“The Vultures have come north,” Fie answered, brow furrowed. Tavin’s glamour had to have burned out days ago, yet only now did they move north. “Can you get the map?” Jasimir freed it from her pack, then unfurled it on the thin roadside grass. Spring had ended dry and hot in the Marovar, turning green shoots yellow even before the solstice.
Fie knelt and tried to reckon Tavin’s trail against the line of the flatway burnt into the goat-hide. One fingertip traced the road until just north of Gerbanyar. That yielded no good answers. “They’re riding toward the crossroads.”
Jasimir tapped the map. “They could be aiming for the flatway west. That’s the fastest route back to the capital.” He grimaced. “Or they could be coming after us.”
She pinched at Pa’s tooth. His spark hadn’t gone out. He lived yet, but who else? She knew Tatterhelm had taken one of her own on the bridge; she knew he’d shot down Hangdog the moment he could. The skinwitch had ten hostages when he’d left Cheparok. How many had he bothered to keep alive?
Fretting wouldn’t keep her oaths, though.
“We’re a day from Trikovoi. They’re too far to catch up before we make it.” Jasimir leaned back on his heels. “Let’s follow the beacons until they split from the road and see how close the Vultures are by then.”
Uncertainty coiled around his words. Part of Fie felt better for hearing it there. “That’s sound enough. We can cover at least another league before we stop tonight.”
They camped in the ruins of an old watchtower that night, one they’d found thanks to Crow marks on a signpost. It held a bounty: a clean well, a long-feral vegetable garden, and, best of all, a hearth. For the first time in days, they could light a fire and not betray their camp.
Jasimir watched Fie scrawling outTa-ri-ka-o-va-oiin the ashes. “And then Tavin passed the governor the platter of Hassuran steak and said, ‘I didn’t think your son could make it.’”
Fie collapsed into giggles, the weary sort that came of late nights.
So did Jasimir. When the laughter died down, he said, “Gods, I miss him.”
A knot blistered in Fie’s throat. “Aye,” she whispered. “So do I.”Ta. Ri.The letters blurred. She needed a distraction, anything to leave that wound alone. “He said the king has a shine for Hawks.”
“Hawks and women. At least he and I have the Hawks in common. Hopefully for different reasons.” Jasimir’s voice scraped with something almost like hunger. “But that’s why he married one of the Twin Talons. I don’t think Aunt Draga ever forgave him for it.” He reached for the fire, letting it harmlessly thread his knuckles. “All he wanted was a son like a Hawk. When Tavin arrived…”
Fie knotted it all up herself: How the prince had demanded Tavin’sduty, not understanding what it would mean to be fulfilled. How he’d rankled as Tavin’s loyalty slipped to her. The tremor in his voice when he’d claimed his Hawk had one job alone.
“The king put Tavin first,” Fie said.
Jasimir closed his eyes and nodded like it hurt. “My mother spent so much time training him, right until she died, and Father would always… light up when he watched. I’ve barely seen him since he married Rhusana.” He let out a bitter laugh. “He couldn’t even be bothered to watch my funeral march.”
Beyond the ruined watchtower walls, a reedy howl coasted on the wind. They both knew the whistle of skin-ghasts by now; they both fell silent until it faded.
Then Jasimir glanced at the ashes and brightened a little. “Yourvois are getting better. Keep it up and when you see Swain again, you can help him with his scroll.” Jasimir stared into the fire. “I can’t believe everything Crows carry in your heads. It’s incredible. All that history, all your traditions…”
“That’s what walking songs are for. We hear them nigh as soon as we’re born.” Fie pondered a moment. “The teeth feel like that, too. Like each one has a song, and when I call them, the dead sing through me.”
“Were either of your parents a witch?”
Fie shook her head. “No. Wretch said Ma met my blood-pa when both their bands stayed in the same shrine. She fancied him, and then I happened nine moons later. Pa’s my real one. He took me for his own daughter when Ma died.”
“Do you still miss her?”
The slate slipped a little. Fie licked her lips and smudged her name off the surface. “I was four,” she said, frowning as she began writing anew. “I don’t remember much before… Oleanders got her.” She closed her eyes a moment, plucking the dim memories like crowsilk frombranches almost too high to reach. “Ma kept her hair long for a Crow. She liked to pick dandelions and blow all the fluff off, and we’d see who could do it faster. Pa said she was so dead-set to give me my name herself that she sent off anyone who couldn’t keep their mouth shut while she birthed me.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Crows name their babes for the first cross word sent their way. It’s luck. That word can’t hurt you any if it’s already your name. She said I howled like a devil when I came out, like I was born vexed with the world. Ma couldn’t abide the noise. That’s how I came to be Fie.” She swallowed. “So aye. I suppose I still miss my ma, too.”
Jasimir stared through the decrepit roof, up to the stars. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry Father didn’t stop the Oleanders sooner. I’m sorry I haven’t done anything about them, either.”
Fie turned the scrap of slate over. “They’re the same, in the end. Different heads on the same monster. The Oleanders. Rhusana.”
“My father.”
Fie threw a sharp glance at the prince. His eyes were fixed on the stars, his face hard as iron.
“You wanted to save him,” she said.
