Home > The Merciful Crow(28)

The Merciful Crow(28)
Author: Margaret Owen

“So there is.” He took the lead again, sliding seamless into the meandering traffic. Jasimir followed, leaving Fie to bring up the rear.

They wove through the crowd, nail-studded soles rasping on the stone in a way that pricked goose bumps down Fie’s arms. She couldn’t help but scowl at the boys’ saunter. After near a week with the Crows, they still walked like the Peacocks ought to move for them.

No helping the way they’d been raised, she supposed. And it wouldn’t be her problem much longer.

A hand locked around her wrist. “What’s this?”

Fie’s hood fell back as she was yanked around. A Hawk guard had her in an iron grip, his mouth twisting.

“What’s a Crow runt doing in Second Market? Didn’t anyone tell you there’s no bones to steal here?” He jerked his arm up, dragging her to the tips of her toes. “Or are you after something else, little Crow?”

Fie’s thoughts whirled about her head in a panic. The guard had picked her on purpose—the boys wouldn’t notice her gone—she was walking the city with an untagged witch-sign—

The Hawk must have read the dismay in her face, for he cracked an unsettling smile and stepped back, dragging her away from the street. “That’s right, you’re in trouble now. So let’s talk about how you’re going to get out of it.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” A fist shot over her shoulder, closed around the Hawk’s wrist, and gave it a vicious wrench. The guard let go with a yelp and reached for the sword strapped at his side.

Somehow, in the last few days, Fie had forgotten how fast Tavin could move. It seemed all she did was blink and the market guard was already crushed up against the wall, Tavin’s elbow pushing into his windpipe.

“Easy, cousin,” Tavin said tightly, more a threat than a reassurance. “Think nice and hard about what your next move is, because if you’re lucky, I’ll just settle for letting Aunt Loka strip your hide.”

“Tavin?” the guard wheezed, incredulous. His gaze skipped over to Jasimir. “Is that the prin—”

Tavin clapped a hand over his cousin’s mouth. “Are you a special kind of stupid?” he demanded under his breath. “What part of ‘think about your next move’ was unclear?” The guard scowled at him. Tavin didn’t budge. “I’m going to let you down, and then you’re going to do us both a favor and shut up so you can listen very, very carefully to what I want you to do.”

The guard nodded, and Tavin stepped back. Fie checked over her shoulder for onlookers, but none of the shoppers nearby had so much as glanced their way.

“I thought you’d come alone,” the guard mumbled. “Not with—him. Or your honey rag there. Since when do you suck Crow sugar—”

And back up against the wall the Hawk guard went, face-first this time.

Tavin’s voice turned to the razor-sharp calm that warned of thin ice. “I suppose ‘shut up and listen’ was a tall order, but do it for your country, all right? I want you to tell Sergeant Bernai that you saw Crows in the market—those exact words—at the end of your shift. And then I want you to forget we talked. And if you can’t do that, at least keep your miserable mouth shut. Now, what are you going to do for your country, cousin?”

“Tell the sergeant I saw you—”

Tavin cleared his throat.

“—that I saw Crows in the market … And tell only the sergeant.”

“That’s the patriot I know.” Tavin let him go again. “You should also tell your sergeant the fifth-gate guards won’t let travelers pass without bribes.”

“And?” His cousin shrugged. “The third and fourth gates don’t, either.”

“And that’s illegal.” Jasimir’s voice burst over Fie’s shoulder. “The law says citizens should come and go as they please. I’ve never been charged at the first gate. Nobody else should pay, either.”

Tavin’s cousin eyed the prince, then saluted, face blank. “As you wish, Your—sir. I’ll tell my sergeant about the gates.”

Fie traded a look with Tavin. Both of them knew plain what that meant: he’d tell the sergeant indeed, and the sergeant wouldn’t do a damned thing.

“First tell him you saw Crows,” Tavin said, sounding too much like Pa. “Then keep your mouth shut. And stop embarrassing the Markahns.” He hiked his hood up. “Let’s get out of here.”

No one spoke until they’d made the descent back to Third Market. At the base of the stairs, Tavin caught at Fie’s arm, drawing her back to an alcove.

“That wasn’t the first time, was it?” he asked, face taut with anger. The prince tilted his head, but Fie got Tavin’s meaning clear enough.

She met Tavin’s gaze, then pointedly looked to where his hand still curled around her forearm, just as his cousin’s had.

He let go as if he’d been burned, cursing under his breath.

“Oh.” Jasimir’s face dropped.

“I keep clear of Hawks if I can help it,” she told them. “But it wouldn’t be the first time for Crows. What do you do when a Hawk takes what they want? Tell another Hawk?”

“Yes.” Tavin ran his hands through his hair. “That’s what you—what you should be able to do.”

“And how do you reckon that ends for people who aren’t Hawks or gentry?” she asked.

He looked away, toward the stairs to Second Market. Somehow that made her angry.

Fie grabbed a fistful of Tavin’s cloak and gave it a jerk. He blinked at her.

“I reckon,” she said coldly, “we all know how it ends.”

Then she let go and set off to cross Third Market.

It was a long, silent, stifling walk back to the fifth tier. But as Fie led the way down the final set of grimy stairs, she caught on to how close the Hawk had kept to her, now warding her back each step of the way.

Fie didn’t know how she felt about that.

Almost over. In a few hours, this would all be over. The prince would be safe, Pa’s oath would be kept, and she’d never again need to fear riders in the night.

A few hours, and then no more roads would end like her ma’s had.

They’d just hit the muddy fifth-tier street when murmurs and cries swept down through its straggling crowd. A beggar pointed back behind them. Fie turned.

“Here we go,” Tavin said.

When, not if.

Four city tiers above, a black string of smoke trailed from the Floating Fortress’s plague beacon.

 

* * *

 

They left the shrine near sundown, copper sunlight striping shadows down the street as Fie slung her mask about her neck.

“Here.” Hangdog held out a fistful of fresh mint leaves. “Found some in Fourth Market.”

“Thanks.” She shook long-withered leaves from her mask beak and stuffed the new ones in. “Run into any trouble?”

An odd look crossed his face before it blanked. “Nary a bit. You?”

She strapped on her mask, taking a deep whiff of mint as the world narrowed to what she could see through the eyeholes. “Naught worth mentioning.”

Yet another half-truth. But she’d have plenty of time to mull it over once the lordlings were gone.

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