caught as she scoured for footing. The tree’s meat flashed green in too many patches to be the recent work of one woman.
Vultures. One more trap—
Fie stomped her panic down. The shrine was hidden, the shrine was safe—there was another answer, it couldn’t be another ambush, Crows had one rule—
And Hangdog had tossed that rule over the bridge with her and the lordlings.
“Other Crows been through today?” Fie did her best to sound nonchalant. Crossroads-Eyes snarled and grinned and wept above, the wooden faces uncanny human under dapples of sun.
“You’re the second band this morning,” the keeper answered. “Something got Crows spooked of Cheparok?”
“Wouldn’t know.” That was a barefaced lie this time. Fie’s head steadied anyhow. Lies were more familiar territory.
The shrine-keeper hummed as she retreated into the shade of the platform. Fie stepped up and blinked until her eyes cleared of the roof’s shadows.
“Packs.” The woman pointed to heaps of oiled canvas. “Salt over there. And the barrels got all manner of food that’ll keep. Last band left a bounty. Seemed to think it’d be needed.”
Fie could feel the woman’s eye on her like a fingertip trailing down the back of her neck. She just handed packs to Jasimir and Tavin, who had the sense to keep their mouths shut for once.
“How’s your string?” asked the keeper.
“Full enough.” Fie could knot new teeth into the gaps when they made camp. “I’ve more teeth for the shrine if they’re needed.”
“They’re not.”
“It’s all I have to trade for,” Fie said, blunt.
The shrine-keeper weighed a small, battered cooking pot by hand, then passed it to Fie. “No trades. Take what you need. You know how it goes, little chief. Feed the Crows.”
Fie tried not to wince as she watched the prince and the Hawk pile salt, dried meat, and strips of pounded fruit into their packs, wiping out more of the stash than they ought. “Aye.”
“Sleeping mats.” The woman handed over three straw rolls, then added a fat, clattering sack. “And soap-shells.”
Fie claimed those with particular relish—then froze as a wail rose from another platform. Tavin and Jasimir too went still. The cry turned high and tremulous, murmurs chasing it, and Fie let out a breath. Only a baby, and judging by the lungs, a healthy one at that.
The shrine-keeper waved a gnarled hand as the wail turned to gurgles. “That tot’s bound to scream down the sky itself,” she groused. “Every hour, he tries.”
Fie paused, counting up turns of the last moon. She was about to spend three more weeks dragging the lordlings about the hills. That made for a different sort of challenge. “Can you spare any laceroot seed?”
The keeper’s gray brows rose. She flipped the latches on a worn trunk and dug inside. “You a-feared of getting with child, too?”
Tavin knocked over a pot of sandal-nails and swore under his breath.
Fie tried to ignore the pointed look the keeper gave him. She did not succeed. A flush nipped at her ears and neck. “I’ve no time for bleeding, let alone rutting.”
The keeper sifted a fistful of black seed into a palm-size pouch, enough to keep this moon’s bleeding at bay a few weeks. If Fie ran out before they made it to Trikovoi, she had bigger problems.
“Which way do you head now?” the woman asked, passing the pouch over.
“North.”
“Other band went west, so the north’s clear. You’ll need cold gear past Gerbanyar. I got none of that here.” She handed Fie robes, masks, a map charred into goat-hide, a flint, and a jug of flashburn. “There. Ought to set you until your next viatik.”
“Thank you,” Fie said.
“Thank Crossroads-Eyes,” the shrine-keeper said dryly, jerking her head at the dead god. “Sees all your choices. Seems they wanted you to choose your way here.”
“To be sure.”
“Watch your back out on that road. Other Crows this morning, they said something odd.” The woman’s voice hardened. “Said Hawks ran through their camp last night. Not Oleanders—Hawks. Said they were looking for a girl chief and two false Crows.” Fie froze. “And said there’s a high price on those heads now.”
Somewhere in the shadows of the shrine, the baby’s cry rose again.
Fie heard a faint, deliberate rustle behind her that said Tavin was one wrong word from showing how false a Crow he was.
“Now I figure, we’re Crows, we got one rule. I’m looking after my own, aye? And any chief, well, she’s got to be following that rule, too. You strike me as a chief too sharp to break it.” The keeper’s eye