“You’re hurt—”
“I’ll live.”
Draga nodded, more a twitch of her chin than anything. Then she drew herself up and narrowed her gaze on the prince. “You’re saying you thought of this all on your own? That she only followed your orders?”
Pa started forward, but Fie shook her head.
“Royal commands,” she said, letting go of Pa to stand on her own. “Can’t disobey those.”
The master-general shot her a cold look.
“I take full responsibility,” Jasimir answered. “Any punishment should fall on me alone.”
Draga’s mouth tightened. It was plain she didn’t believe him for a heartbeat. But she couldn’t exactly pass a reckoning on her own crown prince.
“This ploy could have destroyed everything you worked for,” Draga snapped. “The fact that it worked is only a sign that the Covenant isn’t done with any of you yet.”
“It worked because Tatterhelm underestimated Fie.” Tavin’s voice cut through the crowd, straight to his mother. “And so did you.”
Silence stretched taught as a wire until Draga’s shoulders slumped. She rubbed a hand over her face, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Anything else? Anyone have another grievance or five they feel compelled to air? Any new secrets to fess up?”
“Tavin and I slept together,” Fie offered. “Since you’re asking. Probably would’ve come out one way or another.”
Pa turned a laugh into a cough. Madcap twisted about and crudely gestured their approval.
Draga stared at Fie a long, long moment, then muttered, “I’m getting back on the mammoth.”
“That went well,” Pa said under his breath.
“Corporal Lakima,” Draga called, stalking away. “I want healers working through these people before we return to Trikovoi. And we’re taking the Vultures with us. Spare hostages never hurt anyone.”
“Wait.” Fie pushed forward as Draga spun on a heel, scowling. “Keep Viimo separate. She lied to Tatterhelm and said she didn’t see you coming. The other Vultures will know.”
“Why would she do that?” Draga demanded, bewildered. Fie shook her head. “Fine. She’ll have a nice cozy dungeon all to herself. Now follow me so we can patch you lot up.”
The Crows hung back, looking from Fie to Pa, and with an odd lurch, Fie realized they waited for the marching order.
Pa raised his brows at her. “Well?”
Fie wavered. “I—I dropped my teeth,” she said.
Pa nodded and patted her shoulder. “Catch up when you find them.”
He whistled the marching order. The Crows moved out, peppering Jasimir and Tavin with questions.
Fie hung back to peer about the cinders, hunting for her tooth string. She also didn’t favor adding a lost sword to Tavin’s list of troubles.
As she turned, Tavin’s iron bell swung on its rope. Fie hadn’t realized she still clenched it in a sweating fist.
Hot, scaly fingers closed around her ankle.
She yipped and jerked free, stumbling in her haste. A blackened hand scrabbled through the ash toward her, leashed to a steaming mass of burnt flesh.
Tatterhelm somehow lived yet.
But not much longer: his blood turned the cinders about him to dull red paste. If he were fortunate, blood loss would fade him out before the burns could.
“Mercy,” he gasped.
