Tatterhelm squinted at her shirt and leggings, searching for any hint of hidden weapons. She knew he’d find none. He jerked his chin. “The teeth.”
Fie clenched her jaw, then lifted Tavin’s sword and sliced through her chief’s string. It fell to the ash with her robe.
“Now the sword.”
Fie let the Hawk blade drop. When it struck the earth, she’d have sworn she’d stripped herself bare. Thin wool wouldn’t stop arrows. No teeth, no steel. Easy prey.
Pa had said she was a dead god reborn. She did not feel like one now. Not even Little Witness.
Her pulse beat a funeral march in her ears.
She did not look at Tavin.
“Bring the prince closer.”
“Let them go,” she returned.
Tatterhelm pressed a red line into the side of Tavin’s throat, just below the shade of a bruise. Tavin jerked; his slaughter bell tolled.
“I ain’t askin’ twice,” Tatterhelm said.
The cold hook in Fie’s guts winched tight. She forced a breath through her nose and marched Jasimir onward, unarmed. Empty-handed. Toothless.
Every heartbeat echoed what burned in every Crow’s eyes:
Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.
She fouled up and looked to Tavin again. What burned in his face was much, much worse.
She didn’t know why she’d ever fooled herself into hoping for forgiveness.
He would live. That had to be enough.
When they drew within a few paces, Tatterhelm barked, “Hold up.” They stopped. “Prince goes the rest of the way himself.”
This was it. Fie licked her lips and let Jasimir go. He shook his head and tried to protest around the gag. It sounded something like “You can’t.”
“Trust me,” Fie said, “it’s too late for that, Highness.”
She shoved him to the Vultures.
“No!” Tavin shouted, wild-eyed.
Jasimir stumbled through the dust—one pace, two—and Tatterhelm seized the scruff of his neck.
Now.Fie licked her lips, drew breath to whistle—
And the ashes erupted at her feet.
Gray, flat hands slapped about her ankles. Another pair roped round her throat. She screamed, half fear, half fury, thrashing like an animal in a snare.
She’d forgotten the skin-ghasts, and now—it had all fouled up.
Fie choked out a furious scream before the clammy hands yanked tight.
Cinders rained from two skin-ghasts as they swelled from below, slick gray hides gorging like water skins. The one grasping her ankles yanked them up with him as he rose, until she hung by both her neck and feet.
And then the skin-ghasts’ faces filled in, hollow, dreadful. Known.
