By the time Hiroli arrived from the southeast with five pairs of fledge wings strapped to her chest, the six of us who remained at Bissel stood arrayed on the tier, staring out.
“Where’s Ezarit?” Hiroli asked. “I have messages for her.”
“Council plinth,” Aliati said. “Urgent business.” She’d been gathering the map and markers from the tier floor. Now she straightened and, with the air of someone who’d rarely done it but knew what was proper, bowed to the junior councilwoman. “You are welcome here, Risen.”
Hiroli blushed, then untied the wingsets. She counted fledge heads. “I thought you said…”
Ciel stared at her, cheeks streaked with spent tears. “Give me a pair, quick.”
With a confused laugh, Hiroli handed the girl a wingset. “We’ll all go together,” she cautioned, as Ciel fumbled with the straps. We quickly told Hiroli what had happened.
When she’d finished, Ciel took the remaining wingset and tied it to her chest. “For Moc.” Her eyes defied anyone to challenge her.
Good for her. The girl seemed quiet, compared to her brother. But only compared to her brother.
I sealed the bucket of heartbone in a pannier and shouldered Kirit’s satchel. The remaining codex page and the strange metal plate clacked together as they settled against my side.
Aliati lifted the windbeater wings from the balcony and laid them against the central core wall. Readying for a quick departure. Angrily.
Hiroli bowed to me. “Fly well, Councilor.”
“On your wings, Councilor,” I replied. How had she voted? She’d been a refusal in my count, but Councilor Vant had said he’d talk to her too. I hoped she’d voted against the Conclave, but I could not bear to ask.
If I manage to remain on the council, I promised the wind, I’ll seek more opinions than just my mentor’s. I’ll look beyond the council, to the towers as well. A lesson hard learned. I hoped it had been in time.
All the fledges finally had their wings on. Aliati looped a long coil of spidersilk tether over her shoulder and doused the oil lamp. The sun was high above the clouds now, and it was time to go.
Aliati descended the rope with a wave. “Will let you know what I find.” She ignored Hiroli’s raised eyebrows. The codex pages were lost to the clouds, probably, but I hoped she’d find Kirit.
“I dropped something down below,” I said. “When I found the fledges.”
That was an understatement. And a truth.
“She doesn’t want to help protest the vote?” Hiroli asked. Now I knew how she’d voted.
“She’s needed elsewhere.” I pulled the fledges to the tier edge, where Ciel waited, impatient and frowning.
Ciel and I leapt first, circling to wait for the fledges and Hiroli. When I saw Ciel preparing to glide off on her own, I whistled for a chevron formation. She joined us, flying with angry, jerky motions, but we flew together. Hiroli took point, I flew to the west, and the three fledges arrayed between us, with Ciel leading.
* * *
The council plinth hung suspended between Varu, Naza, and Narath towers. The woven fiber platform was decorated with tower sigils and oil-polished. Green and blue silk banners strung from the tethers curled and uncurled in the breeze. As if for a celebration. Or a wingfight.
Hiroli flew to the right of our formation, her wings bouncing the sunlight off the dark silk, each batten and seam taut enough to shine. As we neared the platform, Hiroli adjusted the curve of her wings and slowed. Let the fledges land before she did and scurry out of the way.
They gathered, pale wings, ragged, gray robes, in a knot as close to Wik and Moc as they could. Ten Singers and one fledge were assembled in the plinth’s center, surrounded by blackwing guards. I spotted silver-streaked hair and knew they had Viridi, Rumul’s second in command. She’d been one of the Singers who’d judged my wingtest, nearly three Allmoons ago. The white in her hair was more dominant now. Wik clasped her hand in his.
None of the assembled Singers wore wings. Not even Moc.
Beliak fought to keep the fledges from getting too close to the guards.
I curved my fingers around my wing grips, preparing to land. My wings responded beautifully, my descent slow and graceful. Like an established councilor, someone who should be heard. Except I knew the truth: I was such a fledge at politics, I’d only caused damage so far. What if I made things worse now?
By the time my feet touched the plinth, several councilors watched me with unfathomable expressions, including Ezarit. How would I fare, when facing my mentor? I furled my wings quickly.
Hiroli scanned the crowd as she approached us. “I don’t see Doran yet. Nor any of his party.”
Meantime, the entire city seemed to be assembling around the plinth. Citizens from all the towers mixed on balconies and tiers. Guards in hunter blue and others wearing many colors flew back and forth, preparing to repeat what was said on the plinth, even though the council had not officially convened.
Aside from the knot of Singer fledges staring at the impassive blackwing guards and the Singer leaders arrayed behind them, towers and plinth had a festival air, like Allmoons wingfights, with people arrayed to watch, as if in sport. The horror of this made my limbs feel heavy. Ezarit’s face was equally grim.
More senior council members landed, including those from Grigrit. From their groupings, I guessed at alliances. Macal, from Mondarath, with a councilor from Wirra; both greeted Ezarit warmly.
Doran Grigrit approached with Vant Densira, my senior towerman, and a councilwoman wearing tower marks from Laria, one of the silkspinner towers in the southeast. They furled their wings and arranged their robes, looking between the groups. Looking for me.
I did not budge from my place beside Ezarit.
Hiroli Naza walked ahead of us, chin up, proud to be accompanying Ezarit in dissent. Tolerating me.
But the size of the group around Doran kept growing.
Ezarit cleared her throat, preparing to call the council to order. Doran lifted his right hand, and four blackwings sounded klaxon horns on each of the towers.
“What do you mean by this?” Ezarit asked. The other council leaders present swirled, cautious.
“My apologies, Councilor, I did not see you there,” Doran said, bowing. “With such a large audience assembled, I thought it best to signal.”
Ezarit inclined her head, an almost-bow. “A good idea.” Then her jawline firmed, and she matched Doran’s gaze. “Although I meant assembling Conclave so quickly, and without full lead council approval.” No one missed the tenor of her words.
Doran bowed again, this time to me. “We had a majority. You were unavailable. Once the decision was made, it was felt that the faster we address this, the faster the city can begin to heal.” His voice sounded sad, but strong. The guards in the air relayed his thoughts to the crowd.
“There are council members with new information,” Ezarit challenged him, her voice even. “In the interest of fairness, we should give them a chance to speak.”
Scattered applause came from the towers as her words were relayed, but more dissatisfied sounds—boos and shouts—drowned it out. Doran, preparing to speak again, gestured towards Naza, the loudest tower, and shrugged, as if to say this is what the people want.
I readied myself to step forward anyway, but even as I did, a crowd of fliers began to circle the plinth. Twenty in all, they carried nets between them. I recognized faces from nearby towers. Some guards. Artifexes. Sidra, Macal’s partner and Vant’s daughter. My own Ceetcee, carrying another below her. No.
“You must all sit at the towers,” Vant shouted to the fliers.
“We will not,” Ceetcee shouted, and landed, gently depositing the person she carried onto the plinth. Elna. “We are here to speak for the cloudbound, if no one else will.”
The blackwings turned their focus on my mother, but did not move. I reached for my quiver by reflex. Found it still empty. Ceetcee stared at me, then shook her head. “And we will be heard.”
She reached down and helped Elna stand. I heard my mother cough weakly and begin to speak. My anger slowly bled away, and pride took its place. They were speaking where I had not.
“Before you do this, take heart,” Elna said, her words almost too soft for the guards to pick up. But Ceetcee repeated them loud enough. They were carried to the towers.
Oh, my heart. Doran had stepped forward, but Ceetcee and my mother faced them down. One young and tall, her long braids swinging like tassels over her furled wings; a third of my wingmark tied to one shoulder, Beliak’s to the other. One bent and huddled in quilts, her eyes white and skyblind, her sparse hair white and blowing in the wind. I moved forward to help them. To share my evidence.
Ezarit’s hand cuffed my upper arm in a vise, gentle but firm. “Let Elna speak. You will have your turn.” She spoke to the towers, and to Doran also, as well as to me. Councilor Grigrit had opened his mouth to protest.
“My partner’s life was forfeit to the clouds,” Elna began. “My son’s father. For twenty Allsuns, I’ve felt that loss, and the city felt it too. We needed Naton’s wisdom. We need his knowledge of the city even today, but we will never retrieve it. Despite the fact that we know now his crimes were not crimes at all.”
Agreement moved through the council, especially those gathered near Ezarit. As if in echo, the city rumbled softly beneath us. The guards relayed Elna’s words, and someone shouted, “Get on with it!” loud enough to carry on the wind.
Elna continued. “You’ll patch the problem, not solve it. You’ll lose fine minds in the process. I am old; this does not matter to me as much as it does to the generations above me.” She put her hand on Ceetcee’s shoulder. Dared everyone to ignore the rise below Ceetcee’s ribs, the new life begun there.
Ezarit released my arm. The wind snapped at the council flags, and I felt the eyes of the city on me as I took a place beside Elna and Ceetcee before Doran could begin speaking. I held up a hand. Felt the breeze on my fingers.
“I fell through the clouds and discovered,” I said, raising the bucket of heartbone so that the smell caught the breeze, “that a tower in our city is being drained of its life on purpose. That it is dying, endangering those around it.” Doran held his sleeve over his nose, and several more councilors followed suit.
“Worse,” I continued, “the Singer fledges we’d thought runaways? I found them, forced to do this work. There is Treason in the city, but it is not the Singers’ doing. We must postpone this Conclave. The Singers are not the city’s greatest threat.” I prepared myself to name the traitor. Dix had many allies.
But Doran interjected. “How long would you postpone?” He dropped his sleeve, irritation turning to anger. “Until Kirit Skyshouter appears before this council? You were in favor of Conclave, but after one day with her, you’ve changed your mind. She’s corrupted you.”
“She showed me a different perspective,” I said. The guards repeated my words and the city’s gaze focused on me. Elna stood upright, her hand shaking on Ceetcee’s arm, her eyes the color of the clouds, her chin up, head turned towards my voice, proud. “Then I saw more, below the clouds. The vote happened without enough information. I demand to speak in the Singers’ and the city’s defense.”
As Doran’s face reddened, Vant Densira grabbed my arm. “You cannot represent Densira in this way,” he hissed.
“I represent the city, then.” Before I’d spoken, the certainty that Doran had moved too fast buoyed me up. Now, as my own towerman shook me, angry, I worried. They played a bigger game; Doran had told me so. Now I’d jostled their board, tried to topple it. What would they do in return?
“You reside on my tower; you represent that tower,” Vant said. “I apologize to the council for the junior representative.”
Doran nodded. “I appreciate Densira’s loyalty in this matter.” He looked around the assembled council, preparing to address them again.
But the protesters, who had continued to circle the platform, began to chant, “Let Naton’s son speak!” From the towers, shouts came fast and multivoiced, “Throw them down!” and “Speak!” both. Screams and sounds of fighting began.
The city had become a roar of my own making.