“My father abused his power in every way imaginable just to prove he could,” Jasimir hissed, “and your all-knowing Black Swans didnothingto stop him, because you thought he was good enough for the throne.”
Barf climbed onto Fie’s lap and plopped down with seemingly noregard for the fact that her belly was planted on the tortoiseshell’s face. Fie closed her eyes and let her head fall back.
Niemi wouldn’t shut up in Fie’s skull. Her tooth should have burned out hours ago, but somehow it was still alight.Marry the prince, the dead girl sang,take the throne, make us queen!
Fie ripped the tooth from her string and flung it across the room.
“I’m going to scalp the next person who saysthrone,” she announced, eyes still shut.
She heard Jasimir stomp toward the door. He paused before opening it.
“If being a Phoenix was all that made my father right to rule Sabor,” he said, tired and furious, “and being a Crow makes Fie wrong, then I don’t even know what we’re doing here.”
“If you’re leaving to go sulk,cat-master, don’t slam the door,” Khoda sighed.
Jasimir did not slam the door. Somehow it still sounded angry.
“It’s not just that you’re a Crow,” Khoda said after a moment.
Fie cracked an eye open to give him a look of disbelief. “Please. Continue telling me how I’m unfit to rule.”
Khoda put his hands on his hips. “Fine. Let’s say we have a heat wave, early spring, and the Marovar glaciers dump snowmelt into the Lash. The Hassura Plains flood, and Lumilar loses a fifth of the crops they’ve sown and a quarter of their cattle herds. How do you keep the city from starving?”
“Tell the lady-governor of the realm to pay them,” Fie said with a shrug. “Have you seen her mansion? She can afford it.”
“Oh no, she didn’t like how you phrased the order!” Khoda threw up his hands. “She’s saying she doesn’t have the resources, and your appropriations council won’t approve the expense of direct aid, either! What do you do?”
“Have them all executed,” Fie said darkly.
Khoda scowled. “Joke all you like, but this is exactly what I mean. Surimir wasn’t good enough for the throne, but hewastrained to keep the nation running and the Hawks and Peacocks happy. I don’t have to tell you leadership isn’t for amateurs. If Jasimir tried to run your band, even now, do you think he’d manage?”
Fiehmphed. Khoda had a point. But… “I’ve always been in this for the Crows, Khoda. Maybe you’re all right about us after all. Maybe I’m still with the Crows because the gods really did make us to be a punishment, and Ambra fouled up so grand that I’m still paying for it. But wehada Birthright. I hate this palace, I hate these people, and I bet whatever the crown looks like, I’ll hate it, too. But if taking it gets us our Birthright back, there is nothing you can say or do to stop me.”
He gave her a long look. Both of them knew that if it came time to test it, it would not end well. But Fie didn’t care; things rarely ended well for Crows without someone wrenching them the right way.
The door rattled on its hinges, then opened. Yula entered with a cart of cleaning goods, finger pressed to her lips until the door closed behind her. “Apologies,” she said under her breath, and hurriedly shoved aside the cleaning supplies. “We had to clean out the sick rooms, they’re needed. Here, your things.” She unloaded a few sacks of spare servant uniforms, base gowns for Fie to glamour, and Khoda’s own stash of varying disguises. Then she paused, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
“What’s wrong?” asked Khoda.
Yula turned to Fie. “Will… will you come look at them? The patients, that is. There’s three.”
Fie’s face dropped. “Is it the plague?”
Yula worried her bottom lip more before answering. “We don’t know.”
That sat strange. The plague usually made itself known within hours. Fie reached for one of the Sparrow uniforms. “Aye, I’ll take a look.”
Once she’d changed, she and Yula hurried across the palace grounds, Khoda staying behind in case Jasimir returned.
Caws ruffled the garden as they strode through, black wings rustling in the topiaries. Fie stopped counting the crows once she passed a dozen.
Something was drawing them to the palace. She didn’t know if she wanted to find out what.
Three Sparrow servants were waiting for them in the sick rooms, two women and a man sweating in the stifling room—yet they wore the long-sleeved tunics of winter uniforms, and gloves over those. Fie’s nose wrinkled. She didn’t smell the telltale plague-stink, but they also didn’t look like sinners to her, eyes still bright and alert, no pallor, no rash of Sinner’s Brand on their faces.
“I brought the Crow,” Yula whispered. “You can show her.”
They traded looks. The man stripped off a glove and rolled up his sleeve. Fie came closer.
