theyâre not as wide as the new ones. And Iâve grown some.â I steered away from additional what-ifs, other, more secret, worries.
Most of our class had broken in their new wings in the past few weeks. Wings that were built to carry adults, strung tight enough to execute complex turns. The past few days of Florianâs class had likely been filled with wild turns, as new wings reacted slightly differently to studentsâ old habits.
I didnât want to admit that Ezarit was right, at least about the new wings. Iâd fly more confidently on the old ones, because I hadnât practiced with the new. I hoped so, at least.
I wished Iâd never gone out on that balcony during the migration. Wished I could undo that morning the way Elna unraveled a ripped cloth to mend it again.
âYou wonât be the only one on well-worn wings, Kirit.â Nat used adult wings already. He hadnât said anything, but I knew they were a pair that had belonged to his father, long ago.
âHow many times have you flown on those?â
âA lot. Not far, not breaking any Laws. But Iâve been flying with them for moons.â
Iâd been too wrapped up in my own concerns about Ezaritâs trade run, the new quarters. I tried to picture what his wings looked like in the air and couldnât.
âLook on the bright side,â Nat added. âYou wonât have to patch your new wings up after the test. Or worry about them getting ripped during Group flight. Thatâs lucky.â He flicked rotten blackberries off the balcony. âI heard Viitâs sons are flying tomorrow. That will be exciting.â
âDid Dojha or Sidra say who else would Magister the tests?â Our own Magister Florian, of course. But teachers were not allowed to judge the merits of anyone from their own tower.
Nat shrugged. âThe usual, plus one new Magister for Mondarath. And Dix from Wirra. Since Magister Granth is still sick.â
I tensed. Dix. Ezaritâs former rival. Or Fatherâs old friend. I was never sure, and Ezarit wouldnât discuss it.
âI should study some more. I need to get everything right if Magister Dix is testing.â
âShe canât be as bad as your mother makes it sound.â Nat turned the bone chips over in his hands again, distracted.
âIâm not willing to risk it. I have to do well. Dix canât stand my mother, or me.â Before the migration, before sheâd flown, Ezarit had lit a small banner for Magister Granthâs health, hoping that his coughing disease would pass and I wouldnât be in Dixâs path. âShe holds a grudge.â
âYou canât think sheâd pull anything in front of the Singers?â
I swallowed. I didnât know. Dix. Old wings. My rough singing voice. And Singer Wik.
âIt will be all right, Kirit.â Nat sat down beside me. âWeâll figure it out. And these too.â He fingered the chips. âWhatever theyâre for.â
âWhy are you so interested in those, when you should be as worried as me?â
âThey were my dadâs.â Nat rattled the blue skein. âWhat if theyâre connected to why he was thrown down? Or with something else about the city? Why Lith fell?â
I listened as his excitement grew. Nat had asked questions and spouted theories since we were little. Why there were skymouths. How the Singers stayed fed when they didnât grow anything. Why the city roared. What had happened to Naton.
âIâll take a closer look at them with you, after the wingtest. We can talk to Tobiat again too.â
âIf these are Singersâ things, the Spire will want them back. Maybe Tobiat stole them from Naton, and thatâs why my dad was thrown down.â I tensed at the mention of Singers, but Nat didnât notice. He turned the chips over once more, then put them back into a fold of his robe, musing. âMaybe we can
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley