Free Updraft by Fran Wilde

they’re not as wide as the new ones. And I’ve grown some.” 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 Florian’s class had likely been filled with wild turns, as new wings reacted slightly differently to students’ old habits.
    I didn’t want to admit that Ezarit was right, at least about the new wings. I’d fly more confidently on the old ones, because I hadn’t practiced with the new. I hoped so, at least.
    I wished I’d 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.
    â€œYou won’t be the only one on well-worn wings, Kirit.” Nat used adult wings already. He hadn’t said anything, but I knew they were a pair that had belonged to his father, long ago.
    â€œHow many times have you flown on those?”
    â€œA lot. Not far, not breaking any Laws. But I’ve been flying with them for moons.”
    I’d been too wrapped up in my own concerns about Ezarit’s trade run, the new quarters. I tried to picture what his wings looked like in the air and couldn’t.
    â€œLook on the bright side,” Nat added. “You won’t have to patch your new wings up after the test. Or worry about them getting ripped during Group flight. That’s lucky.” He flicked rotten blackberries off the balcony. “I heard Viit’s sons are flying tomorrow. That will be exciting.”
    â€œDid Dojha or Sidra say who else would Magister the tests?” Our own Magister Florian, of course. But teachers were not allowed to judge the merits of anyone from their own tower.
    Nat shrugged. “The usual, plus one new Magister for Mondarath. And Dix from Wirra. Since Magister Granth is still sick.”
    I tensed. Dix. Ezarit’s former rival. Or Father’s old friend. I was never sure, and Ezarit wouldn’t discuss it.
    â€œI should study some more. I need to get everything right if Magister Dix is testing.”
    â€œShe can’t be as bad as your mother makes it sound.” Nat turned the bone chips over in his hands again, distracted.
    â€œI’m not willing to risk it. I have to do well. Dix can’t stand my mother, or me.” Before the migration, before she’d flown, Ezarit had lit a small banner for Magister Granth’s health, hoping that his coughing disease would pass and I wouldn’t be in Dix’s path. “She holds a grudge.”
    â€œYou can’t think she’d pull anything in front of the Singers?”
    I swallowed. I didn’t know. Dix. Old wings. My rough singing voice. And Singer Wik.
    â€œIt will be all right, Kirit.” Nat sat down beside me. “We’ll figure it out. And these too.” He fingered the chips. “Whatever they’re for.”
    â€œWhy are you so interested in those, when you should be as worried as me?”
    â€œThey were my dad’s.” Nat rattled the blue skein. “What if they’re connected to why he was thrown down? Or with something else about the city? Why Lith fell?”
    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 didn’t grow anything. Why the city roared. What had happened to Naton.
    â€œI’ll take a closer look at them with you, after the wingtest. We can talk to Tobiat again too.”
    â€œIf these are Singers’ things, the Spire will want them back. Maybe Tobiat stole them from Naton, and that’s why my dad was thrown down.” I tensed at the mention of Singers, but Nat didn’t notice. He turned the chips over once more, then put them back into a fold of his robe, musing. “Maybe we can