It wasn’t just the teeth, though. It was the feel of Tavin’s mouth on her skin, even for an instant.
She was too sick to cry, too furious not to. She buried her face in her hands, still curled over, and let the sobs shudder from her. Not ten days ago he’d sworn she would never be gone to him. One chance for a crown and he’d tossed that oath aside. She should have known better to trust anything promised between her legs.
She should have never believed him to be better.
But now for all he knew, she was being kept caged up in the countryside like his pet, to visit for his pleasure when it suited him, and he was free to woo a proper consort from a worthy caste. Her people would starve, Sabor would rot, and that was an acceptable price for a throne.
Even if we ourselves must burn.
Her belly roiled; her knuckles yet seared where his lips had been.
“I’m going to kill him,” she breathed into the silence of the perfumed air. The amber-pod blossoms only shivered on their branches in reply. Fie didn’t care. She’d sworn as much when she was dragged screaming from Draga’s tent. And she had come to the royal palace to keep her oaths.
Something fluttered as she sat up. Fie’s head whipped about just in time to see a crow take off from its perch on the shoulder of one more Phoenix statue, and rise into the sky.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A PRISON FIT FOR A KING
Fie had just enough time to dry her face and contemplate burning the palace down before the hour-bell rang. When it did, she closed her eyes and made herself call on a Vulture witch-tooth, focusing on the clay charm-bead Viimo had given her.
The Vulture Birthright sparked and flared, lighting up Viimo’s trail in Fie’s senses. The end of it shifted, moving north, south, north, south. Then it stopped in the north for a long moment, only to resume moving north, south, north, south. After a minute or so it stopped in the north once more.
This was the message system they’d set up: Viimo had a tooth from Fie, a trinket from Khoda, and the Birthright to find where they stood at every hour-bell. If either Fie or Khoda sought out a particular place in the gardens at the chime of the hour-bell, it was to send a message. Waiting east, in the amber-pod grove, meant Fie had news.
Viimo could pass that message along to Khoda through his own spies in the prison, but Fie had no such network. Instead, Viimo paced north to south in her jail cell, a signal Fie would sense through a Vulture tooth. That pacing meant Viimo had a message from Khoda. Pausing a while in the north was a signal to meet at the next bell.
Their meeting spot was the statue behind the Hall of the Dawn, and the hall itself sat between the wings of the Divine Galleries. Now that she’d memorized the way from the gallery, Fie knew she could make it there several times over before the hour-bell chimed again. If she hurried, she could look over Jas’s prison before she and Khoda met up; if luck was still with her, Tavin wouldn’t have gone back.
She blotted her burning cheeks one more time, then took a deep breath and ducked through the pavilion’s archway. Thanks to the Owl tooth, she picked out landmark after landmark to guide her way.
No one looked twice at a Sparrow servant hurrying through the palace gardens, especially with more Sparrows up and hurrying about the walkways with armfuls of garlands, silk, perfume oils, fineries, and decorations of every kind. Fie didn’t have a repair order for the Divine Galleries, but the vestiges of the Pigeon witch-tooth’s luck seemed to have kept the guards at bay. She darted in before that luck could fade, Barf at her heels.
She couldn’t quite remember which of the towering statues had concealed the passage, but the cat had no such issue, scuttling behind a golden figure pouring out a pitcher of flame. Fie followed and found her licking a patch of marble where the spilled fish stew must have been hastily mopped up. Even better, Fie’s slipper had tumbled behind a column. The calluses on Fie’s feet were thick enough that it hadn’t made much of a difference to her, but she yanked it back on for symmetry’s sake, at least.
She wrenched the dog statue’s head around, and the panel in the statue base lowered once more. Fie eased halfway down the steps, holding her breath and waiting for any telltale noise. The walls themselves seemed to rattle and thrum around her, making it all the harder to focus. God-graves always sang in her bones, and it was tolerable enough when she tread on only the one. If the legends were right, the Phoenixes had dumped all twenty-four of their dead gods under the two galleries, and the drone of their song ground into her very teeth.
There was no time to dawdle, not when she’d no notion if guards would pass by the statue or if Tavin would return. Fie rushed to the bottom of the steps. They opened to a short, narrow stone passage lit with more oil lamps. A line of bars walled off the end of the hall, making a small, enclosed chamber furnished with cushions, a bed, and a low table. A stack of dirty dishes sat near a narrow metal flap.
There were no Hawks on guard that she could see. Fie didn’t know if that meant Rhusana couldn’t spare any, or if the fact that it had taken a Pigeon witch’s Birthright to find this prison meant secrecy was its main defense.
Jasimir lay on the bed, reading a scroll, but he sat up at the sound of her footsteps. His eyes widened. “Fie? What are you doing here?”
She planted her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “I’ll give you two guesses.”
Jasimir let out a laugh almost like a sob, hurrying to the bars. “F-fair point. I just didn’t think Rhusana would leave you alive, no matter what she promised…” His face buckled briefly. Tavin’s unspoken name hung over both of them like an executioner’s sword.
“As far as she knows, she had me drowned. Lakima saved me. I’m sorry, Jas. I ran—my band, I had to—”
He shook his head. “You’ve been through enough for me. Of course you needed to get your family to safety. I can’t believe you didn’t … you didn’t give up.”
She winced and stared at the stone floor. “I did. I figured it was all rutted, all I could do was wait to starve with the rest of my kin. But some miserable wretches reminded me I owe the queen a whipping.”
“You have help?” He straightened up, a light sparking in his face. “Is Tav in on the plan?”
She swallowed, voice knotting into a rasp. “No.”
They both went quiet a moment, recoiling from the salt in the wound. Fie cleared her throat, then called her Owl tooth back to better cement her memory of this moment. “I haven’t long. Tell me about this cell.”
“It’s made to hold royalty.” Jasimir frowned. “Technically, only the royal family and their most trusted servants are supposed to know about them, and even then, Owl witches have been called to wipe memories if anyone got too loose-tongued. I’m sure Rhusana’s only sending servants under her control.” He shook his head. “And you just … walked in? Just like that?”
“Pigeon witch’s tooth,” Fie said by way of explanation, but couldn’t help feeling the teensiest big smug. The palace was fine, but clearly it had not been Crow-proofed. “How do we get you out?”
“Ah. That I don’t know.” Jasimir twitched his fingers. A tiny golden flame ignited over them, then snuffed out. “Any of us can call fire in the palace, since we’re so close to the god-graves. But these cells are built so that if I tried it, I’d burn up all the air and suffocate long before the bars got hot enough to bend. There’s one under every statue in the Divine Galleries.”
Fie closed her eyes, letting the words stamp into her mind with the memory Birthright. Anything that could help break Jas out, she needed to note. “Walls are stone, bars are metal, no fire. How’d they get you in to begin with?”
“I don’t know. The last thing I remember is Aunt Draga’s tent, and then I woke up here.”
“Sounds like a healer’s sleep,” Fie muttered as she looked around, just to commit the words to memory along with everything else. “So Rhusana has at least one war-witch, along with a glamour-weaver. You’re getting meals through that?” She pointed to the metal flap beside
the stack of dishes, and Jasimir nodded. “No other locks, levers, anything?”
“None that I’ve seen.”
Fie scowled about the room. She couldn’t see any sort of mechanism that would open the cell, and they didn’t have time for her to hunt for one. It stung, getting this close, but Jas’s rescue would have to wait.
“I’m sorry, I have to get help, but I swear—I’m not giving up again.”
The prince bit his lip and nodded, eyes glistening wet in the lamplight. He held out a hand through the bars. “We still have an oath to keep,” he said, hoarse. “We’ll make them pay.”
Fie clasped it hard and fierce. “We’ll burn it down.”
He let her go, but when she reached the stairs, he called after her. “Fie.”
“Aye?” She looked back.
Jasimir was pressed against the bars, hollow and desperate. “Everyone … my mother, my father, Aunt Draga, Tavin … They’re all gone. You’re all I have left. If I lose you, too…”
She knew that break in his voice; it matched hers, when she’d laid all her failings at Pa’s feet days ago. So she gave him a sad grin and said, “Not just me. You’ve got the cat, too. Now sit tight for a bit, aye? Help’s on the way.”
Barf had apparently grown bored of the fish stew and moved on by the time Fie emerged. Fie wasn’t troubled; she knew the tabby would show up again when it pleased her. The guards were just returning as she scuttled from the Divine Gallery, and they paid her no heed thanks to the Sparrow tooth she burned. The ground still buzzed beneath her slippers, but the overbearing song faded with the more distance she put between herself and the graves.
Khoda was already at the statue when she arrived, kneeling in the grass and studiously scrubbing the snowy marble pedestal. The statue itself loomed taller even than the ones inside the gallery, a golden woman crowned in flames wrought of amber, a sun rising from her outstretched hands, just like the royal crest. This had to be the Mother of the Dawn, patron of the monarchs. All the gods were supposed to have statues in the Divine Gallery, but apparently being their favorite got you an extra one outside, overlooking the gardens.
“You’re here to help with the mildew?” Khoda asked gruffly, jerking his chin at a scrub brush nearby. From what Fie could see, there was no trace of scum on the marble, but an excuse was an excuse.
“Aye.” She picked up the brush, then caught Khoda’s frown. “Yes.” She knelt next to him and began to scrub. “I found him,” she muttered.
“This side’s clean enough,” he announced. “Let’s start on the back.” They scooted until they were behind the pedestal, with the Hall of the Dawn behind them. If Fie had sorted the palace’s layout right, then the wall of iridescent glassblack a few dozen paces away was the only thing between them and the thrones inside.
“Where is he?” Khoda hissed.
Fie opened her mouth to answer, then closed it as a notion struck. “Keep scrubbing,” she told him, and fished out a new Peacock tooth and her half-burnt Owl one. She’d built glamours from memory just an hour ago; perhaps she could do so again.
The sparks and the songs took a moment to find their balance, but it helped to give them the structure of her own fresh memories as well. She set her Peacock tooth on the ground, and a miniature copy of Jasimir’s cell spun itself into place, down to the dog statue that opened the way.
Khoda wasn’t scrubbing anymore. She scowled and thrust the brush back in his hand, hissing, “I shouldn’t have to tell a spy boy to keep his cover up.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” he said. “How did you get the image so accurate?”
“Owl tooth. That memory Birthright’s coming in handy.”
“And you can use Peacock and Owl at the—” He cut himself off. “We can talk about this later. The Divine Galleries weren’t on our list. How did you find him?”
Fie grimaced and relayed as much as she could stomach: burning a Pigeon witch-tooth, following the servant, catching Tavin’s eye. When she was done, Khoda was back to frowning.
“I don’t like it,” he admitted. “But if you’ve snagged his attention—”
Fie was already flicking the water from her scrub brush into his face. “You glamour yourself up like a Peacock and charm him then! I’d rather have split his skull in the amber-pods!”
“Well,” Khoda said, wiping dirty water off his face with an air of faint disdain, “that makes what I’m about to suggest much more of a poppy dream, I suppose.” Fie regarded him with the kind of suspicion she usually reserved for street meat. He shrugged. “I think we can use this. After the prince is free, of course. But the Sakars haven’t exactly been bragging that their daughter died of the Sinner’s Plague, and they’ll be in mourning at their manor until the next moon at the earliest. The odds you’d be recognized as a dead girl are low, and in the meantime, Tavin may let something useful slip. You’ve already caught his eye. Let’s see what else you can catch.”
Fie had been scrubbing at the same patch of pedestal so hard, she felt likely to leave a divot. “I’d rather catch his throat and be done with it.”
“Yes, I’m aware, and I’ll save that honor for you once all this is over,” Khoda sighed. “But this isn’t like dealing with sinners or Oleanders. You have to think about strategy and spectacle. Hundreds of high-bred witnesses saw you take Jasimir’s corpse moons ago, only for him to return in triumph. If you kill Tavin while he’s posing as Jasimir, do you think the public will buy that the crown prince miraculously came back to life yet again?”
It’s a divine mandate when a Phoenix prince survives the plague. It’s a cheap hoax when his guard conveniently lives, too.
Tavin had made nigh the same point back at the beginning of Peacock Moon. Fie had to gulp down the hard knot that memory left in her throat.
“The same goes for Rhusana,” Khoda continued. “She’s the most powerful person who knows Tavin’s a fake. Remove her and he’ll just be harder to dethrone. We need them to take each other down.” He studied the miniature jail, eyes lingering on the tiny Jasimir pacing behind the bars. “The first step is getting the prince out. Our two favorite traitors will blame each other for it, and we can use that. I’ve seen cells like this on Yimesei. I’m pretty sure I can break him out with a proper distraction.”
Fie eyed the angle of the sun in the sky. “Coronation starts at sundown. You’ll need to work fast.”
At that, Khoda cracked a decidedly sharkish smile. “You’ve sorted out how to hold a Peacock glamour while using other teeth, right?” She nodded. “While you were off sniffing out the prince, one of my sources got me the program for the entire coronation ceremony. And I think … we can kill two birds with one stone.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE SILK CROWN
Fie had been in the Hall of the Dawn once before, when she’d helped steal a crown prince faking his death. This time, she was here to stop a fake prince from stealing the crown.
It had been only slightly harder to break into the massive hall than it had been to sneak into the palace itself. Every entrance was guarded by Hawk war-witches reading caste in the guests’ blood to verify only Splendid Castes and a select few Hawks were allowed within. Any witches were also sent to Vulture skinwitches to have the witch-sign on their wrist marked for tracking during the ceremony.
However, like Pigeon witches, the nation kept their few Sparrow witches all accounted for and on a tight leash, so much so that a stray witch was unthinkable. All the gentry waiting to enter had been lined up to the left of each entrance. The right side was kept clear for those who wanted to exit.
So when Fie called the first of her three Sparrow witch-teeth in the shadow of a hedge and vanished whole from sight, not a soul stirred to stop her from strolling right into the heart of the royal palace.
True to Pa’s word, no one saw her coming.
She’d been right about the Mother of the Dawn: she could see the statue’s silhouette behind the two thrones, streaky and warped through the wall
of rainbow-hued glassblack. A great gold disc and spray of golden rays made a sun cresting behind the dais, but now solstice eve sunlight streamed in through the statue’s fingers as well, gilding the hall’s lacquered blues, scarlets, and violets in a dazzling peach-gold color that Fie found wholly unnecessary. According to Ebrim, the hall had been built with the thrones in the west so Phoenixes could watch the dawn through the matching glassblack panes at the eastern end, where Fie stood now.
The ground itself was patterned with ornate wheels of marble in green, black, and white, and immense cut-iron columns marched down the main walkway, each carved like a lantern with the image of great Phoenixes of the past: Bright Hamarian, Suro the Conqueror, and of course, Ambra. Fires in every column blazed without mercy, even in the heat of midsummer, and the air hung just as thick with perfume oils and incense as the night Fie had pulled two dead princes from the palace’s guts.
The stream of gentry was beginning to congeal into a glittering crowd, mingling to the strains of musicians in the two galleries lining the upper levels of the hall. Sparrow servants wound round the multitudes, offering trays of pale wines and delicate pastries, brandishing palm fans to keep the gentry cool, and swiftly snatching away any empty goblets or plates. As Fie watched, a Peacock noblewoman in an emerald-choked headdress popped a thumbnail-size stuffed crab into her mouth, chewed once, wrinkled her nose, and motioned for a servant. The nearest Sparrow held his hand below her mouth, face stiff, as the Peacock daintily spat wet crab into his palm.
Fie winced, sick to her stomach. Back in Gen-Mara’s shrine, Pa was counting out rations and stretching every grain, every drop, every crumb, to last until the end of the moon.
All the more reason to end Rhusana swift. Fie ducked behind a tapestry in a secluded corner to let her Sparrow witch-tooth go before it burned too low. A Peacock witch-tooth wove Niemi’s face over her own once more; Fie borrowed the glimmering gown of another aristocrat, the elegantly dressed hair of a nearby countess, the swinging jewelry of a young woman she’d passed in line. When she was done, the teeth she’d strung at her wrist had turned to bangles, the swords at her hips hidden beneath a flowing skirt.
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