“I can’t believe they sent the Menagerie after me.”

“You murdered a king.”

“A shit king,” said Anji, but the Hawk said nothing. The fire crackled, the woman stirred at the pot.

“Where are the others?”

“Out there somewhere,” said the Hawk.

Anji stared across the yawning tundra. The hills and boulders stared back, still and silent. Here she sat, hands bound, without a sword, opposite one of the Menagerie: the most hardened warriors in the world. A cadre of bounty hunters in service to Rolandrian, and by extension the Senate, the judicial arm of the ruling monarchy Anji had just squashed. Her hands began to shake at the thought of masked figures stalking her through the wilderness like a pack of hungry wolves.

The Hawk divided the pot’s lumpy contents into two metal cups and offered one to Anji. “Should help with the pain and swelling.”

Anji glanced at the cup.

“Poison is not my trade, girl,” the Hawk said, her arm still outstretched. “Though you had your fill in that tavern.”

Anji reached her bound hands awkwardly to the lump on her brow, still tender, still throbbing. Her fingers came away dry. That was something at least. She twisted in her bonds, looking to her belt for her father’s dagger.

“It’s in my tent,” the Hawk said, “along with your other possessions. You’ve no use for them anymore.” She gestured with the cup. “Eat,” she said, voice firm. “You’ll need the strength.”

“Those things are mine,” said Anji. “Give them back to me right now or I’ll—”

The Hawk scoffed. “Or you’ll what? Thump me to death?”

“You don’t know anything. I have training. I could have handled myself back there, I just needed another—”

“What you needed was to stay sober when you knew someone would eventually find you. You’re the most wanted criminal in Yem, and you decided to stop for a few drinks and a card game?” The Hawk sniffed. “Stupidest thing I’ve ever seen. How you managed to kill Rolandrian and escape is beyond me. I expected some fight out of you.”

Anji ground her teeth and raised the manacles. “Take these off and give my knife back then. You could die impressed.”

The Hawk exhaled a long breath. “Eat.”

The cup’s warmth was ebbing, so Anji took a sip. Hot broth, salty and coarse, filled her mouth. Complex flavor hit her in waves—sage, cumin, and purple carrots swam in the salty broth along with brined chunks of white meat. She tried remembering the last time she’d tasted something so satisfying and came up short. They’d been given mostly brown bread and oats in the castle laundry, the occasional piece of fruit on a holiday. She gulped the rest down fast enough to singe the back of her mouth and ran her finger along the inside of the cup.