The sun was hanging low at their backs, and the prince blushing through the third verse of “The Lad from Across the Sea,” when she saw it waiting down the road.
The dead gods’ mercy called them onward: a string of bloodred smoke needled the sky.
CHAPTER TWENTY
ROYAL GHOSTS
“How far off?” Jasimir asked, squinting at the plague beacon. It near blended into the sundown-soaked sky.
“Seven leagues. A day.” Fie squinted at the angle of the sun, the lines of the mountains. “Due east, so could be close to Trikovoi. Could also be another trap.”
“We would know if the Vultures passed us, right?” Jasimir rubbed his chin. “Do you suppose the Oleander Gentry have gotten clever?”
“Maybe.” A curl of unease twined in her gut. If she didn’t answer, the Covenant would stack every one of the plague-dead on her head alone.
If she did … Tatterhelm could be waiting.
“Let’s keep going,” Jasimir said. “Either we reach the beacon first and can look for signs of a trap, or we reach Trikovoi first and I’ll ask Aunt Draga to loan us an escort.”
“‘Us’?”
“My caste hasn’t caught the plague since Ambra,” he said firmly. “I’ll just wash up after to be safe. Didn’t I tell you? A leader should be skilled as any of their followers.”
“Aye. And then you said you were too good to live as a Crow.”
Jasimir cringed. “Right. Well. Let’s say my perspective has shifted.”
Fie allowed herself a strained laugh as they started walking, but her heart wouldn’t settle. Always watch the crowd. She hooked a finger around a Vulture tooth on her string, then reached for Tavin’s sword.
His trail rolled south, on and on down the flatway, just as it ought. Fie let out a breath.
Then the trail stopped. She stopped as well.
“What’s wrong?”
“The Vultures have come north,” Fie answered, brow furrowed. Tavin’s glamour had to have burned out days ago, yet only now did they move north. “Can you get the map?” Jasimir freed it from her pack, then unfurled it on the thin roadside grass. Spring had ended dry and hot in the Marovar, turning green shoots yellow even before the solstice.
Fie knelt and tried to reckon Tavin’s trail against the line of the flatway burnt into the goat-hide. One fingertip traced the road until just north of Gerbanyar. That yielded no good answers. “They’re riding toward the crossroads.”
Jasimir tapped the map. “They could be aiming for the flatway west. That’s the fastest route back to the capital.” He grimaced. “Or they could be coming after us.”
She pinched at Pa’s tooth. His spark hadn’t gone out. He lived yet, but who else? She knew Tatterhelm had taken one of her own on the bridge; she knew he’d shot down Hangdog the moment he could. The skinwitch had ten hostages when he’d left Cheparok. How many had he bothered to keep alive?
Fretting wouldn’t keep her oaths, though.
“We’re a day from Trikovoi. They’re too far to catch up before we make it.” Jasimir leaned back on his heels. “Let’s follow the beacons until they split from the road and see how close the Vultures are by then.”
Uncertainty coiled around his words. Part of Fie felt better for hearing it there. “That’s sound enough. We can cover at least another league before we stop tonight.”
* * *
They camped in the ruins of an old watchtower that night, one they’d found thanks to Crow marks on a signpost. It held a bounty: a clean well, a long-feral vegetable garden, and, best of all, a hearth. For the first time in days, they could light a fire and not betray their camp.
Jasimir watched Fie scrawling out Ta-ri-ka-o-va-oi in the ashes. “And then Tavin passed the governor the platter of Hassuran steak and said, ‘I didn’t think your son could make it.’”
Fie collapsed into giggles, the weary sort that came of late nights.
So did Jasimir. When the laughter died down, he said, “Gods, I miss him.”
A knot blistered in Fie’s throat. “Aye,” she whispered. “So do I.” Ta. Ri. The letters blurred. She needed a distraction, anything to leave that wound alone. “He said the king has a shine for Hawks.”
“Hawks and women. At least he and I have the Hawks in common. Hopefully for different reasons.” Jasimir’s voice scraped with something almost like hunger. “But that’s why he married one of the Twin Talons. I don’t think Aunt Draga ever forgave him for it.” He reached for the fire, letting it harmlessly thread his knuckles. “All he wanted was a son like a