she whispered over her shoulder as she climbed.
* * *
The sleeping alcove was heavy with the city’s heat. In my mind, Nat fell again, and I could not reach him; then I did reach him; I was sucked through the vent with him; a skymouth opened like a red flower in the air and pulled us towards its maw; Wik shook his head at my stubbornness; Sellis glared at me for lying to her, for letting her think I was something I was not. Not her sister. Not a real Singer. Thoughts swirled and fought, keeping my battle-weary body awake. Drenching me with sweat.
Beyond my alcove, the Spire whispered to me until I could no longer fight to keep my eyes open.
In the midst of my troubled sleep, a dark-cloaked Singer came for me. The Singer bundled my quilts, binding my arms and legs, then leapt into the Gyre at a run, with me in her arms.
My scream was stifled by a rough silk stuffed in my mouth. My face was crushed to the chest of the Singer who held me. We fell, the rush of air battering against us both. She fell too fast to have her wings extended.
At the last moment, she opened her wings and we jerked from the fall, into a slow, downward glide.
I smelled the foul scent of skymouth. I could barely keep from retching.
My bearer whispered to me. Her voice was soft. Her heartbeat didn’t break its careful rhythm. She hummed to the pen’s occupants and opened a small gate. I could hear what was around us, though I could not see it. Soft tentacles brushed my feet. We were above the pens.
“A Nightwing Singer is born twice,” my bearer whispered. “Your past will never return. Only the Singer will return. Make no sounds, no movements.” The skymouths stirred at her whispers, and she began her hum again.
She tied me to a bone hook with thick, woven straps. Lowered me into the pen. Left me dangling among the skymouths.
I heard another voice saying the same words and knew that Sellis hung here with me.
My mouth was still crammed with silk, so I could not scream. A tentacle brushed my arm. Something soft bumped me from behind.
I tried pushing the fabric with my tongue, but that made me gag. The skymouths in the pen reached out and touched my arms with their invisible limbs.
A thrashing sound nearby drew their attention.
Sellis.
She could send them into a frenzy. She could kill us both.
I could not scream, or shout, but I thought I could hum through my nose. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back and managed a muffled, nasal, hum.
The creatures slowed. I kept it up, though I struggled to breathe. After a moment, I heard Sellis join her hum to mine.
As the sound we made echoed in the small space of the pen, mouths closed with slick sounds. Shapes of soft bodies smaller than my wings became apparent with my echoes. I stifled a laugh. The Singers had hung us in a nursery pen. I swung on my hook as the smaller skymouths nudged at me like baby birds. Their curious arms bumped and touched and turned me about.
They made not one sound.
Time came to a stop. I had nothing beyond now; I had been nothing before now.
Then I heard a skymouth call from above. I knew those tones. Wik’s voice. The tentacles retreated. The young skymouths sank to the far reaches of the pens, pressing against one another.
The gate at the top of the pen opened, and Sellis and I, still on our hooks, were hoisted uptower.
Hands touched my back and sides; a Singer lifted me off the hook, took the cloth from my mouth. I could not stop shaking. My blanket bindings surrounded me, kept me from flying apart.
I heard Sellis gag, then start to cry.
The dark-cloaked Singer took my face in one hand and held me still. She kissed my cheeks.
“Welcome, Singer,” she said. Viridi’s voice. Her cloak slipped, and I saw the silver streak in her hair, all tied back in braids. She did not release my face. “You bring new ways of thinking to our service. I value this.”
With her free hand, Viridi raised a brush and drew a circle on my cheekbone. I winced as the ink burned, and tried not to wriggle away; Viridi held my face tightly.
She gave me a drink in a brass cup, and I took it without question. Muzz. It would let me sleep again.