“Perhaps we should discuss this on the ground, master-general?”
To Draga’s credit, she knew better than to let the prince shout within her soldiers’ earshot about how he and a half-grown Crow had played the head of Sabor’s armies for a fool. She climbed down from her mammoth and strode over, looking not the slightest bit appeased. “There were clear signs of a fight in your chambers.”
Jasimir shrugged. “If there weren’t, you would have searched Trikovoi for us first. We needed you to come after us at the right time.”
That much was true. They’d left a clear trail of nail scratches all the way out.
“And if I hadn’t followed? You couldn’t just surrender to Tatterhelm.”
“Oh aye, that they did,” Madcap said, their voice bright. “Hoodwinked us all, head and heart.”
“I carried Phoenix teeth in my hands,” Jasimir clarified. “Tatterhelm didn’t think to check the captive for any weapons.”
Draga frowned. “The Phoenix teeth couldn’t have been a surprise to him. Did he magically forget to bring a hostage you wouldn’t burn, or did you just cut your losses?”
Jasimir glanced over his shoulder, then turned back. His voice dropped, though there was precious little point in subtlety now. “He brought Tavin.”
Draga’s face fractured as she found her son behind the Crows. For once, she couldn’t frost it over. “And?” Her voice cracked.
“I’m fine,” Tavin answered, stiff. “Tatterhelm is not.”
“You’re hurt—”
“I’ll live.”
Draga nodded, more a twitch of her chin than anything. Then she drew herself up and narrowed her gaze on the prince. “You’re saying you thought of this all on your own? That she only followed your orders?”
Pa started forward, but Fie shook her head.
“Royal commands,” she said, letting go of Pa to stand on her own. “Can’t disobey those.”
The master-general shot her a cold look.
“I take full responsibility,” Jasimir answered. “Any punishment should fall on me alone.”
Draga’s mouth tightened. It was plain she didn’t believe him for a heartbeat. But she couldn’t exactly pass a reckoning on her own crown prince.
“This ploy could have destroyed everything you worked for,” Draga snapped. “The fact that it worked is only a sign that the Covenant isn’t done with any of you yet.”
“It worked because Tatterhelm underestimated Fie.” Tavin’s voice cut through the crowd, straight to his mother. “And so did you.”
Silence stretched taught as a wire until Draga’s shoulders slumped. She rubbed a hand over her face, letting out a long-suffering sigh. “Anything else? Anyone have another grievance or five they feel compelled to air? Any new secrets to fess up?”
“Tavin and I slept together,” Fie offered. “Since you’re asking. Probably would’ve come out one way or another.”
Pa turned a laugh into a cough. Madcap twisted about and crudely gestured their approval.
Draga stared at Fie a long, long moment, then muttered, “I’m getting back on the mammoth.”
“That went well,” Pa said under his breath.
“Corporal Lakima,” Draga called, stalking away. “I want healers working through these people before we return to Trikovoi. And we’re taking the Vultures with us. Spare hostages never hurt anyone.”
“Wait.” Fie pushed forward as Draga spun on a heel, scowling. “Keep Viimo separate. She lied to Tatterhelm and said she didn’t see you coming. The other Vultures will know.”
“Why would she do that?” Draga demanded, bewildered. Fie shook her head. “Fine. She’ll have a nice cozy dungeon all to herself. Now follow me so we can patch you lot up.”
The Crows hung back, looking from Fie to Pa, and with an odd lurch, Fie realized they waited for the marching order.
Pa raised his brows at her. “Well?”
Fie wavered. “I—I dropped my teeth,” she said.
Pa nodded and patted her shoulder. “Catch up when you find them.”
He whistled the marching order. The Crows moved out, peppering Jasimir and Tavin with questions.
Fie hung back to peer about the cinders, hunting for her tooth string. She also didn’t favor adding a lost sword to Tavin’s list of troubles.
As she turned, Tavin’s iron bell swung on its rope. Fie hadn’t realized she still clenched it in a sweating fist.
Hot, scaly fingers closed around her ankle.
She yipped and jerked free, stumbling in her haste. A blackened hand scrabbled through the ash toward her, leashed to a steaming mass of burnt flesh.
Tatterhelm somehow lived yet.
But not much longer: his blood turned the cinders about him to dull red paste. If he were fortunate, blood loss would fade him out before the burns could.
“Mercy,” he gasped.
She sucked in a breath that savored of ash and scorched hair.
Mercy.
They always wanted it, in the end. They wanted to hunt Crows, and