gambler who knew how his loaded shells would land. “That’s my favorite part, actually. I’ll have to lie low for a while, but Jas … Let’s just say Queen Ambra set a precedent for Phoenixes miraculously returning from the dead.”
Fie’s jaw dropped. Of all the things she had heard this night, what Tavin proposed was the most rattle-brained of all.
In the entire history of Sabor, only one soul had ever burned bright enough to survive the Sinner’s Plague: the invincible Ambra, matriarch of the Phoenix caste, Queen of Day and Night. Legend said she rode tigers into battle, a spear in each hand; that she walked in wildfire unscathed; that the sun came at her beck and call, so greatly did it love her. Legend said that her rebirth in the Phoenix caste would herald another era of prosperity and peace.
Legend hadn’t much to say about shamming her reincarnation for political gain, but somehow Fie couldn’t imagine it landed on the right side of the Covenant. Nor could she conjure a vision of the willowy prince before her riding aught more spirited than a poppy-addled pony.
Tavin must have read the doubt on her face, for his hand flapped once more. “We can’t really sell Jas as the King of Day and Night. But bouncing back from the Sinner’s Plague is a good argument that Ambra’s bloodline is strong in him. That alone will win over half the country.”
“The idiot half,” Wretch muttered.
“If there were another way out, we’d take it.” Prince Jasimir’s gaze traveled from Crow to Crow. What he was searching for, Fie couldn’t say. “But Rhusana will give every one of you over to the Oleanders if she reaches the throne. I’m asking for your help to stop her. Otherwise none of us has a chance.”
“If you’re speaking true…” Pa rolled a tooth strung at his neck. Fie would’ve gone for a Crane-caste tooth, one that could sift out lies from the lordlings. Instead Pa’s hand dropped. He looked at the rest of the Crows. “We’ve only got one rule. Strikes me we’d best follow it.”
Look after your own. Fie had heard that rule near every day. As a chief, she’d need to live it soon. But even if she could keep her own band of Crows safe, the whole caste was scattered across Sabor.
If the Oleanders could ride free, road after road would end like her ma’s had.
Her jaw stiffened. It was a chafing thing: even filthy with pig blood, the lordlings still looked like they belonged in a palace.
There was no real bargain here, just make-believe benevolence of offering the Crows a choice. It was written in the imperious tilt of the prince’s lips, in the jut of Tavin’s chin, the way they both drummed their fingers as they waited for an answer they were sure they’d get.
Just like Rhusana, with her damned oleander bangle. Even if the lordlings were bluffing about her ambitions, the Oleander Gentry still had her favor. Of course the Crows had no choice.
Of all the bodies Fie had ever dragged off to burn, she most surely hated these two the most. For all their talk, the lordlings treated with the Crows as if they were back in that miserable gilded hall, forcing them to dance for fair pay—
An idea carved through her thoughts like her sandal-nail on marble, and left a trail like a bloody finger.
“No,” Fie said. “I say no deal.”
Surprise flashed over every face on the road. Hangdog’s snort followed. Prince Jasimir’s dark eyes narrowed. “We want to help—”
“Oh, you want to help,” she mimicked. “Does His Highness have another servant to shovel up all the crap falling out of his mouth, or is that his job?” She jerked a thumb at Tavin. To his credit, the guard only raised his eyebrows, but that razor edge danced in his gaze again. “You faked your deaths. You tried to go back on your deal with Pa. And you just told us your whole plan is to lie to everyone in Sabor. Why would we trust you?”
“Because your lives depend on it,” Prince Jasimir snapped, panic sparking in his voice. “Do you truly think the Oleander Gentry will treat with you?”
Fie smothered a laugh. “Awful convenient how your heart only bleeds for Crows now that you need us. Spent your life weeping on the inside, did you?”
“That’s not fair,” Tavin started.
That same old rage whipped the words from her. “Fair? Fair? You want to tell me what’s fair, palace boy? You