“Keep it. Use it. Just stay alive, no matter what.” Tavin traced her cheekbones with shaking thumbs. “I don’t care if you burn down half of Sabor. And I don’t care how long it takes, I swear I’ll find you again.”
“It won’t take you too long.” She kissed him one last time, light and quick. “Crows go where we’re called.”
And then she stepped back, knowing if she lingered any longer, she’d never let go.
But she was a chief with a beacon at her back. She had mercy to deal; she had an oath to witness; she had her own to look after. And her road had led her this far, down strange ways and to strange ends, taking her where no one thought a Crow would tread. She had no reason to doubt that even if Tavin couldn’t share her path now, someday it could lead her back to him.
“We’re moving out,” she announced, as Pa had done a thousand times before.
A chorus of ayes resounded from her kin. And a new answer followed from Corporal Lakima and her Hawks: “Yes, chief.”
She whistled the marching order, cast one more look to her lordlings, and turned away.
She had a chief’s string; she had Pa’s blade; she had a bag of Phoenix teeth. She had a king-to-be’s oath; she had a Hawk’s sword; she had a bastard boy’s heart. She had a mask and a fistful of fresh mint.
A league away, a red trail of smoke called for Merciful Crows. It was time for a chief to answer.
Fie set off down the road.
Acknowledgments
When it comes down to it, all I did was write down the words; there are countless people without whom this book would not exist, and really they should get some of the credit.
First and foremost, the team of highly trained professionals who have made this whole business bearable. Thank you to my agent, Victoria Marini, for steering me through the shoals of this industry, and patiently handing me a life ring whenever I found myself determined to flail in water a mere two feet deep. A thousand-thousand thanks to my brilliant editor, Tiff Liao, who has championed a chief, raised the bar for a queen, and fast-tracked skin monsters with enthusiasm I had scarcely dared to hope for in such a wonderful human being.
A whole bag of thank you to the team at Henry Holt and Mac Kids, particularly the elite squad of publicity and marketing sorceresses Morgan, Jo, Allegra, Melissa, Katie, and Caitlin—I want to lie down just thinking about the work you do, and I know I couldn’t be in better hands. Thank you so much to Jean Feiwel and Christian Trimmer for opening the door to a strange, angry little story, to Kristin Dulaney for sending it overseas, and to Rich Deas and Sophie Erb for designing the perfect book to carry it out.
Thank you to my early readers and critique partners, Sheena, Sarah, Jamie, Paula, Hanna, Emily, Christine, and Rory, for helping me believe I just might have something decent on my hands, and thank you to Elle McKinney, my fellow Sailor Scout, without whom I never would have made it to the end of this road. Thank you for never letting me give up on Fie, or on myself.
Thank you also to so many facets of the YA community, large and small; to the Novel 19s for sharing the journey, to the 2015 Pitch Wars class that has been there for me for this entire roller coaster and beyond, and to the bloggers and bookstagrammers who have been boosting TMC. (Special shout-out to the incredible Hafsah Faizal for commiserating with me on design, merch, and all things Book Hustle.) And thank you to so, so many authors who have extended a hand, an ear, and/or a word to a very nervous debut, helping me with everything from major decisions to my first speaking gig. Without you, I would almost certainly be hiding under my bed for the next decade, which wouldn’t be all that conducive to my career.
I also need to put in a good word for my circle of friends and family who have watched this whole publishing shenanigan unfold with occasionally baffled, but always supportive, delight. My Portland friends (and London and Boulder auxiliary chapters), for whom I would walk a minimum of five hundred miles, and quite possibly five hundred more. Gaby, you always took my writing seriously, which is doubly impressive considering how little I take seriously. Megan, can you believe I actually didn’t kill off the love interest in this one? (It’s fine, there’s a sequel.) Marie, this is my thank-you for driving me everywhere; I can only assume this has guaranteed me another five hundred free rides. Sarah V, I hope you know how your steady stream of cat GIFs has sustained me. Codino, I owe you a beer for putting up with my rants and conspiracy theories. Regan, I owe you a beer pretty much constantly, but in particular for refusing to let me calcify into a permanent installment in my apartment.
And finally, to my parents, who had the grace not to question your daughter’s sometimes-volatile career choices, in particular when I was using my BA to wash dishes part-time while working on my manuscript. (You could say that one … panned out.) You kept me knee-deep in books as a kid, so really this author thing is all your fault, and when I’d set out on my own, you kept me afloat when safe harbors were few and far between. Thank you for letting me find my own way.
(And of course, if I’ve neglected to mention you here, you can have my cats’ allotment of gratitude. They certainly don’t need it; they’ve been no help whatsoever.)