on its grounds. But outside of their palace, and outside of their witches, there was only one way to call down that terrible fire.
The bag of Phoenix teeth that now dangled at Pa’s belt.
“Round five,” Tavin said.
He won that round, stealing a shell faster than she could stop him. Her mind was only half there, scrubbing at notions of teeth and royals. A question chipped loose. “That why the prince’s so fussed to save the king?”
“I don’t even know that the thought’s occurred to him.” Tavin rolled the shell in his fingers. “Jas cares about the welfare of his country, and he looks up to his father. And generally, he frowns on coldblooded murder, which is something I look for in a monarch.”
Fie didn’t decide to ask the question; it just seemed to fly out on its own: “Do you really think he’ll be a good king?”
“You don’t?” Tavin looked up, brows raised. She let her silence answer. That same taut-wire edge crept back into his voice. “It’s been my job to die for Jas since we were seven. I’m not about to die for a bad king.”
“Must be nice to have a say in dying on a bad king’s account,” Fie muttered.
Tavin didn’t seem to hear her, rolling the shell around scar-dappled fingers. “Dumosa loves him. The Peacocks are practically catapulting their sons at him for suitors. The king’s council thinks he’s the sharpest heir in generations. And his aunt is master-general, so the Hawks won’t be a problem.”
“For him.”
“For anyone.” Tavin had slipped wholly off-balance now. “We’re bound to protect every Saborian. You know, if we’d camped nearer a league marker last night, the Hawks on duty could have run the Oleanders off.”
Fie tensed, wondering if this was a road she could go down with a Hawk witch, even one trying to make it to her good side. “You didn’t see it?”
“See what?”
“At least one Oleander carried a Hawk spear last night,” Fie said. “Bronze-tipped, for the village outposts. They aren’t running off the Oleander Gentry, Hawk boy. They’re riding with them.”
Tavin stared, silent, at the void in his rows where the gambling shell in his fist belonged. Fie waited for the inevitable denial. Of course he hadn’t seen it; of course he believed no Hawk could do such a thing.
“Jas … Jas can fix it once he’s king,” he said instead. “You swore him to that.”
Fie sat back, startled. But if they were digging into ugly truths, she carried more than her share. “This morning, hours after an Oleander raid, your king-to-be didn’t ask me how he can better protect the Crows. He asked me why we don’t just make it easy for him and leave. So I ask you again: You think he’ll be a good king?”
“Fair enough.” Tavin sighed and at last dropped the shell in place. “If it helps, you two are more alike than you’d think.”
“I’m—” Fie’s voice came out louder than she wanted. She tamped it down to a hiss. “He and I are nothing alike.”
“Oh? Round six.”
“He’s spent his life having everything handed to him, with a roof over his head, all the food he wants, and the best guards in the nation.” She seized a shell from his side, scarce caring as he swiped one of hers. “Reckon it slipped your ken that I haven’t.”
“No, but he’ll fight to the death for what he believes in, like you. And he lost his mother, too, just a few years ago—”
“Who told you about my ma?” Fie demanded.
Tavin looked pointedly at the campfire, where Pa knotted new teeth into his string.
Pa? When did Pa trust outsiders so?
Fie bit the inside of her cheek. “I’ve no duty to like him because both our mas are dead.”
“You don’t have to like him at all,” Tavin said. “I just suspect it’ll be easier to carry out that oath if you two find common ground. Both of you have been raised to lead your people since birth, for example.”
“Don’t care.”
“And neither of you are looking forward to it.”
Any scorching reply died in Fie’s throat, gutted on that notion.
Half of her wanted to slap him. She didn’t know why.
The other half of her could only think of the moment Pa had handed her his broken sword and told her to cut the Sparrow man’s throat.