The handler blinked at him, gaze darting to Fie once again, then passed over two scrolls, two heavy clay tokens, and two slips of parchment. One readEbrim Kamiro, Repairs Master, Maintenance Division; the otherYula Haovi, Cleaning Manager, Maintenance Division.
“Be quick,” the handler said. “Two dawns from now, the crown burns white.”
Fie had given up trying to parse their double meanings, but that one she got all too clear. Two days until Rhusana took the throne, and with her, the Oleander Gentry.
“The sun will rise,” Khoda said shortly.
His handler nodded, grim. “Even from our ashes.”
That seemed to be some sort of signal, for Khoda turned on a heel. Fie followed him, feeling the handler’s eyes on her as they strode from Magistrate’s Row.
“What in the twelve hells doesthatmean?” she hissed to Khoda once they were a respectable distance away.
“It’s our creed.” He handed her a scroll, a token, and a parchment slip. “It means we do whatever necessary to keep order. The master-general was right, Black Swans deal in the kind of secrets that can tear a nation apart. Our entire purpose is preventing that, no matter what. Even if we ourselves must burn.”
“Sounds uplifting,” she drawled.
Khoda tucked his scroll into his belt. “My creed is what kept Steward Burzo from sending your hair to the queen with the next message-hawk. I had to make a call about which was better for Sabor: keeping my own cover, or losing it to keep you free of Rhusana’s control. You know how I chose.”
“I don’t think the fate of the nation hangs on one Crow girl,” Fie returned.
He pursed his lips. “You’re just a Crow girl to people who benefit from you beingjusta Crow. From what I’ve seen, you’re a witch who can use every Birthright with the right tools, and you understand how to exploit what people expect of you. That’s how you got the queen to give you Phoenix teeth, how you fooled the master-general of the royal legions into saving your family, and how you convinced her to honor Jasimir’s oath. You don’t just survive, you turn tables on the most powerful people in the nation.” He shot a look at her. “And now I’m betting that’s how you’re going to get Jasimir on the throne.”
There were too manyyous in there for Fie’s liking. She’d done what any chief could do, and only because Pa’s soul had been tied up in it all.And now Khoda was making it sound like if things got dire enough, she could just whip up a miracle on demand.
He meant it as encouragement, that Fie knew. But all she could hear wasEven if we ourselves must burn.
It was dismayingly easy for them to walk into the royal palace.
Khoda had explained on the way up that this was the easiest way to smuggle a witch in; Pigeon witches were so rare and so powerful that Sabor was doubly sure not to let any slip through their grasp. Every single Pigeon witch was strictly accounted for at all times.
Pigeon couriers, on the other hand, were both harmless and commonplace. There was precious little point in screening for witches that were already accounted for. When they approached the gate for servants’ use, the Hawks just eyeballed them for weapons, validated their courier tokens, and waved them through with a spare guard for escort and a warning to keep the cat under control.
All Fie had to do was maintain the Peacock glamour that covered her witch-sign. She made a mental note to warn Jasimir about it once they cleared him out of the prison.
Then she remembered she’d all but abandoned him, and wondered if he’d speak to her at all.
The guard led them down corridors tiled and graveled, some walled in lattice, others no more than a fine roof supported by slender columns carved like spouts of golden fire. Whatever wind may have made it into the palace grounds seemed to get tangled between its intricately carved walls, leaving little relief from the smothering afternoon sun.
Khoda named different buildings they passed under his breath: the library, the dining hall for servants, the servants’ living quarters. Fietried not to ogle the splendor, even of the plainest buildings. The first and last time she’d been in the royal palace, it had been dark as pitch. She still resented the gilt and filigree with every bone in her body, but it was easy to see now why Jasimir had missed living in such finery.
The farther into the palace grounds they got, the more the ground hummed below her feet with the steady, hungry song she heard in Phoenix teeth. Pa had told her all the Phoenix gods were buried below the royal palace, making such a well of power that any Phoenix could call fire on royal ground, whether or not they were a witch. She’d missed it before, when she’d not yet called on the fire Birthright, but it was nigh impossible to ignore now.
The Hawk guard walked them to a square, sturdy building, still laden with flourishes of gold flame and curling feathers. He jabbed his spear at the door. “Their offices are on the second floor. Have Kamiro or Haovi show you out, and don’t forget to show your tokens.”
Khoda bowed. Fie, unaccustomed to bowing to anyone unless she was mocking them, hurried to do the same. The guard didn’t seem to notice as he headed back the way they’d come.
Fie and Khoda went inside, Fie blinking to adjust to the dark. A set of stairs led them to the second floor, where they found Ebrim Kamiro’s office labeled in a neat, clear hand.
“Courier,” Khoda called at the sliding canvas-screen door. “Messages for Ebrim Kamiro and…”
“Yula Haovi,” Fie finished.
The screen door slid aside, and a woman in her fifties peered out. “From Magistrate’s Row?”
“Ay—yes,” Fie said.
The woman winced. “Oh, you’re going to take work. Come in, hurry.”
