But Fie had come to the palace to keep her oaths. So she let Tavin walk her back to the guest quarters, let him leave her with a quick, soft kiss on her cheek, made herself ignore the tension in his shoulders as he left.
She’d expected her room in the guest quarters to be empty. Instead, her door swung open to a chorus of mews.
Fie blinked. Jasimir and Khoda were seated on the ground, trying to wrestle a black-and-white cat into some sort of vest. More cats were lounging about the room, pouncing on carpet fringe, napping on the bed, or grooming an ear. Barf herself rolled on the carpet beside Jasimir, squirming in another of the vests.
Jasimir looked up and grinned, tapping a new-minted badge on his Sparrow uniform. “Cat-master,” he said brightly. Then his grin slipped. “What’s wrong?”
“What happened in the catacombs?” Khoda asked.
Fie sat in one of the overstuffed chairs. A small cat with a tortoiseshell coat immediately leapt onto her lap and curled up. She buried her face in its fur. “I didn’t hear anything. It all made me sick, there were too many bones, I just—” Fie made herself lift her head and take a breath. “In the Tomb of Monarchs, I touched Ambra’s skull.” Khoda tensed. “It wasn’t supposed to—bones aren’t supposed to do aught unless I ask, but it did, it showed me Ambra’s life.”
“Why would it show you that?” Jasimir asked, bewildered.
She didn’t want to say it out loud; it was the same as the feeling from the Well of Grace, from Little Witness’s watchtower, the same droning dread. She said it anyway.
“Last moon, I went to the watchtower of Little Witness. The shrine-keeper there is Little Witness reborn, and she remembers everything. She told me the Crows have a Birthright, but it was stolen. That if I wanted to get it back, I had to keep my oath. I thought she meant our oath, Jas. I thought getting you to Draga wasn’t enough, that I had to put you on the throne. But Ambra … Her skull grabbed me, and I saw her—I saw her swear a Covenant oath with Crows, to save her life.”
“But she didn’t keep it,” Khoda finished, quiet. “And now it’s yours.”
Jasimir twisted to look between him and Fie, letting the black-and-white cat in his lap go. “What are you saying?”
“Fie is Ambra reborn. Well, the latest one, that is.” Khoda leaned back, trying to sound casual. “Congratulations. You’re now in on another of those secrets the master-general mentioned. You know, the kind that holds nations together.”
Jasimir and Fie both stared at him.
“The Black Swans keep count of witches, right?” Khoda continued. “When they first started, the numbers didn’t add up. A witch of one caste would die, but we wouldn’t see another witch born to take their place. It took a few decades to figure it out, but every one of them had died of the Sinner’s Plague, and a few years later … a new Crow witch would be registered. Eventually they get sent back, after a life or two with the Crows. But Ambra has stayed. Most of the nation thinks Ambra’s rebirth is supposed to set off an era of peace. It’s already happened”—he did a quick tally on his fingers—“thirteen times, I think? That we know of?”
“You knew this whole time?” Fie asked, numb. “You knew who I really was?”
Khoda pursed his lips and didn’t answer for a moment. “I wasn’t lying when I said we thought Rhusana would target you. But this is part of why. You have every right to be angry with me for keeping it from you, let’s just get that out of the way. But what good would it have done if I told you? What would it change?”
“What would it change?” Jasimir exploded. “It makes her the heir to the fucking throne! The rightful queen of Sabor!”
“No.” Fie pushed herself back into the chair. “I don’t want it. You can’t make me.”
You don’t want to be queen? Niemi demanded. What’s wrong with you?
Khoda was shaking his head. “Even if you did want it, it doesn’t matter. You have to keep your oath.”
The oath … Fie’s belly sank. “Ambra swore to give up her crown and join the Crows. How am I supposed to keep that?”
“You need a crown to give one up,” Jasimir said.
Khoda scowled at him. “It’s not happening.”
Jasimir ran his hands through his hair. “Khoda, you’ve told me for the last week that all the gentry care about is that the crown goes to a descendant of Ambra. Tav, Fie, and I almost died, many times, in order to convince people I might be Ambra reborn. Now we have the real thing, and suddenly it doesn’t matter?”
Khoda didn’t answer.
Fie did for him. “It doesn’t, because I’m a Crow.”
She heard Little Witness’s final words to her: You are not what you were.
She also heard Niemi’s: We could be the queen, you insufferable fool!
“Because you don’t have proof,” Khoda corrected. “How are you going to convince the Peacocks? The Hawks? The rest of Sabor?”
Jasimir’s face went stony. “She can’t be killed by the plague, like Ambra. She can control fire and keep from being burned, like Ambra. That’s all it would take for anyone to believe I was Ambra reborn.”
“You know it’s not that simple,” Khoda snapped, getting to his feet. “And I can’t believe you’re willing to just throw your throne away.”
“It’s not throwing it away!” Jasimir stood as well. “I’ve given everything to make myself the best king I could be for Sabor. Do you think I’d give that up for anything less? But if the Crows have a Birthright and this returns it, it’s not just about Ambra. It’s about helping my people—our people. You can’t tell me that doesn’t give Fie the right to the throne.”
“It’s not just having the right to the throne!” Khoda was angrier than Fie had ever seen him. “It’s being right for the throne!”
“My father abused his power in every way imaginable just to prove he could,” Jasimir hissed, “and your all-knowing Black Swans did nothing to stop him, because you thought he was good enough for the throne.”
Barf climbed onto Fie’s lap and plopped down with seemingly no regard for the fact that her belly was planted on the tortoiseshell’s face. Fie closed her eyes and let her head fall back.
Niemi wouldn’t shut up in Fie’s skull. Her tooth should have burned out hours ago, but somehow it was still alight. Marry the prince, the dead girl sang, take the throne, make us queen!
Fie ripped the tooth from her string and flung it across the room.
“I’m going to scalp the next person who says throne,” she announced, eyes still shut.
She heard Jasimir stomp toward the door. He paused before opening it.
“If being a Phoenix was all that made my father right to rule Sabor,” he said, tired and furious, “and being a Crow makes Fie wrong, then I don’t even know what we’re doing here.”
“If you’re leaving to go sulk, cat-master, don’t slam the door,” Khoda sighed.
Jasimir did not slam the door. Somehow it still sounded angry.
“It’s not just that you’re a Crow,” Khoda said after a moment.
Fie cracked an eye open to give him a look of disbelief. “Please. Continue telling me how I’m unfit to rule.”
Khoda put his hands on his hips. “Fine. Let’s say we have a heat wave, early spring, and the Marovar glaciers dump snowmelt into the Lash. The Hassura Plains flood, and Lumilar loses a fifth of the crops they’ve sown and a quarter of their cattle herds. How do you keep the city from starving?”
“Tell the lady-governor of the realm to pay them,” Fie said with a shrug. “Have you seen her mansion? She can afford it.”
“Oh no, she didn’t like how you phrased the order!” Khoda threw up his hands. “She’s saying she doesn’t have the resources, and your appropriations council won’t approve the expense of direct aid, either! What do you do?”
“Have them all executed,” Fie said darkly.
Khoda scowled. “Joke all you like, but this is exactly what I mean. Surimir wasn’t good enough for the throne, but he was trained to keep
the nation running and the Hawks and Peacocks happy. I don’t have to tell you leadership isn’t for amateurs. If Jasimir tried to run your band, even now, do you think he’d manage?”
Fie hmphed. Khoda had a point. But … “I’ve always been in this for the Crows, Khoda. Maybe you’re all right about us after all. Maybe I’m still with the Crows because the gods really did make us to be a punishment, and Ambra fouled up so grand that I’m still paying for it. But we had a Birthright. I hate this palace, I hate these people, and I bet whatever the crown looks like, I’ll hate it, too. But if taking it gets us our Birthright back, there is nothing you can say or do to stop me.”
He gave her a long look. Both of them knew that if it came time to test it, it would not end well. But Fie didn’t care; things rarely ended well for Crows without someone wrenching them the right way.
The door rattled on its hinges, then opened. Yula entered with a cart of cleaning goods, finger pressed to her lips until the door closed behind her. “Apologies,” she said under her breath, and hurriedly shoved aside the cleaning supplies. “We had to clean out the sick rooms, they’re needed. Here, your things.” She unloaded a few sacks of spare servant uniforms, base gowns for Fie to glamour, and Khoda’s own stash of varying disguises. Then she paused, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.
“What’s wrong?” asked Khoda.
Yula turned to Fie. “Will … will you come look at them? The patients, that is. There’s three.”
Fie’s face dropped. “Is it the plague?”
Yula worried her bottom lip more before answering. “We don’t know.”
That sat strange. The plague usually made itself known within hours. Fie reached for one of the Sparrow uniforms. “Aye, I’ll take a look.”
Once she’d changed, she and Yula hurried across the palace grounds, Khoda staying behind in case Jasimir returned.
Caws ruffled the garden as they strode through, black wings rustling in the topiaries. Fie stopped counting the crows once she passed a dozen.
Something was drawing them to the palace. She didn’t know if she wanted to find out what.
Three Sparrow servants were waiting for them in the sick rooms, two women and a man sweating in the stifling room—yet they wore the long-sleeved tunics of winter uniforms, and gloves over those. Fie’s nose wrinkled. She didn’t smell the telltale plague-stink, but they also didn’t look like sinners to her, eyes still bright and alert, no pallor, no rash of Sinner’s Brand on their faces.
“I brought the Crow,” Yula whispered. “You can show her.”
They traded looks. The man stripped off a glove and rolled up his sleeve. Fie came closer.
She saw it, faint but clear enough: the Sinner’s Brand carved whorls down his arm, all the way to his fingertips. It was the same distinct pattern she’d seen on Niemi before cutting her throat, but nowhere near as dark, and Niemi’s had only been a few hours old.
“How long?” Fie asked.
“One day,” one woman answered.
“Since the solstice,” the other said.
The man swallowed. “Five. Five days.”
Her brow furrowed. She looked up at him. “Any fever?” He shook his head. “Spewing? Coughing blood?” He shook his head after each. Fie took a step back and turned to the women. “And you? Only the Sinner’s Brand, too?”
“Yes.”
Fie stared at the man’s arm again, utterly flummoxed. The Covenant did not send the Sinner’s Plague with equal speed, to be sure. Pa had suggested once that it seemed to linger on those who had great wrongs to atone for, making them feel every weeping sore, every bit of their lungs giving way. Others it took swift, usually when it had spread from an unburnt corpse and caught those whose crime was simply negligence.
She’d never heard of the Covenant simply marking sinners, then leaving them be.
“Is it the plague, or no?” Yula asked.
“I-I’m not sure,” Fie said.
“You have to be sure. If it is…” Yula’s voice shook. “They can’t stay in the palace.”
Fie didn’t get it at first. Neither did the Sparrows behind her.
“Why?” the man asked. “If it’s our time, we’ll go to the quarantine huts.”
That was when Fie understood. Her blood ran cold.
“Take them to the city,” she told Yula. “Fast as you can, and anywhere that can quarantine them.”
“I said we’ll go—”
“It’s not you, it’s the queen,” Fie interrupted. She made herself face the Sparrows. “I’ve never seen plague like this, and maybe—maybe it’ll be different. But if the queen finds you, I know one thing: she’ll die wearing the Sinner’s Brand herself before she calls for Crows.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
RED LANTERNS
A quiet fell over the sick room. Then one of the women spoke up. “It spreads if we die and aren’t burned, right?”
“Aye,” Fie said. The Sparrows all traded looks.
“If I asked now, would you give me mercy?” The woman stared at the floor.
“Aye.” Fie’s belly sank. “But your only symptom is the Sinner’s Brand.”
“I have—” The woman’s voice cracked. “My sister and her children live in my house, in Dumosa. If I carry the plague there…”
“If you had the plague I know, you’d already be dead,” Fie said. “If the Covenant wanted you to suffer, you would be suffering.”
“It’s not for us to know what the Covenant wants,” the man said softly. “But if it spares Dumosa and the palace, it’s worth it.”
Fie could only think of the Black Swans’ words again: The sun will rise, even from our ashes.
How much more would have to burn?
The door burst open before she could answer them. Khoda stood in the doorway, wide-eyed and taut.
“Fie, we need to go. The queen’s rounding up the Sparrows and having all of them caste-tested. She’s looking for us.”
“But—”
The stamp of Hawk boots ratcheted down the walkway outside.
“No time, we’re going.” Khoda seized her by the elbow and hauled her into the corridor.
Fie yanked free, then locked her arm in his in a much more manageable position. “Stay close to me,” she said, and called a Sparrow witch-tooth to life. Both she and Khoda disappeared.
“Don’t you need to be saving these?” Khoda hissed.
Fie headed toward the stairs. “It’s … complicated,” she hissed back, because it was the truth.
She still had all three Sparrow witch-teeth Pa had given her. All three Pigeon witch-teeth. She even had Tavin’s tooth still knotted in a bit of rag on her string, because every time she thought she’d burned one out, a day later the spark was back, good as new.
The Sinner’s Brand on healthy people. Teeth that wouldn’t burn out. And, as Fie and Khoda passed a window screen on the first floor, crows clamoring in the gardens.
The Sparrow man had been right. It wasn’t for her to know what the Covenant wanted with them now, because absolutely none of it made a lick of sense.
Fie yanked Khoda to the side as Hawks marched down the hall. They flattened themselves against the wall, the spears passing less than a hand-width from Fie’s nose. Door after door crashed open, and the offices’ occupants were marched out to line up.
A Hawk with the bronze-and-carnelian badge of a war-witch passed from Sparrow to Sparrow, gripping each bare wrist a moment, then moving on. Once the war-witch had passed them by, Fie gave Khoda’s arm a tweak and scuttled sideways for the door.
They eased out into the too-bright sun. Shouts of surprise and dismay echoed from every floor of the servants’ quarters; at least a quarter of the staff had to have been sleeping before their night shift.
A sudden dreadful thought struck. “Where’s Jas?”
“He came back to the guest quarters,” Khoda answered. “We’ll be safe there. Rhusana’s only testing the palace servants right now, not any of the Peacocks’ attendant
s.”
Fie remembered the way the war-witch had tested the Sparrows and stopped in place. Khoda nearly yanked her off her feet by accident, not seeing she’d ground to a halt.
“What—?” he spluttered.
“This just got a lot worse,” Fie said. “We need to see if—”
She heard boots behind them and shoved Khoda into a hedge, joining him fast as she could.
“We’re already invisible!” he whispered, irate.
“They can still run into us,” Fie whispered back. “And hear us, so shut up already. I’m watching for something.”
The footfalls of Hawks pounded down the stairs, but it was the trio of Sparrows from the sick room who emerged through the doorway first.
Fie bit her fist, thinking no, no, no, no, no.
A squad of Hawks followed, keeping them at spear’s length. Fie caught “quarantine hut” and bit down harder. Khoda muttered a curse beside her.
The Sparrows were marched out and away. Once they had passed, Khoda asked, “How long do they have?”
“I don’t know,” Fie answered. “They only have the Sinner’s Brand, no other symptoms. They’ve all had it for long enough for the plague to kill them. It could be hours, it could be days. Weeks, even.”
Khoda swore again. “And the queen won’t light a beacon, because she didn’t light one for Surimir, and people will start asking why. Damn it all. I know your father can hold out to the end of the moon.… But I don’t know if Dumosa can.”
Fie had no answer for that, so she helped him out of the hedge instead. “Let’s get to the room.”
The jeers of crows followed them all the way back to the guest quarters.
* * *
In her dream, she was swimming again, in her favorite of the private gardens. Her tiger was lounging in the other end of the pond, dozing among the lantern-lilies. She supposed he missed the chill of the Marovar nearly as much as she did, but he made it much easier to cow the Peacocks of the south. One look at a queen riding in on a tiger and they gave her everything she wanted.
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