The sky above swam and marbled with tears.
This was all her doing. She’d chosen this road. She’d brokered the oath herself. And if she’d been stronger, if she’d been a better witch, if she’d kenned what Tavin meant to do—
No. A stronger witch still wouldn’t have made it all the way to Trikovoi. Tavin had known this day would come; he’d planned it for near ten years.
That’s the game, get it? They’ve naught to lose by playing with us.
Her own words echoed back, cold and hard.
And there’s no way for us to win.
It was always going to come to this.
She wasn’t a god or a hero on a grand quest to slay some beast from beyond the seas.
She was a chief. And her monster sat on a throne.
So you cut your losses, Tavin had said.
It was harder to believe when every loss had a name. Tavin. Pa. Wretch. Madcap. Swain. All her kin.
Even Hangdog.
The oath, the oath, that damned oath had eaten them all whole.
That damned oath was all she had left.
By every dead god, she was going to keep it. There was one way off this road, and that was to walk it to its end.
Fie took a deep breath and closed her eyes. If she didn’t think of him, think of any of them, she could do this.
She sat up, aching from crown to toe, then crawled over to Tavin’s pack. Jasimir didn’t stir from the ground, eyes clenched shut, mouth moving in something like a prayer. She only caught snatches of words:
“… not dishonor my blood… a Hawk who… not forsake…”
Her hands shook as she worked at the knots cinching the pack shut.
The words came clearer now. “… follow until I must lead. I will shield until I must strike.”
She cut through the ties with Pa’s sword.
“By my blood, I swear, I will serve my nation and the throne above all.”
She did not look at Tavin’s sheathed blade still lying in the dirt.
The prince’s mumble cut off. Jasimir pushed himself up to glower at her. Clean tracks ran down his face from red-rimmed eyes. “That—that isn’t yours.”
“Aye,” Fie said dully. “You’ll have to carry some of it, too.”
“It belongs to Tavin,” Jasimir said. “It’s his.”
Fie’s mouth twisted. She turned back to the pack and pulled out the cooking pot. “He knew what he was doing.”
“We have to go after him. Hawks don’t forsake their blood.”
“He wanted us to keep the oath.”
“Stop that. Stop saying heknewand hewanted. He’s not dead.”
