Fie knotted it all up herself: How the prince had demanded Tavin’s duty, not understanding what it would mean to be fulfilled. How he’d rankled as Tavin’s loyalty slipped to her. The tremor in his voice when he’d claimed his Hawk had one job alone.
“The king put Tavin first,” Fie said.
Jasimir closed his eyes and nodded like it hurt. “My mother spent so much time training him, right until she died, and Father would always … light up when he watched. I’ve barely seen him since he married Rhusana.” He let out a bitter laugh. “He couldn’t even be bothered to watch my funeral march.”
Beyond the ruined watchtower walls, a reedy howl coasted on the wind. They both knew the whistle of skin-ghasts by now; they both fell silent until it faded.
Then Jasimir glanced at the ashes and brightened a little. “Your vois are getting better. Keep it up and when you see Swain again, you can help him with his scroll.” Jasimir stared into the fire. “I can’t believe everything Crows carry in your heads. It’s incredible. All that history, all your traditions…”
“That’s what walking songs are for. We hear them nigh as soon as we’re born.” Fie pondered a moment. “The teeth feel like that, too. Like each one has a song, and when I call them, the dead sing through me.”
“Were either of your parents a witch?”
Fie shook her head. “No. Wretch said Ma met my blood-pa when both their bands stayed in the same shrine. She fancied him, and then I happened nine moons later. Pa’s my real one. He took me for his own daughter when Ma died.”
“Do you still miss her?”
The slate slipped a little. Fie licked her lips and smudged her name off the surface. “I was four,” she said, frowning as she began writing anew. “I don’t remember much before … Oleanders got her.” She closed her eyes a moment, plucking the dim memories like crowsilk from branches almost too high to reach. “Ma kept her hair long for a Crow. She liked to pick dandelions and blow all the fluff off, and we’d see who could do it faster. Pa said she was so dead-set to give me my name herself that she sent off anyone who couldn’t keep their mouth shut while she birthed me.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Crows name their babes for the first cross word sent their way. It’s luck. That word can’t hurt you any if it’s already your name. She said I howled like a devil when I came out, like I was born vexed with the world. Ma couldn’t abide the noise. That’s how I came to be Fie.” She swallowed. “So aye. I suppose I still miss my ma, too.”
Jasimir stared through the decrepit roof, up to the stars. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry Father didn’t stop the Oleanders sooner. I’m sorry I haven’t done anything about them, either.”
Fie turned the scrap of slate over. “They’re the same, in the end. Different heads on the same monster. The Oleanders. Rhusana.”
“My father.”
Fie threw a sharp glance at the prince. His eyes were fixed on the stars, his face hard as iron.
“You wanted to save him,” she said.
“I still do.” His mouth quirked, too alike Tavin. “If he’s someone I can save.”
Fie knew he didn’t mean to save the king from just Rhusana.
“People get drunk on crowns,” she warned. “Think they can do as they please because they know we’ll catch twelve hells if we hit back. But by every dead god, one day I will. And so will you.”
“Let’s make them pay,” Jasimir whispered.
“Let’s burn them down,” she answered.
A look shuttled between them like the weft of a loom. The threads of their terribly different worlds gathered, crossed, and pulled taut.
They didn’t speak the words aloud; they cut no oaths into their palms. But a promise took root in them all the same.
She didn’t want to burn Sabor down. Neither did the prince.
But, by every dead god, one day Sabor would know that they could.
* * *
In the morning, Tavin’s trail stopped north of the crossroads—but not so far north that the skinwitches stood any chance of closing in.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Fie said peevishly, squinting at the map. “They’re not moving fast enough to be hunting us, so why come north?”
“Let’s figure that out once we reach Trikovoi.” Uncertainty lingered in Jasimir’s tone.
They carried on, following beacon after beacon. By noon, Fie could see the stone fangs of Trikovoi’s towers jutting from