“Aye,” Fie said.
Another creaking pause. Then: “I killed someone.”
“Tavin said…” Fie’s voice broke. “He said it gets easier.” Jasimir didn’t answer. She forced herself to sit up and dig in her pack. “Also said he barfed on the body the first time, too, so you’ve that to bond over later.”
Jasimir made an odd sound that turned into a wavering, desperate laugh. He covered his eyes. “What in all twelve hells did we just… Whatwasthat? What werethose?”
Fie gulped. She could reckon with skin-ghasts the way she reckoned with sinners: distant enough to blunt the horror. Or at least she could try.
“Never heard of a Swan witch as could do that.” Fie pulled out strips of dried fruit and jerky and passed half to him, ignoring her trembling hands. “Looked like just… skins. But I never heard of a skinwitch as could do that, either.” The memory of clammy, empty skin clung too tight. She made herself bite off a chunk of meat and chewed awhile, too belly-sick to swallow but a little at a time. “Likely that’s what ran through our camp before Gerbanyar. You saw one close-up, aye? When the Vultures tried to jump us.”
“We thought it was a trick of the dark.”
“But half the group ran off once the others went down,” she mulled. “The fleshy ones. And the skin-ghasts only ran through our camp before, naught else. So they won’t attack on their own; they need people to follow. That’s good for us.”
Jasimir choked on his dried fruit. “How isanypart of this good for us?”
“Oleanders don’t ride by day, not yet, and the Vultures are off our trail for now. We stick to the roads until nigh sundown, hole up somewhere off the track for the night, and likely we can skip their ken.” Fie uncorked a water skin and took a swig. “We can still make it to Trikovoi before the end of Peacock Moon.”
Jasimir let out a long breath and drew a new one. “How… After everything I’ve done, everything you said about my father… why do you still care about saving him?”
“I don’t.” She tilted her head back, letting her eyes close just a moment. If ever Fie had felt like mincing her words, it wasn’t now. “He’s been a bad king to me, and he doesn’t sound like all that good of a father to you. But it gets worse if Rhusana takes his place. And I can’t saveanyof them alone. Not Tavin, not my kin, not even the king. Not without the master-general’s help.”
“Aunt Draga will get your family back,” Jasimir said. “She already has to rescue Tavin, since they’re blood relatives. The master-general will follow the Hawk code.”
Part of her dared to hope he was right. The rest of her called it foolishness. She couldn’t think on which one hurt more. Instead she said, “I’ll take watch.”
“We should split it.” Jasimir sat upright.
She shook her head. “If the Oleanders come round, I’ll need to set off Sparrow teeth soon as I can.”
Jasimir rubbed his face. “Then I’ll help you stay awake. We can take turns sleeping around dawn.”
If Fie was too tired to argue with that, then she needed the help. “Do what you like,” she sighed.
The night returned to quiet, broken only by muffled lowing of cattle and the iron toll of slaughter bells.
One of Fie’s untamable questions broke loose: “Why didn’t you go with the Oleanders?”
Jasimir didn’t answer for so long, she wondered if he’d fallen asleep anyhow. “I had a tutor,” he said at last. “A scholar on the ethics of ruling—everything I need to weigh when I make decisions for the good of the kingdom. She’s written dozens of scrolls on political power and rulers who succeeded and rulers who failed. There’s a wing in the royal library named for her. She was one of my mother’s best friends before… before.”
He blinked, as if searching the stars for answers to a question he couldn’t ask aloud yet.
“She said exactly what you did. That people pay me, in loyalty and in blood and in coin, because if enough people do, then I can repay them by making their lives better as their king. But…” He shook his head. “She didn’t say anything about the Crows. Not that the nation would collapse without you. Not how the other castes prey on you anyway. Her life’s work is the architecture of countries. She—shehasto know. But she didn’t even talk about it once.” He swallowed. “There’s… no real reason formenot to know, is there?”
“No,” Fie said quiet. “There isn’t.”
He buried his face in his hands again. “I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he said. “The most powerful people in the kingdom can’t even say the problem is real.”
“They know it is,” Fie said grimly, scanning the dark for torches. “Otherwise they wouldn’t be so hell-bent on pretending it isn’t.”
“I don’t know how to fix it.”
And I don’t think we can.
Fie’s eyes burned. “Tavin said that, too,” she said, hoarse. “You can’t fix it, not everywhere and not all at once. But you can begin by keeping the oath. By telling the Splendid Castes and Hunting Castes that we’re part of Sabor.”
“I hate it,” Jasimir admitted. “I hate being the heir. Nothing can ever be simple or easy. Most of the time it just feels like… like choosing which finger to cut off that day.” He glanced over at her and sighed. “And here I am whining about hard choices to the girl whose family is being held hostage by my enemies.”
