Fie eyed the angle of the sun in the sky. “Coronation starts at sundown. You’ll need to work fast.”
At that, Khoda cracked a decidedly sharkish smile. “You’ve sorted out how to hold a Peacock glamour while using other teeth, right?” She nodded. “While you were off sniffing out the prince, one of my sources got me the program for the entire coronation ceremony. And I think… we can kill two birds with one stone.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE SILK CROWN
Fie had been in the Hall of the Dawn once before, when she’d helped steal a crown prince faking his death. This time, she was here to stop a fake prince from stealing the crown.
It had been only slightly harder to break into the massive hall than it had been to sneak into the palace itself. Every entrance was guarded by Hawk war-witches reading caste in the guests’ blood to verify only Splendid Castes and a select few Hawks were allowed within. Any witches were also sent to Vulture skinwitches to have the witch-sign on their wrist marked for tracking during the ceremony.
However, like Pigeon witches, the nation kept their few Sparrow witches all accounted for and on a tight leash, so much so that a stray witch was unthinkable. All the gentry waiting to enter had been lined up to the left of each entrance. The right side was kept clear for those who wanted to exit.
So when Fie called the first of her three Sparrow witch-teeth in the shadow of a hedge and vanished whole from sight, not a soul stirred to stop her from strolling right into the heart of the royal palace.
True to Pa’s word, no one saw her coming.
She’d been right about the Mother of the Dawn: she could see the statue’s silhouette behind the two thrones, streaky and warped through the wall of rainbow-hued glassblack. A great gold disc and spray of golden rays made a sun cresting behind the dais, but now solstice eve sunlight streamed in through the statue’s fingers as well, gilding the hall’s lacquered blues, scarlets, and violets in a dazzling peach-gold color that Fie found wholly unnecessary. According to Ebrim, the hall had been built with the thrones in the west so Phoenixes could watch the dawn through the matching glassblack panes at the eastern end, where Fie stood now.
The ground itself was patterned with ornate wheels of marble in green, black, and white, and immense cut-iron columns marched down the main walkway, each carved like a lantern with the image of great Phoenixes of the past: Bright Hamarian, Suro the Conqueror, and of course, Ambra. Fires in every column blazed without mercy, even in the heat of midsummer, and the air hung just as thick with perfume oils and incense as the night Fie had pulled two dead princes from the palace’s guts.
The stream of gentry was beginning to congeal into a glittering crowd, mingling to the strains of musicians in the two galleries lining the upper levels of the hall. Sparrow servants wound round the multitudes, offering trays of pale wines and delicate pastries, brandishing palm fans to keep the gentry cool, and swiftly snatching away any empty goblets or plates. As Fie watched, a Peacock noblewoman in an emerald-choked headdress popped a thumbnail-size stuffed crab into her mouth, chewed once, wrinkled her nose, and motioned for aservant. The nearest Sparrow held his hand below her mouth, face stiff, as the Peacock daintily spat wet crab into his palm.
Fie winced, sick to her stomach. Back in Gen-Mara’s shrine, Pa was counting out rations and stretching every grain, every drop, every crumb, to last until the end of the moon.
All the more reason to end Rhusana swift. Fie ducked behind a tapestry in a secluded corner to let her Sparrow witch-tooth go before it burned too low. A Peacock witch-tooth wove Niemi’s face over her own once more; Fie borrowed the glimmering gown of another aristocrat, the elegantly dressed hair of a nearby countess, the swinging jewelry of a young woman she’d passed in line. When she was done, the teeth she’d strung at her wrist had turned to bangles, the swords at her hips hidden beneath a flowing skirt.
More importantly, everything was fine enough to blend in, but not so fine as to draw attention. She could barely manage speaking like a servant on her own; talking to any of these gentry would mean consulting another of Niemi’s teeth for aid, and Fie reckoned she’d rather let someone spit crab on her.
Fie slipped out from the tapestry and drifted onward, careful to look purposeful enough that no one interrupted her. Wherever she ended up, she needed to have a clear view of the ceremony. But the highest of nobility had already packed the front of the hall, and she doubted they’d move for her. She squinted, trying to spy a way to squeeze in—
And the crowd shifted briefly, just long enough for her to catch sight of Tavin in the heart of the throng.
Her heart seized. From a distance, it didn’t matter that he wore a glamour of Jasimir’s face; it was close enough to his own to hurt. He was laughing. He lookedhappy. He looked—
Straight at her.
She tried not to flinch away as they locked eyes. Niemi wasn’t there to tell her to be charming, but Khoda’s reminder still was:Let’s see what else you can catch.
Academically speaking, the expression Fie gave Tavin could have been called a smile. It also could have been called a death threat.
She hurried off before she made good on it, only to run into a Sparrow servant who’d slid into her path.
Fie stiffened. Not even a minute and she’d already been found out. She didn’t even have her Phoenix teeth to burn a way out anymore, just the one from Tavin—
The servant gave a deep bow, and Fie tried not to let her relief show. Even after he straightened, his head stayed bent, his eyes cast to the ground. “Lady Sakar, a thousand apologies for the interruption of this unworthy one.”
He paused, waiting for her. Fie gulped. It was a good day when a Sparrow didn’t spit in her wake, normally. She’d at least find that less disconcerting. “Go on,” she said, trying to sound aloof instead of unsteady.
Only then did she spot the crest sewn into his golden sash: two hands cradling a sun. The royal emblem. That meant he was a personal attendant, either of the prince or of the queen. “His Highness wishes to offer Your Ladyship a more favorable place to observe the coronation, should you so desire it.”
She’d certainly caught something of Tavin’s, then, and it was sore useful and sore repulsive. Fie hated it the way she hated viatik sometimes, when the goods were dear but the givers dreadful. And she knew better than to trust anything given freely.
“Very well,” Fie said in her best highborn snob voice. “Where… is it?”
A flicker of curiosity darted through his face. “I will escort Your Ladyship there, if it pleases.”
This felt like a game, a back-and-forth like Twelve Shells. She’d spent so long playing games like this from the other side of the board—for every viatik, every Hawk bribe, every Money Dance—but it was always just to keep from losing too much.
