“So we smuggle you to your kin in Cheparok, they make a big, ugly show of liking you over the queen, and you remember us rosy on your throne someday.” Fie nodded to the wagon’s load of firewood. “Reckon you forgot how most of Sabor thinks you and your Hawk here are charcoal in a pyre right now.”
The prince hesitated to answer; the Hawk pounced. Tavin’s teeth flashed wolfish as a gambler who knew how his loaded shells would land. “That’s my favorite part, actually. I’ll have to lie low for a while, but Jas … Let’s just say Queen Ambra set a precedent for Phoenixes miraculously returning from the dead.”
Fie’s jaw dropped. Of all the things she had heard this night, what Tavin proposed was the most rattle-brained of all.
In the entire history of Sabor, only one soul had ever burned bright enough to survive the Sinner’s Plague: the invincible Ambra, matriarch of the Phoenix caste, Queen of Day and Night. Legend said she rode tigers into battle, a spear in each hand; that she walked in wildfire unscathed; that the sun came at her beck and call, so greatly did it love her. Legend said that her rebirth in the Phoenix caste would herald another era of prosperity and peace.
Legend hadn’t much to say about shamming her reincarnation for political gain, but somehow Fie couldn’t imagine it landed on the right side of the Covenant. Nor could she conjure a vision of the willowy prince before her riding aught more spirited than a poppy-addled pony.
Tavin must have read the doubt on her face, for his hand flapped once more. “We can’t really sell Jas as the King of Day and Night. But bouncing back from the Sinner’s Plague is a good argument that Ambra’s bloodline is strong in him. That alone will win over half the country.”
“The idiot half,” Wretch muttered.
“If there were another way out, we’d take it.” Prince Jasimir’s gaze traveled from Crow to Crow. What he was searching for, Fie couldn’t say. “But Rhusana will give every one of you over to the Oleanders if she reaches the throne. I’m asking for your help to stop her. Otherwise none of us has a chance.”
“If you’re speaking true…” Pa rolled a tooth strung at his neck. Fie would’ve gone for a Crane-caste tooth, one that could sift out lies from the lordlings. Instead Pa’s hand dropped. He looked at the rest of the Crows. “We’ve only got one rule. Strikes me we’d best follow it.”
Look after your own. Fie had heard that rule near every day. As a chief, she’d need to live it soon. But even if she could keep her own band of Crows safe, the whole caste was scattered across Sabor.
If the Oleanders could ride free, road after road would end like her ma’s had.
Her jaw stiffened. It was a chafing thing: even filthy with pig blood, the lordlings still looked like they belonged in a palace.
There was no real bargain here, just make-believe benevolence of offering the Crows a choice. It was written in the imperious tilt of the prince’s lips, in the jut of Tavin’s chin, the way they both drummed their fingers as they waited for an answer they were sure they’d get.
Just like Rhusana, with her damned oleander bangle. Even if the lordlings were bluffing about her ambitions, the Oleander Gentry still had her favor. Of course the Crows had no choice.
Of all the bodies Fie had ever dragged off to burn, she most surely hated these two the most. For all their talk, the lordlings treated with the Crows as if they were back in that miserable gilded hall, forcing them to dance for fair pay—
An idea carved through her thoughts like her sandal-nail on marble, and left a trail like a bloody finger.
“No,” Fie said. “I say no deal.”
Surprise flashed over every face on the road. Hangdog’s snort followed. Prince Jasimir’s dark eyes narrowed. “We want to help—”
“Oh, you want to help,” she mimicked. “Does His Highness have another servant to shovel up all the crap falling out of his mouth, or is that his job?” She jerked a thumb at Tavin. To his credit, the guard only raised his eyebrows, but that razor edge danced in his gaze again. “You faked your deaths. You tried to go back on your deal with Pa. And you just told us your whole plan is to lie to everyone in Sabor. Why would we trust you?”
“Because your lives depend on it,” Prince Jasimir snapped, panic sparking in his voice. “Do you truly think the Oleander Gentry will treat with you?”
Fie smothered a laugh. “Awful convenient how your heart only bleeds for Crows now that you need us. Spent your life weeping on the inside, did you?”
“That’s not fair,” Tavin started.
That same old rage whipped the words from her. “Fair? Fair? You want to tell me what’s fair, palace boy? You want us to choose betwixt letting the Oleanders run us down by day or making sure they still have to do it by dark so your castes can keep pretending you don’t see?” She spat at their feet. “Call that help if you want. Your Hawk’ll pick it up with the rest of your crap.”
If any Crow thought Fie had overstepped, she’d hear their grumbles. Instead, the roadside was wired in taut silence, all eyes on her.
They knew a Money Dance when they heard it.
Tavin moved first, rubbing his hands together. Somehow the gesture still looked deadly. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted with a shrug. “At least, not about your options. It’d take another ten years in service of the palace for me to make it all the way to royal dung collector. I’d recommend you take our word on the Oleanders, though.”
“What’s your word worth when you’re good as dead?” The rot in Hangdog’s voice said this was more than the Money Dance. “When we’re all good as dead?”
“Fine.” Prince Jasimir pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gold? Jewels? Lands? What’s your price?”
Fie mimicked Tavin’s dismissive hand flick. “Flash and trash. If the Oleanders don’t loot those from us, your other gentry will.”
“Then what do you want?” Prince Jasimir asked.
This time, Fie already had a chief’s price in mind.
Look after your own. She had one foot already down this road, and every eye was on her. She couldn’t go back; she couldn’t give her ma mercy or keep Hangdog from screaming in his sleep. But she could keep any Crow from having to walk that way again.
She took a deep breath and looked Prince Jasimir dead in the eye. “I never want to see the Oleander Gentry again. The Hawks that Rhusana promised the Gentry? They’ll guard us instead. I want your Covenant oath that with you as king, every caste will know we Crows are worth protecting. That’s my price.”
The prince’s face turned as gray as the steward’s had.
Pa, on the other hand, had the tiny wrinkles under his eyes that only showed when he was beating down a smile. Fie took that as a good sign.
“Crows,” Pa called out before either lordling could speak. “Do we favor those terms?”
Another twist of her dance. There was a chorus of ayes. Another twist of the knife. Tavin’s glare could have cut through stone.
“You know what you’re asking?” Prince Jasimir asked. “No caste has ever had special protection like this before.”
Swain coughed. “Suppose your palace Hawks are just highly trained, well-armed houseguests, then?” One more whirl and stamp, one more scratch in the floor.