“I won’t demand your obedience in this.” Torchlight danced over Prince Jasimir’s bloody face. “But with Rhusana on the throne…”
“… the Oleander Gentry will ride where they please, when they please,” Fie finished. Hangdog was gripping the cart so tight, his knuckles looked near to burst through the skin. She could only guess what he saw in his own terrible memory.
Tavin nodded. “And they’ll get an armed Hawk escort to help.”
Fie didn’t have to guess at her own memories: far away and long ago, a little girl picked up a crooked, fleshy caterpillar in the cold and dusty road, then found nine more in a red-tipped trail.
Ma had hooked that finger through Fie’s small hands enough times for her to know every scrape, every callus, every bump of the scar down one joint. And when Fie had fumbled, and the broken stump of finger-bone scraped against her palm, she’d known the spark singing to her from that bone. She’d know Ma’s song anywhere.
The road had caught Fie back then, in the peculiar way that only roads could. Chief—not Pa to her, not yet—had strode that bloody path, blade in a shaking fist, knowing he had mercy to deliver to one of his own. And Fie—not a chief-in-training, not yet—had stayed frozen in place, wanting to see her ma but knowing that every time that blade came out, Ma had covered Fie’s eyes.
That cold road had trapped her there until Wretch bore her away, for even then, Fie had known her choices were to either walk down the chief’s way, or to run from it.
And on this road now, in the torch-lit dark, Fie still could not say which way was worse.
But if the queen gave Oleanders command of her Hawks—if not even daylight gave Crows refuge—Fie knew sore how all their roads would end.
The lines in Wretch’s face seemed to carve a little deeper than they had a moment before. “If you boys are fixing to have us Crows storm the palace and fight off Her Majesty, I got hard news for you about how that will turn out.”
“The Oleanders only have sway.” Prince Jasimir seemed steadier on political ground. “And the people still call Rhusana theSwanQueen for a reason. She can rule through her son’s claim to the throne, but she still needs support from the regional governors to keep the kingdom united. My cousin Kuvimir is the lord-governor of the Fan region. He’s sworn to take us in and rally the others behind me, which should force Rhusana to back down. If we move fast, we can reach his fortress in Cheparok before she deposes Father.”
“So we smuggle you to your kin in Cheparok, they make a big, ugly show of liking you over the queen, and you remember us rosy on your throne someday.” Fie nodded to the wagon’s load of firewood. “Reckon you forgot how most of Sabor thinks you and your Hawk here are charcoal in a pyre right now.”
The prince hesitated to answer; the Hawk pounced. Tavin’s teeth flashed wolfish as a gambler who knew how his loaded shells would land. “That’s my favorite part, actually. I’ll have to lie low for a while, but Jas… Let’s just say Queen Ambra set a precedent for Phoenixes miraculously returning from the dead.”
Fie’s jaw dropped. Of all the things she had heard this night, what Tavin proposed was the most rattle-brained of all.
In the entire history of Sabor, only one soul had ever burned bright enough to survive the Sinner’s Plague: the invincible Ambra, matriarch of the Phoenix caste, Queen of Day and Night. Legend said sherode tigers into battle, a spear in each hand; that she walked in wildfire unscathed; that the sun came at her beck and call, so greatly did it love her. Legend said that her rebirth in the Phoenix caste would herald another era of prosperity and peace.
Legend hadn’t much to say about shamming her reincarnation for political gain, but somehow Fie couldn’t imagine it landed on the right side of the Covenant. Nor could she conjure a vision of the willowy prince before her riding aught more spirited than a poppy-addled pony.
Tavin must have read the doubt on her face, for his hand flapped once more. “We can’treallysell Jas as the King of Day and Night. But bouncing back from the Sinner’s Plague is a good argument that Ambra’s bloodline is strong in him. That alone will win over half the country.”
“The idiot half,” Wretch muttered.
“If there were another way out, we’d take it.” Prince Jasimir’s gaze traveled from Crow to Crow. What he was searching for, Fie couldn’t say. “But Rhusana will give every one of you over to the Oleanders if she reaches the throne. I’m asking for your help to stop her. Otherwise none of us has a chance.”
“If you’re speaking true…” Pa rolled a tooth strung at his neck. Fie would’ve gone for a Crane-caste tooth, one that could sift out lies from the lordlings. Instead Pa’s hand dropped. He looked at the rest of the Crows. “We’ve only got one rule. Strikes me we’d best follow it.”
Look after your own.Fie had heard that rule near every day. As a chief, she’d need to live it soon. But even if she could keep her own band of Crows safe, the whole caste was scattered across Sabor.
If the Oleanders could ride free, road after road would end like her ma’s had.
Her jaw stiffened. It was a chafing thing: even filthy with pig blood, the lordlings still looked like they belonged in a palace.
There was no real bargain here, just make-believe benevolence of offering the Crows a choice. It was written in the imperious tilt of the prince’s lips, in the jut of Tavin’s chin, the way they both drummed their fingers as they waited for an answer they were sure they’d get.
Just like Rhusana, with her damned oleander bangle. Even if the lordlings were bluffing about her ambitions, the Oleander Gentry still had her favor. Of course the Crows had no choice.
Of all the bodies Fie had ever dragged off to burn, she mostsurelyhated these two the most. For all their talk, the lordlings treated with the Crows as if they were back in that miserable gilded hall, forcing them to dance for fair pay—
An idea carved through her thoughts like her sandal-nail on marble, and left a trail like a bloody finger.
“No,” Fie said. “I say no deal.”
Surprise flashed over every face on the road. Hangdog’s snort followed. Prince Jasimir’s dark eyes narrowed. “We want to help—”
“Oh,you want to help,” she mimicked. “Does His Highness have another servant to shovel up all the crap falling out of his mouth, or is thathisjob?” She jerked a thumb at Tavin. To his credit, the guard only raised his eyebrows, but that razor edge danced in his gaze again. “You faked your deaths. You tried to go back on your deal with Pa. And you just told us your whole plan is to lie to everyone in Sabor. Why would we trust you?”
