a hair on her head and you’ll lose your hand.”
Behind them, Viimo cackled. “Love this. Keep it up, lads. This’s the most fun I’ve had in weeks.”
“Shove it, turncoat,” Fie called back.
“We’re entering the camp.” Tavin took another step closer to the lieutenant. “With or without your permission.”
“Can we all please stop posturing for one minute,” Fie heard Khoda mutter under his breath.
“Is there a problem here?” a familiar voice called from behind the lieutenant.
The lieutenant made a face that dissolved like candy floss in water as Prince Jasimir rode up behind him, staring impassively down from the back of a horse.
“No, Your Highness,” the lieutenant said quick. “These Crows were looking for a place to set up camp.”
Jasimir let the silence hang a moment.
When Fie had first met him three moons before, he’d been fussy, naïve, and principled to a fault; if she’d been a thief, she could have emptied his pockets five ways in four heartbeats and convinced him it was for the greater good.
Perhaps it had been the time spent with his aunt, or with Fie, or the loss of his father, but the prince Fie saw now was no longer one painlessly crossed.
“They will be quartered next to me,” Jasimir said, icy calm, “and in the future, I expect my guests to be given significantly less trouble.”
“If Your Highness commands it,” the lieutenant said, looking like his teeth hurt.
Jasimir didn’t break his gaze. “I do.”
The lieutenant signaled the soldiers across the road, who parted to let them pass. Fie felt looks lingering on the back of her neck but said naught, only marched her Crows through.
Prince Jasimir dismounted and passed his reins to one of his own guards, striding over to Fie, a weary smile breaking free. He clasped her briefly on the shoulder, something Fie supposed would further annoy the lieutenant and appreciated accordingly.
“It’s good to—” His face fell as he looked about her band. “Oh no. What happened to your father?”
“He’s fine,” Fie said. “He’s a shrine-keeper now, safe and sound and bored brainless to the end of his days.” Then she connected why he’d noticed. “I’m sorry about the king.”
He shook his head, rueful. “You don’t have to pretend for my sake.”
A steward hurried over before the prince could elaborate. “Your Highness, am I to understand that these … guests will be situated in proximity to your tent?”
“Beside it.” Jasimir waved a hand from the man to Fie. “Fie, this is Burzo, my aunt’s steward. He’ll be assisting us in situating you and your band. Though we can arrange for you to, ah, share quarters with Tav.”
“We can?” Steward Burzo blinked, eyes darting between her and Tavin.
“I’d prefer it, if that’s fine by you, Fie,” Tavin said, still storm-faced. “Apparently there are Hawks who have time to waste hassling Crows. I don’t want any chances taken with their safety here.”
Fie hesitated. The prospect of a little privacy had almost more appeal than it ought to. That didn’t mean she could just leave her band on their own, though.
Lakima caught her eye. “We’ll continue to keep watch.” The rest of Fie’s Hawks nodded, looking nigh as vexed as Tavin.
The steward worried his bottom lip. “Surely the guards on duty will be sufficient.”
“You heard Tavin,” Jasimir said, steely. “No chances.”
“Understood, Your Highness. Ah—if I may.” He brushed a dusty patch off Jasimir’s sleeve. “I’ll see to—”
Something very peculiar happened then, and it happened very fast:
Fie heard the clatter of a spear dropping, saw a blur of leather armor and dark hair, stumbled as it passed between her and Tavin. Then the next thing she knew, Khoda was trying to wrench the steward’s arms behind his back.
Burzo twisted swift as an adder, slashing out with a dagger Fie hadn’t seen on him before. Khoda whipped away with ease, then swept the steward’s feet out from beneath him. In a trice he had a knee on Burzo’s back, holding the man facedown in the flatway dust.
“Look.” Khoda forced Burzo’s hand open. Fie crouched beside them, peering down.
On his palm lay a single strand of dark hair—Fie’s, plucked from Jasimir’s sleeve.
Fie sucked in a breath. If delivered to Rhusana, that hair was all it would take for the Swan Queen to bend Fie to her will.
“This man isn’t working for the Hawks,” Khoda said, flicking the hair out of Burzo’s reach.
There was a ring, and the second peculiar thing happened then and there: Tavin had drawn one of his short swords, the point leveled at Khoda’s throat.
“No, he