Littler fires had broken out in the garden, left by a prince, a bastard, a Crow, and a king making their way across the palace grounds, but they had burned out swift enough.
The true fire began when the Well of Grace exploded. Or it caved. Or it collapsed into the catacombs below. The story wavered there, but one and all, every survivor saw the same thing:
A fire and a flood, burning with all the light and color in the world, sweeping over the palace. The skin-ghasts simply melted away, there and then gone. Everyone caught in the fire tide heard something different: their mother’s favorite song, the parting words of a lover, the jest of a friend, the oath of a brother.
When the flood passed, it left the fire in its wake. It let those still inside the palace walls pass without harm and instead feasted on the bones of a kingdom. Every plague-gutted, rot-stained building burned, every bit of gold, every shrine to a dead king, every pavilion, every spire.
And in the gardens, the sinners waiting for their mercy pushed themselves up, marveling at the Sinner’s Brand scoured away, the plague banished from their bones. In moments they would learn there was a price to pay.
In the years to come, they would learn it was a kinder world to pay it in.
Fie woke in the rubble, arms still wrapped round Tavin. She saw naught of the Sinner’s Brand on him; his chest rose and fell without rattling.
She’d done it.
She’d found the Birthright of the Crows. She’d found her own grave. She’d claimed him from the plague.
She didn’t want to wake him just yet. She wanted a moment to breathe in the peace, she wanted the beauty of it to last.
Instead, metal claws dug into her scalp and dragged her up. Fie let out a startled shriek.
“Youfilthylittle bitch,” Rhusana hissed.
Fie could see the burning, crumpled wreck of the royal quarters; the veranda had tilted over, and while Rhusana had survived the fall, it had not been as easy on her as being whisked from the Hall of the Dawn by an escort of ghasts. She’d clawed her way over on hands and knees, her stolen crown gone, her hair straggling from its six braids. Her dress was shedding feathers like a split pillow, mottled red with scratches and scrapes from the collapse.
She kept her grip on Fie’s hair but dug the claws of her other hand into Fie’s throat, pushing them both up to their knees.
“I think you want to die,” Rhusana cooed, teeth bared, dragging so hard on Fie’s hair that it brought tears to her eyes. “The world doesn’t need another bone thief, does it?”
Fie stared at her. Then she laughed.
She shoved her hand in Rhusana’s face. The queen let out a startled, ungainly yelp and tried to push Fie off. Instead, Fie seized a fistful of fat, fraying braid and slammed the Swan Queen’s head against the rubble.
A bloody tooth fell from Rhusana’s mouth.
Fie seized it. The queen went still, her bones no longer hers to command.
Pa had told her things worked different on his own grave. The well was little more than a slide of shattered stone and glassblack, but it was still hers.
“I’m the Eater of Bones,” she told her. “And you’re in my home.”
She found the spark of Birthright in Rhusana’s bones, swatted the memories away like flies; she already knew what had made the queen, and she had no need to roll in it.
She saw unseen strings like hair, and each one conjured a face, a name, a desire: Her attendants, who wanted to feel special among the Sparrows. Her personal guards, who wanted to prove themselves. Her Peacocks, who wanted to believe their fortunes could rise with hers.
Fie snapped each string, one by one.
“No,” Rhusana said when the Peacocks were cut free. “Stop,” she said when the attendants’ tie to her broke.
Fie found one that led to Rhusomir. He wanted her to love him, and she kept it that way.
“Please,” Rhusana said.
But through the Swan’s own Birthright, Fie could tell: all she wanted was to avoid paying for what she’d done.
She severed the queen’s hold on her son.
Then she found what she’d been looking for, as the white tiger picked its way down the rubble toward them. Rhusana’s tether held it better than any leash. She could feel the hunger in its belly.
