“Because your lives depend on it,” Prince Jasimir snapped, panic sparking in his voice. “Do you truly think the Oleander Gentry will treat with you?”
Fie smothered a laugh. “Awful convenient how your heart only bleeds for Crows now that you need us. Spent your life weeping on the inside, did you?”
“That’s not fair,” Tavin started.
That same old rage whipped the words from her. “Fair?Fair?You want to tell me what’s fair, palace boy? You want us to choose betwixt letting the Oleanders run us down by day or making sure they still have to do it by dark soyourcastes can keep pretending you don’t see?” She spat at their feet. “Call that help if you want. Your Hawk’ll pick it up with the rest of your crap.”
If any Crow thought Fie had overstepped, she’d hear their grumbles. Instead, the roadside was wired in taut silence, all eyes on her.
They knew a Money Dance when they heard it.
Tavin moved first, rubbing his hands together. Somehow the gesture still looked deadly. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted with a shrug. “At least, not about your options. It’d take another ten years in service of the palace for me to make it all the way to royal dung collector. I’d recommend you take our word on the Oleanders, though.”
“What’s your word worth when you’re good as dead?” The rot in Hangdog’s voice said this was more than the Money Dance. “When we’reallgood as dead?”
“Fine.” Prince Jasimir pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gold? Jewels? Lands? What’s your price?”
Fie mimicked Tavin’s dismissive hand flick. “Flash and trash. If the Oleanders don’t loot those from us, your other gentry will.”
“Then whatdoyou want?” Prince Jasimir asked.
This time, Fie already had a chief’s price in mind.
Look after your own.She had one foot already down this road, and every eye was on her. She couldn’t go back; she couldn’t give her ma mercy or keep Hangdog from screaming in his sleep. But she could keep any Crow from having to walk that way again.
She took a deep breath and looked Prince Jasimir dead in the eye. “I never want to see the Oleander Gentry again. The Hawks that Rhusana promised the Gentry? They’ll guard us instead. I want your Covenantoath that with you as king, every caste will know we Crows are worth protecting.That’smy price.”
The prince’s face turned as gray as the steward’s had.
Pa, on the other hand, had the tiny wrinkles under his eyes that only showed when he was beating down a smile. Fie took that as a good sign.
“Crows,” Pa called out before either lordling could speak. “Do we favor those terms?”
Another twist of her dance. There was a chorus of ayes. Another twist of the knife. Tavin’s glare could have cut through stone.
“You know what you’re asking?” Prince Jasimir asked. “No caste has ever had special protection like this before.”
Swain coughed. “Suppose your palace Hawks are just highly trained, well-armed houseguests, then?” One more whirl and stamp, one more scratch in the floor.
The prince opened his mouth, then closed it, thinking. “It’s different,” he said slowly. “Royalty are prime targets for coordinated attacks and internal violence—”
“Aye, and we actually die from those.” Fie folded her arms. “Yousaid you wanted to help. Rhusana seems to think she’s got Hawks to spare. We’ve named the terms, prince. Cut your oath or leave us be.”
Fie’s favorite thing about the Money Dance was that it always, always worked.
Tavin ran a hand over his dark hair. “She’s got a point, Jas. Several, in fact. Enough points that I’m starting to think she’s mostly thorns.”
“Some bone in there, too,” Pa added, his grin little more than lacquer over an unspoken threat. “Y’know. For structure.”
Prince Jasimir scowled, eyes darting from Fie to Tavin. After a long moment, his shoulders drooped. “Fine. You have my word.”
Fie caught her breath. A ripple shifted through the Crows; it might as well have echoed down the road, all across Sabor.
The prince had just sworn to tell his country that Crows were worth protecting.
But they only had his word. Fie knew how flimsy a Phoenix’s promise was. “I said a Covenant oath.”
The prince shrank back. Hangdog laughed cruelly. “Oh, the wee princeling’s afraid of cutting an oath, then?”
