Pa led her to one of the massive magnolia trunks, running a hand over the bark and vine until it stopped at a dusty clay urn. He knocked off a layer of moss, then rattled the lid back and forth until it squawked free and fished inside until he emerged with six teeth.
“Here.” He passed them to her.
They sang so loud when they hit her palm that she thought for a moment their owners lived yet. Then she kenned what she held: six witch-teeth, three from a Sparrow witch and three from a Pigeon witch.
The teeth of a Sparrow witch would let her pass not just unnoticed, but wholly unseen. Those of a Pigeon witch would let her skew fortune her way. Both could mean the difference between life and death when she reached Dumosa. Both were rarer than gold.
“Can you spare it?” she couldn’t help blurting out. “The shrine—”
“Has enough,” he said. “Especially with those fire teeth. Let the queen watch for fire or steel or asps. She’ll never see you coming.”
Fie wanted to say something full of salt and smoke, about how she’d throw Rhusana out and keep the oath and bring all twelve hells down upon any who had crossed her.
Instead, her throat knotted around the knowledge that whether or not Rhusana saw Fie coming, the queen would still have Tavin to watch her back.
Pa saw her face drop and shook his head. “It passes,” he said. “Well, not truly. It’s just another scar, aye? Hurts like hell even when naught’s scraping at it, and we don’t live a life that gives you time to just let it be. But it’ll heal over, and as it does, it’ll ache only but once in a while.”
What would grow over her wound might be hard and ugly, but it would be a reminder. One she sore needed.
“You’ve still got one of my teeth, and I’ve one of yours,” Pa said, tapping one of the teeth in his pared-down string. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to reach you outside the shrine, but you may be able to reach me if you burn my tooth. But if that calls for burning it out … make sure you need it.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “I’ll not waste it weeping to you about a mean merchant.”
He laughed. “You should also take Barf. The cat’s good luck.”
“I’ve teeth for that now.”
“Teeth burn out,” Pa said. “How do you feel about your odds once they’re gone?”
* * *
Fie took the cat.
She did not linger taking her leave of her band; she told them and herself she’d only be gone a week or two. If she let herself believe anything else, she’d never set foot outside Gen-Mara’s groves.
Only Wretch had parting words for her, and those she saved for when she embraced Fie and could whisper them into her hair: “Remember, just because the lad loves you doesn’t mean he does right.”
They were on the road a few hours before sundown, with Barf tucked into a sling on Fie’s chest. Fie had only ridden a horse a handful of times before, and her distaste for it was wholly validated when they had to dismount for the evening and she found her legs reduced to little better than the salt pork in her travel rations.
She’d resumed taking laceroot seed each night when Tavin had fallen in with her band, for she had no intent of getting with child for years, if ever. It ached to take it now, just to keep her bleeding at bay, but she did still. Too much hung on her head now for cramps to lay her low.
It was a strange thing to camp with just the three of them and only have Khoda on watch. It was stranger still to cross travelers on the road the next day and not feel the sting of suspicious looks. Khoda had picked a Sparrow’s patchwork apron, but Viimo had donned a Pigeon cloak like Fie, and none of them drew so much as a stray glance.
The ride to Dumosa passed with only as much chatter as Fie could stomach. They talked through the plan each night, exchanged no more than a few words when setting out each morning, and barely spoke on the road. That suited Fie just fine; she still didn’t trust Khoda, and she’d rather roll through broken glass than act chummy with Viimo.
More than once they passed plague beacons dragging long fingers