Beatrin’s voice is very quiet when she speaks, very dangerous. “That would be illegal,” she points out. “The engines are not to be touched.”
“It’s not illegal, it’spractical,” I retort. “We don’t know what half the parts of the engines are even for, or whether they’re necessary. The pilot’s been working on a new kind of engine, and with the tech from theSkysinger, he could build a cloudship capable of landing a pilot on the surface Below and returning him safely to Alciel. With funding, and with academy support, he could do it as quickly as this time next year.”
“Impossible!” Councilor Damerio finally loses his temper and shouts his reply, standing and puffing himself up like a yellow-tailed sparra trying to impress a mate. His puffed-up hair has always reminded me of feathers, his pouched cheeks and pursed mouth doing nothing to detract from the impression of a self-important little bird. “Your Highness, with respect, the very idea that we would endanger the engines over a perfectly natural fluctuation in altitude, that we would trust a renegade glider pilot to tinker with our engines—”
“Indeed.” Finally, my grandfather speaks, and the king’s voice silences Damerio instantly. “Tell me, North,” he says slowly. “How did you come to know this pilot?”
I can see in his steady gaze that he already knows the answer.
Trust me, I beg silently, looking back at him.Listen to me. I can do this.
If this doesn’t work, I’m about to give up the thing that matters most to me in the world.
But it will work. Ithasto work.
I take a deep breath.
“I know it can be done,” I say. “Because I’m the pilot and the engineer of theSkysinger. I can build you that cloudship, and I’m volunteering to pilot it.”
The room erupts into chaos, councilors coming to their feet, voices raised, hands lifted, half a dozen displays from their chronos jostling for room in the projection square atop the table.
“There have been years like this before,” Damerio’s shouting, gesturing wildly at his bar graph. “We are not sinking!”
Talamar stands shoulder to shoulder with Gabriala, a councilor from one of the other small islands, their voices tangling with one another.
“The small islands are sinking faster than—”
“You cannot simply vote us down every time we—”
And I’m stuck in the middle of this, mouth half-open, watching as if I’m outside my own body. Because this is the same argument they’ve been having for years. These are the same words. And nothing I’ve said has even made a dent—even the ones who believe in altitude loss aren’t talking about my cloudship, aren’t talking about invention, or creation, or discovery.
They’re just screaming along to the same old script.
I gave them theSkysinger, and I’ve been forgotten between one heartbeat and the next.
A hand grabs my wrist, and I whip around to see Anasta, eyes huge, mouth trembling. My heartmother’s always been the one to find some way to applaud everything I’ve tried, but right now she looks like she wants to pass out. When she silently draws me toward the door that leads to the royal quarters, I don’t resist—not even when I see my bloodmother stalking furiously after us.
Nobody but my grandfather even notices us leave.
Anasta doesn’t even bother making it to my mothers’ room—she just stops once we’re out in the hall, dropping my wrist and leaning back against a window as if she needs the support. Behind her, the clear blue of the sky stretches away forever, except for a bank of clouds that loom like a mountain from a fairy tale, ready to tumble down and bury us all.
“North,” Beatrin snaps from behind me, and I spin around so I can face both of them. “Youcannotbe serious. I don’t even know where to start—with your deception, with the risks you’ve taken, with your decision to defy us in front of the entire council? I haveneverbeen more disappointed than I am right now.”
Anasta’s buried her face in her hands, and she speaks through them, still pulling herself together. “When were you doing this?” she demands, voice shaking. “When you were supposed to be studying? Was this your research? You know how precious you are, not just to us, but to Alciel.” When she lowers her hands, her eyes are brimming. “If anything ever happened to you, North—when I think about you up there in the sky, nobody knowing you need to be kept safe, gliding out over all that nothingness …”
“Iwassafe,” I protest, trying to keep the snap from my voice, knowing I’m failing. “I’m good at this—I’m the best, Anasta. All these years telling me to search for the way I can contribute to my kingdom, and now—”
“You can’t contribute if you’re dead!” Beatrin snaps. “It took an army of medtechs for you to be born. What do you think happens if the heir dies and the bloodline fails? You are the Prince of the Seven Isles, second in line to the throne of Alciel, and a Guardian of the Light. Your foremost duty is to continue our line. The moment this train reaches the palace, you will tell security where this glider is, and it’ll be brought back to the academy. And you will never, under any circumstances, fly that thing again.”
A bolt goes through me. “You can’t do that,” I snarl, tossing restraint to the wind—it hasn’t helped me, anyway. “I’m not a child, Beatrin, you can’t confiscate my toys. You can’t forbid me from doing things. TheSkysingeris mine, and if you think I’m giving it up—”
“You’remychild,” she shouts, her famous calm completely gone now. “And I can forbid you, or anyone else in Alciel, from doing anything I like. Your grandfather is the king, North, and heir or not, you’re his subject. You’ll do exactly as you’re told.”
There’s a beat of silence as I try to absorb this, my heart thumping and stuttering. I knew there was a chance they wouldn’t listen. I knew there was a chance it would go wrong. But now that I’m here, watching my dream crumble, I don’t know what to say.
Into that silence, my chrono buzzes with a soft message notification, and Anasta’s gaze drops to fix on it.
“Oh,” she says softly. “Oh, I see now. You didn’t do this alone, did you? Your friends helped.”
