Windhaven

The woman regarded her with shrewd black eyes. "I am." Her voice was startlingly pleasant; cool and soft, with a faint ironic undertone.

"I don't think we've ever met," Maris said. "Have you been flying long?"

"I won my wings two years ago, on North Arren."

Maris nodded. "I missed that one. I think I was on a mission to Artellia. Have you ever flown to Western?"

"Three times," Tya replied. "Twice to Big Shotan and once to Culhall. Never to the Amberlys. Most of my flying has been in Eastern, especially these days." She gave her Landsman a quick sharp glance from the corner of her eyes, and smiled a conspiratorial smile at Maris.

Corina, who had been listening, tried to be polite. "What did you think of Stormtown?" she asked. "And the Eyrie? Did you visit the Eyrie?"

Tya smiled tolerantly. "I'm a one-wing," she said. "I trained at Airhome. We don't go to your Eyrie, flyer.

As to Stormtown, it was impressive. There's no city like it in Eastern."

Corina flushed. Maris was briefly annoyed. The friction between flyers born to wings and the upstart one-wings depressed her; the skies of Windhaven were not the friendly place they had once been, and much of that was her doing. "The Eyrie isn't such a bad place, Tya," she said. "I've made a lot of friends there."

"You're not a one-wing," Tya said.

"Oh? Val One-Wing himself once told me I was the first one-wing, whether I admitted it or not."

Tya looked at her speculatively. "No," she said finally. "No, that isn't right. You're different, Maris. Not one of the old flyers, but not a one-wing either. I don't know what you are. It must be lonely, though."

They finished the meal in a strained, awkward silence.

When the dessert cups had been cleared away, the Landsman dismissed family, counselors, and landsguard, so only the four flyers and Evan remained. He tried to dismiss Evan as well, but the healer would not go. "Maris is still in my care," he said. "I stay with my patient." The Landsman gave him an angry stare, but elected not to press the point.

"Very well," he snapped. "We have business to discuss. Flyer business." He turned his hot eyes on Maris.

"I will be direct. I have received a message from my colleague, the Landsman of Lesser Amberly. He inquires after your health. Your wings are needed. When will you be well enough to return to Amberly?"

"I don't know," Maris said. "You can see that I've recovered. But the flight from Thayos to Amberly is taxing for any flyer, and I do not have my full strength back yet. I will depart Thayos as soon as I can."

"A long flight," the flyer Jem agreed, "especially for one who does not make even short flights."

"Yes," the Landsman said. "You and the healer have done a lot of walking. You seem healthy again.

Your wings are repaired, I am told. Yet you do not fly. You have never come to the flyers' cliff. You do not practice. Why?"

"I am not ready," Maris said.

"Landsman," said Jem, "it is as I told you. She has not recovered, no matter how it seems. If she were able, she would be flying." He shifted his gaze to her. "I'm sorry if I hurt you," he said, "but you know I speak the truth. I am a flyer too. I know. A flyer flies. There is no way to keep a healthy flyer on the ground. And you, you are no ordinary flyer — they used to tell me that you loved flying above all else."

"I did," said Maris. "I do."

"Landsman…" Evan began.

Maris turned her head to look at him. "No, Evan," she said, "the burden isn't yours. I will tell them." She faced the Landsman again. "I am not entirely recovered," she admitted. "My balance… there is something wrong with my balance. But it is healing. It is not so bad as it once was."

"I'm sorry," Tya said quickly. Jem nodded.

"Oh, Maris," Corina said. She looked grief-stricken, suddenly close to tears. Corina had none of her father's malice, and she knew what balance meant to a flyer.

"Can you fly?" the Landsman said.

"I don't know," Maris admitted. "I need more time."

"You have had time enough," he said. He turned to Evan. "Healer, can you tell me that she will recover?"

"No," Evan said sadly. "I cannot tell you that. I do not know."

The Landsman scowled. "This affair belongs to the Landsman of Lesser Amberly, but the burden is on me. And I say that a flyer who cannot fly is no flyer at all, and has no need of wings. If your recovery is that uncertain, only a fool would wait for it. I ask you again, Maris — can you fly?"

His eyes were fixed on her, and the corner of his mouth moved in a malicious little twitch, and Maris knew she had run out of time. "I can fly," she said.

"Good," the Landsman said. "Tonight is as good as any other time. You say you can fly. Very well. Get your wings. Show us."

The walk through the damp, dripping tunnel was as long as Maris remembered it, and as lonely, though this time she had company. No one talked. The only sound was the echo of their footsteps. Two landsguard walked ahead of the party with torches. The flyers wore their wings.