Fie poured every ounce of her strength into the Sparrow tooth clenched in her fist.
And the dagger vanished in midair.
There was a tiny thud, and a razor-thin line where the point of the unseen blade jabbed into the dirt. The Oleander stopped, back to them.
Fie’s skull pounded, the camp swimming in her sight. Every bone rattled and whined. A copper tang singed her throat. Too far, she’d stretched the tooth-spark too far—but she couldn’t let go, not now—
The Oleander lord strolled over to the wagon.
“‘Feed the Crows,’” he drawled, disgusted. “Better to starve the damned leeches.”
With a flick of the wrist, he dropped his torch on the wagon’s top.
Fie cringed, her grip on the branch going white-knuckled as she fought to stay upright. Flames spread like a blanket over the dry wagon wood. If they were lucky, someone in the trees had smuggled out a stash of food. If not, they were in for a lean few days. Even a sack of rice…
A horrible thought near felled her from the tree then and there. No, there had been such a commotion before they took to the trees, for sure—
Her heart sank as a confused mew pierced the night.
Barf was still in the wagon’s hold. And the Crane arbiter had shut the way out.
The Oleander lord walked away.
“What now?” asked the Crane.
He mounted his horse and turned to the trees. “We wait.”
Flames began to lick down the wagon’s sides. Another cry rose from inside, unmistakable. The Crane hesitated, stretched a hand out toward the side panel, then jerked back at the heat. After a moment she, too, mounted her horse.
Another plaintive mewl wound around the camp.
The ghost of Pa’s voice scratched across her skull:You have to keep your eyes open.
Fie fought down vomit as her bones screamed, holding on to the Sparrow witch-tooth, holding her own panic back even harder, clinging to the only truth that mattered: she had to see Pa’s oath through. She had to keep the prince safe. She had to look after her own.
Tears burned salt tracks down her face.
Look after your own.
Blood trickled from her nose.
Look after your own.
The Oleanders waited.
Look after your own.
Barf’s wailing rose, desperate, fearful. Flames streaked higher into the dark.
Something seized Fie’s elbow. She near fell off the branch.
“The tooth,” Jasimir muttered in her ear. “Give me the tooth.”
“Wh—”
“Will it still work if I’m holding it?”
“Aye, but—” Her whisper faded, another wave of dizziness splitting her sight.
