“The moss,” he clarified as her face darkened.

She couldn’t bite back the scowl anymore. He’d asked the same question of dozens of plants in the last few days. “If you want to soil yourself for three days, aye.”

“That sounds useful.” He grinned at her and the prince. “You two are making the same face again.”

“Because neither of us wants to know how that’s supposed to be useful,” Fie said. “And—”

A rumble beneath her soles cut her short. She sighed and started toward the bramble at the roadside. “Riders. Come on.”

The boys hadn’t tried to fuss her like they’d fussed at Pa; it seemed they’d been cured of that in Cheparok. They hurried into the bushes, crouching to peer through the leaves as Fie called up a Sparrow tooth just to be safe. A few breaths later, a few horses trotted by, their riders cowled in the faded lavender hoods of young Owl sojourn-scholars. They had the deeper brown skin of Owls from the western coastal academies, darker than Fie and much darker than Vultures.

Jasimir let out a sigh of relief as they passed, and shifted to stand. Fie yanked him back down.

The tremors only grew. The sojourn-scholars twisted to look at their backs—then cursed as more horses cantered into sight. Dust billowed up from the road, wheeling into one more ring about the Owls as the new arrivals surrounded them.

“What is the meaning of this?” one Owl scholar demanded, coughing.

As the dust settled, one jagged silhouette stood apart from the rest. Four lines of new-cut steel shone brighter than the older notches carved into a helm crowning a mountain of a man.

Tatterhelm.

Her kin’s killer, not twenty paces away. One Phoenix tooth, maybe two, and Fie could take him down—

And lose the prince, the oath, everything Pa had trusted to her, because she couldn’t also take down the rest of the skinwitches riding with him. A sick kind of wrath paced in her heart, rattling its bars; for now, Fie kept it caged.

“Business of the queen,” Tatterhelm boomed. “You see any bone thieves on this road?”

“The Merciful Crows?” Another Owl cocked his head. “Whatever for?”

Tatterhelm pressed his mount closer. “Business of the queen,” he repeated. “Looking for three of ’em. Won’t ask again.”

The scholars traded looks. “We didn’t see three,” the first Owl said, slow. “We saw a band yesterday, perhaps a score? They were bound northwest, I believe to Livabai.”

“They could’ve fallen in with another band.” That Vulture’s voice scraped all too familiar; last time Fie had heard it, the skinwitch had been huddled in the bloody sand. When Fie squinted, she could make out bandages swaddling Viimo’s hands. She’d survived Cheparok after all. “To throw us off, since we figured out where they’re headed.”