Jasimir pointed his charcoal stick over her shoulder. She turned. Pa sat at a table inside the barrack, gesturing to the seat across from him.
Fie unbuckled the chief’s blade as she walked over and set it down on the lacquered red table before she sat.
Pa did not take it.
“The prince told me the Hawks are balking at the oath,” he said. Fie’s gut twisted, half-relieved she didn’t have to break the news, half-miserable for failing him so. “Don’t fret, Fie. It’ll come. Maybe it takes longer than we hoped, but it’ll come.”
“Your end’s kept, at least,” she whispered, ragged.
“Aye. Remember what I told you about earning your string?” Pa hefted a cooking pot by the handle. Without a little finger to grip tight, it wobbled bad. “I can’t deal mercy proper now. Could try with my left hand, but I won’t be fast or sure.”
“And that’s no mercy at all.” Fie swallowed, eyes on the broken sword.We both didn’t want who we were.“Pa, I’m too young to be chief.”
“You’re too young for near all you did the last moon and a half.”
I don’t want to be chief.
Fie stared at the table’s thick red lacquer.
“I didn’t want it, either,” Pa said, too quiet for the others to hear.
She looked up, startled. The confession burst free. “Pa, I—I carried steel, I learned to read, I left the roads. Ilikedit. I don’t want to be chief. I don’t know if I want to be aCrow.”
He reached over and took her hand. “No chief I’ve ever met looked down the road and wanted what they saw waiting for them. Hangdog never saw a way out for Crows. He gave up on us. But you, Fie… you changed that road. You made it one youcouldwant. Learning your letters, carrying steel… Those don’t make you less of a Crow. They open ways for the rest of us. And when any of us look at your road, we see you’re bound to be one of the greatest chiefs the Crows will ever witness.”
“Tell that to Swain.” Fie’s voice cracked.
“He said it himself the night we cut the oath.” Pa gingerly tested his scarred, Hawk-healed knuckle. “Your ma said you were born vexed with the world, aye. And Swain said you were born vexed enough to turn it on its head.”
She had no answer, only eyes that burned wet. Pa gripped her hand tighter.
“The Oleanders, they say we bring our troubles on ourselves, aye?” He leaned in. “Spend enough time biting your tongue instead of spitting back and you start to believe them. But there’s good in your road. Aye, we walk a harder, longer way to get it, but it’s ours. It’s yours. You deserve it and more. Don’t let them take that from you, too.” He leanedback and sighed. “Where’s your string? Don’t need ten fingers to tie that, at least.”
Fie pulled her tooth string from a pocket and brushed off the ash, then handed it over. Pa circled round to her back and looped it about her neck once more. A moment later, he let it fall, knotted tight.
“By the Covenant’s measure and the dead gods’ eyes, you’re a chief,” he recited. “Deal their mercy. And look after your own.”
The string felt heavier than before. She’d looked after two false Crows; now she had a band of ten true ones. But she had Pa, and she had Wretch, and she had a prince’s oath.
And she had a bag of Phoenix teeth. That helped.
Pa sat across from her once more and raised an eyebrow. “So. You and the Hawk lad?”
She hid her face in her hands. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Naught to be ashamed of, either,” Pa said, treading cautious. “He saved all our lives on the road. Tatterhelm thought he had the prince and didn’t care to keep toting spare hostages. Your boy blew his own ruse to keep us alive, knowing he’d take twelve hells for it. He’s got his head on right.”
“It’s all a wash, anyway,” she sighed, searching her hems until she found a thread to pick. “I near got his brother killed.AndI paraded his biggest secret about before half of Trikovoi. He hardly even looked at me. Reckon we’re done for.”
Pa gave her a narrow look. “Ireckon he started shining to you the moment you punched him. By the time Tatterhelm brought him in, that boy lit up like a torch anytime he caught your name. That’s a dedicated kind of shine to be sure. I’d wager some faith on it.”
For the second time that afternoon, she had no answer, no matter how she scoured the table for one.
“Excuse me.” Jasimir’s voice carried from a few paces away as he walked over to the table. “We found… this.”
He held out Swain’s scroll.
Fie took it in a shaking hand and spread the crackling parchment. For the first time, the letters ordered themselves for her: lines of a walking song, of lore, of lives here and gone.
