They passed the Hawk training yards, the armory, and finally reached the administrative offices, where they presented the slip calling for cat-masters and were sent up three flights of stairs. A small line of Hawks waited at the far end of the hall before massive twin mahogany doors. One wore the badge of a war-witch.
“I know the witch,” Jas said under his breath. “They were one of my mother’s closest friends.”
“Authorized visitors only,” the war-witch called down the hall. “Anyone entering this floor must have their caste verified, by order of the queen.”
Jasimir straightened his shoulders. “I have an idea. Let me go first.”
“You’re the ranking cat-master,” Fie returned.
Jasimir strode down the hall, Patpat trotting at his side. “We have a work order for the master-general’s suites,” he said, holding out a wrist. The Hawks looked taken aback at a Sparrow speaking like a commander, but the war-witch stepped forward and laid their hand on Jasimir’s forearm.
A moment later, their eyes widened. They gave Jasimir the slightest smile, then nodded to Khoda and Fie. “Your associates, too?”
“Deputies,” Jasimir said. “They’re my deputies.”
The war-witch only briefly clasped their wrists, looking from Jasimir to them and back. Then they took the work order slip and said, “Let me verify this with the master-general.”
They ducked through the mahogany doors. After a minute, they emerged and held the door open. “The master-general says now is an acceptable time.”
“Thank you.” Jasimir bowed and led them in.
Draga was on her feet, face strained, but she waited until the door shut to ask, low, “Is it really you?”
Fie let the glamours go. Draga dropped into her chair, then motioned for them all to come closer. “I—I thought you’d all be long gone.How?”
Barf squirmed in Fie’s arms until she set the tabby down. “When all this is over,” Fie said, “we’re having a long talk about palace security.”
“Like I said, the queen underestimates everyone else,” Khoda added dryly. “Including a Crow witch with a grudge and a bag of teeth. Do you think Rhusana’s lost her hold on you?”
Draga nodded. “Obviously, there’s no way to be certain, but it felt like a… a hand was on the back of my neck, and an hour or so after the coronation broke down it was suddenly gone. But it was too late by then.” She sent a rueful look at Fie. “I should have figured the mess with the ceremony wasyourdoing.”
“And the plague beacons last night were yours,” Fie returned.
Draga winced and leaned back. “Something’s wrong here. The crows, the Sinner’s Brand, the outbreaks… We’re in uncharted waters. At least it looks like there’s a way out.”
“You’ll help us against Rhusana and Tavin, then,” Khoda said.
“I can fight the queen for the beacons. I can’t—” Her breath hitched. She coughed, but it didn’t cover the wobble in her voice. “Taverin made his choices. I won’t delude myself about whether he can survive them. But it won’t be by my hand.”
“I could pardon him,” Jasimir offered.
Both Khoda and Draga shook their heads. “You’d be leaving an opening for the Oleander Gentry,” Khoda said. “They’ll take up arms in his name, claiming he’s the rightful king.”
“I’ll support you for monarch, Jasimir,” Draga said. “And you’ll have my help taking on Rhusana. That’s what I can offer.”
Jasimir’s eyes darted around the room, nervous. He took a deep breath, licked his lips, and asked, “Will I still have your support if Fie is my queen?”
There was a heartbeat of perfect, stunned silence. Then the eruption of noise sent all three cats bolting under Draga’s desk.
“ABSOLUTELY not,” Khoda half bellowed, while Fie, jaw agape, could only manage a “What?”
Draga herself was staring at Jasimir as if he’d grown another head. All she asked was “Why?”
“She’s Ambra reborn,” the prince said in a rush. “It would only be a formality, and—”
“Stop.” Draga held up a hand. “Go back. Fie iswhat?”
Fie couldn’t make herself answer. If Niemi had heard this, she’d be shrieking with glee at the prospect.
