the air here gives some people the shakes, and for a few, even starts messing with their minds—but it never bothered me. When I was younger, I wanted to be an engineer. That was before I understood my path led only to council meetings and ceremony.
Today I tried to make something of those council meetings, to use the fact that I get into them at all to actually make a difference. But sometimes you need to stop talking and do.
Miri and Saelis are waiting in the hangar, which I found on one of my first trips down here. It was when I worked out that it used to be a launch bay that I had the idea for the Skysinger, and this is where she sits now, waiting to hit the skies.
The Skysinger is the only thing in the world that’s truly mine. Everything else I own is part of my office. It was made for me because I am a prince, or was used or worn by royals before me, and will be handed on to those who come after.
But my glider—it’s the one thing I can look at and think, My name is North. I built this with my own hands, and it’s mine.
It’s strong and sleek, but nothing flashy. I painted the Skysinger a simple black, with chrome fittings polished to perfection. So many of the other gliders are much brighter, adorned with stripes and symbols that denote their pilots’ successes in races and stunt competitions. The Skysinger is utilitarian, low-key.
I let her flying speak for both of us.
I got part of the frame secondhand from a salvage and recyc yard, and it took me a solid year of sneaking away to put her together. Saelis did a lot of legwork for me, and Miri a little as well—neither of them has much interest in aeronautics except as a means of transport from island to island, but they never minded walking into a junkyard with a shopping list, if I told them exactly what I needed.
It’s her engine that makes her special. It’s unique, cobbled together out of pieces of tech that I’ll freely admit I only half understand. The key, though, is that they allow me to gain altitude without relying on thermals like everyone else, which means I can outmaneuver the rest of them with one hand tied behind my back, and my glider and I can slip in underneath the city to our launch bay doors at the end of each outing, leaving everyone else wondering where we went.
“Did they ask for a demo?” Miri asks, hurrying forward, grinning. Her curls are pink today, the glitter at her cheekbones blue. “We got here as fast as we could. I tell you, it was a challenge—Saelis found this antique shop, and he’s such an old man, you know what he’s like when …” Her voice dies away when she sees my face, and she halts, uncertain.
“North?” Saelis asks from behind her, only just audible above the thrum of the engines.
“They didn’t ask for a demo,” I say, grim. “But they’re going to get one.”
“Oh.” Miri’s face falls. “Well, crap.”
“You have no idea,” I mutter. But I don’t want to think about it now. I want to get into the air. The skies will be full of gliders as the sun sets, and I want to use the last of the light to show my mothers and everyone who matters just how much better and easier and faster the Skysinger moves. They might not be watching at first, but word will reach them quickly enough, and now that they know what they know, they’ll be watching a minute after that.
“Are we in a hurry?” Saelis asks, studying my face with the gentle, thoughtful expression he always wears.
“Little bit.”
He simply nods and turns toward the launch straps as I stride over to pull on my flight suit.
“We’ll go down to the promenade and watch,” Saelis says, yanking the first of the launching straps over to the winch that’ll stretch them taut.
The barometer looks good, the pressure even, and I rummage for my goggles and my flight suit. I hop on first one foot and then the other as I jam each leg into it, zipping it up my front over my clothes, and then pulling on my jacket.
Meanwhile, Miri helps Saelis yank the next launching strap into place. The straps work just like my slingshot used to when I was small, before Anasta confiscated it because treasury