Her finger traced the flatway line, prodding out the beacon’s probable sources. The answers were not kind. “We know it’s north of here. If we’re lucky, it’s due north. If we’re less lucky, we’ll need to head west at the next crossroads. Worst is if it’s east.”

“Trikovoi’s northeast,” Tavin said. “So why is east bad?”

“Because then the plague’s more like to be in Gerbanyar.” She read out the city’s Crow signs. “‘Cold.’ ‘Don’t stay overnight.’ And best of all, ‘Oleanders.’”

Tavin’s frown cut sharp as Hawk steel. “That’s too risky.”

“They’re all too risky,” Fie said. “Pa told you: Crows go where we’re called.”

“And if you’re being called into a trap?” His frown didn’t budge. “Vultures passed us yesterday, then our camp was overrun by the world’s worst band of pipers, and now suddenly there’s a plague beacon from the same direction they both headed. Even if this one is fine, how long do you think it’ll take Tatterhelm to figure out that’s how he can lure us in?”

“He’ll have to find a town that lets him first. Hate us or no, people know what happens when they attack Crows in the open.” Fie pointed to a vale on the map near Trikovoi. The lone Crow mark there said “ashes.” “There was a village here once. They decided the chief asked too much for viatik and cut down her husband and child. The band carried word out, and next time that village lit a plague beacon, no one answered until after the whole valley rotted. Saw it burn myself. Any town that lends Tatterhelm their plague beacon knows they’ll meet the same.”

Tavin stood, arms crossed. “He may not give them much of a choice in the matter.”

“I still have to answer,” she fired back. “It’s my duty. I don’t get to only do it when it’s easy, any more than you get to guard the prince only when he’s safe. And if you think the rest of the region won’t lash out at Crows for a shirked beacon—”

“I won’t risk thousands of lives to the plague,” Jasimir said, abrupt. “She’s right. Besides, we need more supplies or we’ll never last in the mountains. The only way we’ll get them is the viatik.”

“Easier to say when your caste hasn’t caught the plague since Ambra,” Tavin grumbled. “But fine, I’m outvoted.”

“I’ll handle the body.” The hilt of Pa’s broken sword prodded Fie in the side. “All you two need to do is hope it’s not Gerbanyar.”

“I suppose I could have hoped harder,” Tavin admitted the next morning.

A black serpent of smoke writhed into the sky above, whelped from the signal post of Gerbanyar.