“And now I’m betting that’s how you’re going to get Jasimir on the throne.”
There were too many yous in there for Fie’s liking. She’d done what any chief could do, and only because Pa’s soul had been tied up in it all. And now Khoda was making it sound like if things got dire enough, she could just whip up a miracle on demand.
He meant it as encouragement, that Fie knew. But all she could hear was Even if we ourselves must burn.
* * *
It was dismayingly easy for them to walk into the royal palace.
Khoda had explained on the way up that this was the easiest way to smuggle a witch in; Pigeon witches were so rare and so powerful that Sabor was doubly sure not to let any slip through their grasp. Every single Pigeon witch was strictly accounted for at all times.
Pigeon couriers, on the other hand, were both harmless and commonplace. There was precious little point in screening for witches that were already accounted for. When they approached the gate for servants’ use, the Hawks just eyeballed them for weapons, validated their courier tokens, and waved them through with a spare guard for escort and a warning to keep the cat under control.
All Fie had to do was maintain the Peacock glamour that covered her witch-sign. She made a mental note to warn Jasimir about it once they cleared him out of the prison.
Then she remembered she’d all but abandoned him, and wondered if he’d speak to her at all.
The guard led them down corridors tiled and graveled, some walled in lattice, others no more than a fine roof supported by slender columns carved like spouts of golden fire. Whatever wind may have made it into the palace grounds seemed to get tangled between its intricately carved walls, leaving little relief from the smothering afternoon sun.
Khoda named different buildings they passed under his breath: the library, the dining hall for servants, the servants’ living quarters. Fie tried not to ogle the splendor, even of the plainest buildings. The first and last time she’d been in the royal palace, it had been dark as pitch. She still resented the gilt and filigree with every bone in her body, but it was easy to see now why Jasimir had missed living in such finery.
The farther into the palace grounds they got, the more the ground hummed below her feet with the steady, hungry song she heard in Phoenix teeth. Pa had told her all the Phoenix gods were buried below the royal palace, making such a well of power that any Phoenix could call fire on royal ground, whether or not they were a witch. She’d missed it before, when she’d not yet called on the fire Birthright, but it was nigh impossible to ignore now.
The Hawk guard walked them to a square, sturdy building, still laden with flourishes of gold flame and curling feathers. He jabbed his spear at the door. “Their offices are on the second floor. Have Kamiro or Haovi show you out, and don’t forget to show your tokens.”
Khoda bowed. Fie, unaccustomed to bowing to anyone unless she was mocking them, hurried to do the same. The guard didn’t seem to notice as he headed back the way they’d come.
Fie and Khoda went inside, Fie blinking to adjust to the dark. A set of stairs led them to the second floor, where they found Ebrim Kamiro’s office labeled in a neat, clear hand.
“Courier,” Khoda called at the sliding canvas-screen door. “Messages for Ebrim Kamiro and…”
“Yula Haovi,” Fie finished.
The screen door slid aside, and a woman in her fifties peered out. “From Magistrate’s Row?”
“Ay—yes,” Fie said.
The woman winced. “Oh, you’re going to take work. Come in, hurry.”
A man stood at the shelves in the back of the office, digging through a wooden crate of what appeared to be various tools. “The entire point of having my office, Yula, is that I decide who’s allowed in.”
Yula rolled her eyes at him and shut the door behind Khoda and Fie, nearly catching Barf’s tail. The tabby flicked it out of the way with a disdainful glower. “Well, you can decide who’s allowed in, Ebrim, if you ever decide to answer your own wretched door.”
He vaguely waved a pair of pincers at her, then set them on a shelf, grumbling into his crate. A moment later he surfaced with another, smaller pair of pincers, frowned at those, and started for his desk. “You can speak freely here; at