“None that I’ve seen.”
Fie scowled about the room. She couldn’t see any sort of mechanism that would open the cell, and they didn’t have time for her to hunt for one. It stung, getting this close, but Jas’s rescue would have to wait.
“I’m sorry, I have to get help, but I swear—I’m not giving up again.”
The prince bit his lip and nodded, eyes glistening wet in the lamplight. He held out a hand through the bars. “We still have an oath to keep,” he said, hoarse. “We’ll make them pay.”
Fie clasped it hard and fierce. “We’ll burn it down.”
He let her go, but when she reached the stairs, he called after her. “Fie.”
“Aye?” She looked back.
Jasimir was pressed against the bars, hollow and desperate. “Everyone… my mother, my father, Aunt Draga, Tavin… They’re all gone. You’re all I have left. If I lose you, too…”
She knew that break in his voice; it matched hers, when she’d laid all her failings at Pa’s feet days ago. So she gave him a sad grin and said, “Not just me. You’ve got the cat, too. Now sit tight for a bit, aye? Help’s on the way.”
Barf had apparently grown bored of the fish stew and moved on by the time Fie emerged. Fie wasn’t troubled; she knew the tabby would show up again when it pleased her. The guards were just returning as she scuttled from the Divine Gallery, and they paid her no heed thanks to the Sparrow tooth she burned. The ground still buzzed beneath her slippers, but the overbearing song faded with the more distance she put between herself and the graves.
Khoda was already at the statue when she arrived, kneeling in the grass and studiously scrubbing the snowy marble pedestal. The statue itself loomed taller even than the ones inside the gallery, a golden woman crowned in flames wrought of amber, a sun rising from her outstretched hands, just like the royal crest. This had to be the Mother of the Dawn, patron of the monarchs. All the gods were supposed to have statues in the Divine Gallery, but apparently being their favorite got you an extra one outside, overlooking the gardens.
“You’re here to help with the mildew?” Khoda asked gruffly, jerking his chin at a scrub brush nearby. From what Fie could see, there was no trace of scum on the marble, but an excuse was an excuse.
“Aye.” She picked up the brush, then caught Khoda’s frown. “Yes.” She knelt next to him and began to scrub. “I found him,” she muttered.
“This side’s clean enough,” he announced. “Let’s start on the back.” They scooted until they were behind the pedestal, with the Hall of the Dawn behind them. If Fie had sorted the palace’s layout right, then the wall of iridescent glassblack a few dozen paces away was the only thing between them and the thrones inside.
“Where is he?” Khoda hissed.
Fie opened her mouth to answer, then closed it as a notion struck. “Keep scrubbing,” she told him, and fished out a new Peacock tooth and her half-burnt Owl one. She’d built glamours from memory just an hour ago; perhaps she could do so again.
The sparks and the songs took a moment to find their balance, but it helped to give them the structure of her own fresh memories as well. She set her Peacock tooth on the ground, and a miniature copy of Jasimir’s cell spun itself into place, down to the dog statue that opened the way.
Khoda wasn’t scrubbing anymore. She scowled and thrust the brush back in his hand, hissing, “I shouldn’t have to tell a spy boy to keep his cover up.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” he said. “How did you get the image so accurate?”
“Owl tooth. That memory Birthright’s coming in handy.”
“And you can use Peacock and Owl at the—” He cut himself off. “We can talk about this later. The Divine Galleries weren’t on our list. How did you find him?”
Fie grimaced and relayed as much as she could stomach: burning a Pigeon witch-tooth, following the servant, catching Tavin’s eye. When she was done, Khoda was back to frowning.
“I don’t like it,” he admitted. “But if you’ve snagged his attention—”
Fie was already flicking the water from her scrub brush into his face. “Youglamour yourself up like a Peacock and charm him then! I’d rather have split his skull in the amber-pods!”
“Well,” Khoda said, wiping dirty water off his face with an air of faint disdain, “that makes what I’m about to suggest much more of a poppy dream, I suppose.” Fie regarded him with the kind of suspicion she usually reserved for street meat. He shrugged. “I think we can use this. After the prince is free, of course. But the Sakars haven’t exactly been bragging that their daughter died of the Sinner’s Plague, and they’ll be in mourning at their manor until the next moon at the earliest. The odds you’d be recognized as a dead girl are low, and in the meantime, Tavin may let something useful slip. You’ve already caught his eye. Let’s see what else you can catch.”
Fie had been scrubbing at the same patch of pedestal so hard, she felt likely to leave a divot. “I’d rather catch his throat and be done with it.”
“Yes, I’m aware, and I’ll save that honor for you once all this is over,” Khoda sighed. “But this isn’t like dealing with sinners or Oleanders. You have to think about strategy and spectacle. Hundreds of high-bred witnesses saw you take Jasimir’s corpse moons ago, only for him to return in triumph. If you kill Tavin while he’s posing as Jasimir, do youthink the public will buy that the crown princemiraculouslycame back to life yet again?”
It’s a divine mandate when a Phoenix prince survives the plague. It’s a cheap hoax when his guard conveniently lives, too.
Tavin had made nigh the same point back at the beginning of Peacock Moon. Fie had to gulp down the hard knot that memory left in her throat.
“The same goes for Rhusana,” Khoda continued. “She’s the most powerful person who knows Tavin’s a fake. Remove her and he’ll just be harder to dethrone. We need them to take each other down.” He studied the miniature jail, eyes lingering on the tiny Jasimir pacing behind the bars. “The first step is getting the prince out. Our two favorite traitors will blame each other for it, and we can use that. I’ve seen cells like this on Yimesei. I’m pretty sure I can break him out with a proper distraction.”
