Free Cloudbound by Fran Wilde Page B

rest on too many towers along the way.
    Bone eaters, a dead tower. The riots. Postponing the vote. We had to hurry now.
    â€œWe’ll fly towards Bissel and use the crosswind to take us to Varu,” I said. Varu was where Ezarit was, and the other city council leaders besides Doran. “Perhaps, if Ciel has discharged her duties, we’ll find her along the way.”
    The relief that colored Moc’s face was painful to see. There’d been many changes for everyone because of Spirefall. I’d heard the songs—the ones about Kirit and the ones laced with worries about the city’s progress. What I hadn’t heard last night were many complaints from most of the Singer fledges. They’d lost their home and been thrown from their routines. They’d gotten in trouble, surely. They’d survived. But they’d kept trying to fit in; Minlin and Nadoni were good examples. I felt a rush of pride for them, mixed with hope that if they could make it, the city could too. And perhaps Moc could find his way.
    As for Kirit? I didn’t know. I didn’t want her to fall.
    Moc, Kirit, and I judged the winds from the market-tier balcony. The midmorning sky was a rich blue. A few bits of cloud had risen high enough to bring dampness to the higher tiers. The tower glittered with condensers, both the polished bone kind and several with thin metal linings. The metal reflected the sun in sharp sparks. Innovations. Grigrit was very wealthy in those, indeed. In the north, collectors were lowered to condense water inside the clouds and then retrieved. It was hard work.
    I could hear the thin gurgle of water in the bone spouts nearby. Moc swallowed thirstily.
    We readied for the long glide around Grigrit, then past Bissel to Naza. Did Kirit know that Bissel was where the council kept Wik? The Singer who’d fought beside us at Spirefall had been her teacher, once. She hadn’t asked after him, except to use his name in argument yesterday. We were in a hurry, but Bissel was right on the way. If Wik had been among my friends or family, I would have wanted to see him one last time.
    â€œDo you want to stop at Bissel? To see Wik?” I asked.
    She swallowed and I could see her eyes fill. Yes, she wanted to stop. “He came to visit me while I was sick. He stayed by my side. I knew he was quartered close by, but Doran said if I went to see him, the towers would think we were plotting. Yes. I would like to see him.”
    Despite Doran’s warning, it wasn’t too difficult to stop for a moment. Making the offer had eased the gnawing sensation in my stomach; she should be able to see him before the vote. “We’ll go.”
    I scratched a bone-chip message to Densira—to Councilor Vant, to Elna, Ceetcee, and Beliak—letting them know I would fly first to Bissel, then to the council plinth. Kirit added a chip marked for Ezarit on Varu. With both chips tied to his left claw, Maalik launched and flew to the northwest.
    I leapt first, heading northeast, letting the guards see Moc was escorted, as was appropriate for his age, if not his skills. Couldn’t have him earning more Lawsmarkers.
    He followed, wobbling and cursing like an adult. He dipped before circling back up to my level, breathing hard. I grimaced in the shadow of my wing. He would slow us down.
    Kirit leapt last, joining us in the air as we completed a waiting circle in Grigrit’s updraft. Then we flew wide around the Spire, headed for Bissel.
    Once he got his wings under control, Moc chattered between us. I flattened my own wings, spilling wind so that he could keep up.
    â€œCan we watch the wingfights at Mondarath after we go to council? I heard they’re letting Singers play. Macal, for one.” He’d asked Kirit, but I answered.
    Macal was Wik’s brother and Moc’s cousin. “Macal’s a tower Magister, and a councilman. He’s flown numerous wingfights.” And he’d renounced