Free Skyfire by Skye Melki-Wegner

Bastian says. ‘Lord Farran has decreed that such powers are a threat to society. It’s unnatural, you see, to play with the governance of time itself.’
    â€˜But you can’t make a proclivity illegal!’ Clementine protests. ‘It’s just something you’re born with – I mean, people can’t help what their proclivity is.’
    Bastian shakes his head. ‘You’re in Víndurn now, lass. Here, proclivities are everything. Teenagers show their markings as soon as they develop. There’s a formal ceremony, to pass into the proper segment of society. If you have an ethereal proclivity, you’re ushered over the threshold into the city spires. If you have a solid proclivity, you’re sent down here to join a clan. And if you have a temporal proclivity …’
    He trails into silence again.
    â€˜What?’ I prompt. ‘What happens if you’ve got a temporal proclivity?’
    â€˜Execution.’
    I freeze. The word echoes in my head, over and over. Execution. Execution. Around me, my crewmates erupt into splutters of horror, of indignation. But I’m barely aware of their presence. All I can hear is the echo of that word, as sharp and cold as a blade in my mind.
    This can’t be happening. I risked everything to escape Taladia, to reach this land of safety. I quit my life of tyrannous kings and bombings and army conscription because I wanted a home where I wouldn’t constantly be threatened. Where I could try living, instead of just surviving.
    But then I think of Tindra, the girl fleeing throughthe skies on a foxhawk. Her body lying crumpled on the rocks, with the inky stains of Daylight across the back of her neck …
    It all becomes clear. Tindra’s proclivity must have just developed. Daylight . A temporal proclivity. She knew she’d be killed for it, so she took a foxhawk and tried to escape.
    She tried to escape into Taladia.
    The irony hits me like a punch to the gut. Tindra was a refugee, just like us, but running in the opposite direction. Is nowhere in the world safe? Is every soul as desperate and terrified as scruffers on the streets of Rourton?
    Bastian gives me a sharp look. ‘You seem mighty interested in temporal proclivities, lass. You aren’t going to tell me that –’
    â€˜No!’ I say quickly. ‘No, nothing like that. I’m just curious. I mean, if we’re going to join this society, I think we should know how … I mean … how it all works. You know. Like …’
    I realise I’m babbling, and force myself to shut up.
    â€˜Why?’ Lukas demands, turning to Bastian. ‘Why are temporal proclivities illegal?’
    Bastian hesitates. ‘Fear,’ he says. ‘Fear and old legends.’
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    â€˜We have a legend,’ Bastian says, his eyes still onme, ‘of a woman called the Timekeeper. She lived a thousand years ago, you see. Her proclivity was Night. But her power was strong – unnaturally strong – and she spent many years developing it. You know that magic grows with practice?’
    â€˜It’s like a muscle,’ Maisy says, nodding. ‘It needs training to grow.’
    I open my mouth, but I can’t bring myself to speak. That’s why I’m still so weak at using my own powers. I’ve only had access to my Night proclivity for a couple of weeks, and I’ve only used it in emergencies.
    With training, though, it’s possible to stretch your magic. It takes years – or even decades – of dedication. I’ve heard of elderly men with Beast proclivities who could melt into the bodies of animals. And I once met a hoary old gambler who stole the air from her opponents’ lungs, one tiny gasp at a time. Just enough to startle them, or make them play the wrong card. Compared with the brutal blasts of most Air proclivities, such finesse is hard to imagine.
    â€˜Well,’