“And I was the one who didn’t think it out before the raid. See? We should have had a sling ready for you, a plan, anything. Skelpie shouldn’t have had to figure it out herself. We’re supposed to look after our own. But I fouled up.”
“That’s no fault of yours,” Fie argued. “The Oleanders killed her. Not you.”
He gave her a long look. “Aye. I could have thought ahead, I could have given myself to save her, but it was the Oleanders who chose to ride our way. My sins were those of a new chief. Now why can you forgive me for those, but can’t forgive yourself?”
She wanted to say it was different. She knew it wasn’t.
“I’m not the chief I was,” he said. “And neither are you.”
You are not what you were. She’d all but forgotten Little Witness’s last words to her.
If only she could forget the rest. “None of it matters anyhow, Pa. Sabor’s going to rot itself to stone, and we’re going to starve waiting for it to pass.”
“I asked Little Witness what she wanted with you, you know,” Pa said. “She wouldn’t say much, some spooky blather about a storm and teeth and thieves. But she did point out one thing. You know how many Phoenix gods there are?”
Fie’s brow furrowed, trying to recall. “Twenty-four, aye?”
He nodded. “Now, how many Phoenix witches walk this land?”
Tavin had told her King Surimir was the only one, though that was before he’d shown he’d inherited the fire witchery from his father. But the king was dead. That left …
“One,” Fie said. “Only one. What does it mean?”
He rubbed his beard, grave. “Little Witness told me we’re on the edge of an end. She didn’t say what’s ending, but I know one thing: change comes with a cost, and even Phoenixes need ash to rise.”
“So we wait?”
Pa pressed his lips together. “No, Fie. Not you.”
She stared at him.
“The Fie I raised couldn’t sit about a shrine and trust the nation to sort itself out before she starves,” Pa said. “You wanted better for us before the queen brought hell to our door. You weren’t content with a chief’s lot, you weren’t content with a Crow’s lot, and you were right to ask for more. So I’ll not cast you out, girl. But can you tell me true: You’d be content to waste away in a shrine, hoping the prince survives to keep his oath?”
She shook her head, fear trying to strangle a terrible, eager relief. “I can’t take the band into that kind of danger.”
“They’ll stay here until you’ve done what you need to.”
“A Crow alone on the road is good as dead.”
A strange look crossed Pa’s face. He reached for where his chief’s string had been, only it had been whittled down to but a few scarce teeth. He touched one and said to the empty air, “It’s Cur. Send the visitors round back, if you please.”
At Fie’s bewildered look, he gestured to the statue. “Gen-Mara, the Messenger. Little Witness told me the witchery would be different on my own grave. Outside of her tower, she’s naught but a tot with a sharp memory. Here I can speak to anyone so long as I have their tooth. I’ll knot one of yours into the string before you go.”
“I’m not going, Pa.” There was something doubly vexing about arguing against something she hungered to do. “You really want to roll shells on the odds of one Crow against the queen of Sabor?”
“I’d take those odds,” a familiar voice called, footsteps crunching closer.
A moment later, two figures stepped into the clearing, two she’d figured good as dead.
Khoda gave a half-baked rendition of the Hawk salute as Viimo looked about, sizing up the statue and the firepit.
“Homey, this,” the skinwitch concluded.
Pa set a hand on Fie’s shoulder. “You’re not going alone.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GOOD LUCK
“Found them lurking outside a few hours after sunup.” Pa gestured for them to sit on the boulders. “Apparently Khoda here remembers the way.”
“Did Khoda here also tell you he’s a Swan spy?” Fie asked.
“Black Swan,” Pa drawled.
“It turns out your father also has a considerable supply of Crane teeth,” Khoda said wryly as he lowered himself onto a stone, folding his arms. “And if it’s any comfort, I only remembered it was in this stretch of the road. Viimo was the one to find the entrance, and even then…”
Viimo tossed a handful of leather scraps to Fie. “I had something of yours to follow. And your trail still went cold a few paces off the flatway.”
Fie unfurled the leather, recognized the stamp work, and couldn’t speak a moment as a hot lump swelled in her throat. They’d even managed to salvage the part of the bag where Tavin’s tooth had been stitched in. If she called its spark now, would it tell her why—
No. The why of it didn’t matter. What Tavin had done was done.
“How did you get out?” she asked instead.
Khoda flashed a grin. “The real question is why I stuck around to begin with. The nice thing about Hawks is they assume all you have to do is tie someone up and put them under watch, and that’s enough to keep them in place.”
“That’s usually how it works, aye,” Viimo said. Fie sneered at her on principle.
“Well, if the master-general didn’t want me to escape, she could have been a bit more thorough, that’s all I’m saying. Rhusana had to collect hair from every Hawk in the procession; you’d think at least one of them would have spotted it like I did. And then I needed this one”—Khoda jerked a thumb at Viimo—“to make sure we were going the right way.”
Four days ago, Fie would have found Khoda’s sass more palatable. Now it only reminded her of Tavin. She narrowed her eyes. “And just why were you looking for me?”
He coughed. “Right. To business. I figured you might be interested in finding another way out of this that doesn’t involve seeing who dies first, the Crows or the rest of Sabor.”
Fie traded looks with Pa. “I’m listening,” she said slowly. “But if you’re looking for a conqueror, you’ve come to the wrong witch.”
“We have a saying among the Black Swans,” Khoda said, looking about the ground until he found a long stick. “The only difference between a conqueror and a thief is an army.”
“Just so happens that we’re short on armies in these parts, too.”
“Then it’s a good thing we need thieves.” Khoda drew three circles in the ashes of the firepit. “Rhusana’s plan is a three-legged stool,” he said. “She needs three things to maintain her power: the military, the aristocracy, and the lack of an alternative. Tavin’s cooperation gives her the aristocracy, because a descendant of Ambra legitimizes her reign. Tavin and Jasimir are both functionally hostages, so that gives her the military, because the master-general won’t endanger her son, and she can’t risk Jasimir dying in a coup. And Jasimir’s captivity means there is no alternative—Tavin and Rhusana are the only eligible rulers.”
“Two of those count on Jasimir.” Fie frowned.
Khoda ventured another grin and pointed the stick at her. “Exactly. She’s keeping Jasimir imprisoned in the royal palace. If we can break him out, then Rhusana loses her leverage against Draga. A stool with two legs wobbles.” He drew a slash through one circle, then another. “We prove Jasimir is … well, the real Jasimir, and Rhusana’s plan falls apart in front of all of Dumosa. All she’ll have left is the king’s illegitimate son.”
Fie stared at the remaining circle. Ambra’s descendant. A bastard boy. A Hawk who hadn’t, in the end, believed she could win against the queen.
“I can take that from her,” she said, icy as a Marovar wind.
Khoda carved a line through the final ring. “And that’s why I’m here. Like I told you before, Rhusana’s biggest weakness is that she underestimates everyone else. She didn’t understand why giving you Phoenix teeth would be a problem until she’d already done it, and she doesn’t see you as a threat without them. So s
he’s going to account for Draga’s warriors, she’s going to account for Jasimir’s fire, she may even foresee an asp or two from a disgruntled noble. But she’s never going to expect you.”
Fie frowned, a thousand questions, fears, and rages running roughshod through her skull. “How long do you reckon this takes?”
“Well, the game is up if the solstice coronation goes through,” Khoda said with a shrug. “Then legally she’ll have command over the military whether Draga likes it or not.”
“Solstice is in four days.” Fie shook her head. “We’ll never make it.”
“Viimo and I brought horses,” Khoda said. “It’ll be a hard two days’ ride to Dumosa. If we can disrupt the ceremony, that will buy us time, but if we can’t end Rhusana’s reign before Phoenix Moon ends, I’d say we won’t end it at all.”
“Pa?” Fie turned to him. “How long can you hold out?”
He scratched his beard. “Jade’s band, Ruffian’s band, and your band … We’ll make it to the end of the moon, aye. But it’ll be tight, and if any more bands seek shelter here, it’ll be tighter.”
Part of Fie wanted to say no. But she’d be giving up on a future. She’d be giving up on the Crows.
She’d be no better than Tavin, and that she could not abide.
“Aye,” she said. “I’m in. Now how exactly do we break a prince out of a palace?”
Viimo let out a cackle. “Well, it starts with something you’ll like.”
* * *
“That ought to tide you over for Sparrow teeth.”
Pa dropped a dozen into Fie’s hand, and she tucked them into a pouch as they made their way through the shrine’s teeth storage. Viimo and Khoda had assured her they had most every other supply covered; they’d arrived with a third horse for Fie, one that had been weighed down with enough Hawk rations to perhaps buy the shrine a few more days, even.
That even included a few changes of clothes. She’d traded her crowsilk leggings and shirt for a Pigeon’s loose gray linen shift, painted leather vest, and trousers; her ragged black cloak had been replaced with one of striped gray, and a scarf round her throat hid her string of teeth.
It felt odd to wear aught that wasn’t crowsilk. It felt worse to wear it in a Crow shrine.
“Vulture, you’re set; Swan won’t do much good…” Pa tapered off, and Fie saw why. The jar he’d come to was painfully small and painted with the Crow mark for “Phoenix.”
Part of Fie wanted the whole jar for herself, wanted that weight in her bag, wanted the knowledge that if all else failed, she could burn her way clear.
But that wasn’t the part that won.
“You heard Khoda,” she said. “Rhusana’s accounted for fire. Keep them for if it gets bad and we need to go out and get viatik.”
“You sure?” Pa asked.
Fie let a hand stray to her scarf. If all else failed, she had one Phoenix tooth left to burn now—or at least, one last tooth from a half Phoenix.
“Aye,” she said. “I’m sure.”
He pushed his lips together, then waved a hand. “Come on, girl.”
They left the tooth stores, and Fie tried to ignore the looks from the other Crows. If she saw someone in Pigeon garb stomping about a shrine, she supposed she’d be antsy, too, especially after a Vulture and Swan had shown up on their doorstep hours ago.
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 into the sky, and she bit her tongue. Each was an accusation: as a chief, she was bound to answer. Each was a reminder: Rhusana had good as lit each beacon herself, waiting for Fie to take the bait.
She told herself another band might answer and pressed on.
By noon of the second day, they could see the crest of the royal palace over the trees, and it didn’t take long for the rest of the city’s hill to swell above them. They ducked into the brush before they hit the gates proper, and Khoda and Fie went to work pulling the saddle and bridle off Viimo’s horse, while Viimo herself shed her Pigeon cloak for one of dusty black cr
owsilk.
“Remember,” Khoda told the Vulture, cinching a pack to her former mount, “nothing until we’re at most two carts from the gate. We don’t speak, you don’t know us, and you don’t make your move until—”
“The guards see. Aye, I know.” Viimo cackled at him. “You’re workin’ with professionals, can’t you tell?”
As if to drive the point home, Barf leapt up onto the packs, stuck a hind leg in the air, and began to groom a very undignified place. Khoda made a little disgusted cough but heckled Viimo no more.
They waited for nigh another quarter hour, peering from the brush while Khoda sized up the passing travelers. Finally he spotted a cart laden with squash and maize and signaled Fie.
She called on two Sparrow teeth, and they slipped onto the flatway behind the maize cart, keeping a good number of paces behind it. The farmer didn’t notice them, even after she let one tooth go and focused the other on Viimo.
They followed the farmer all the way up to one of the Lesser Gates into Dumosa, reserved for Common Castes and Crows, and sat in line on the bridge over the Hem. Viimo lingered a pace or two behind them, but with Fie’s Sparrow tooth turning notice from her, the farmers and laborers waiting to enter the city paid her no heed.
It wasn’t until the maize cart drew within easy eyesight of the Hawk guards that Khoda nudged Fie. She let her remaining Sparrow tooth go cold, then reached up to grab Barf from the horse’s back, a signal for Viimo.
Right on cue, the skinwitch ducked around the horses, hovering at the edge of the maize cart. When the farmer scooted off her wagon seat to speak to the Hawks, Viimo made a show of swiping one, two ears of maize, then a squash, practically flapping her crowsilk cloak for attention.
“HEY!” The farmer bolted for Viimo. “Damned dirty bone thief! You trying to steal from me?”
Viimo swore, stumbled back like a drunkard, and all but heaved the produce into the air. Somehow, in righting herself, she managed to send another squash flying.
The Faithless Hawk Page 14
