“Horses,” she wheezed between breaths, fighting for another foothold, then another. Each step set off a cascade of tumbling slate. She angled for the steepest path and pushed on, taking each step twice, sliding back and hissing a litany of curses through her gasps for air. Broken stone bit into her palms every time she tried to steady herself.

Then one foot scraped on softer earth, sole-nails biting down hard. Every muscle screamed as she shoved herself up, up, up to steady ground, up to the hill’s summit. Her knees wobbled as she turned about.

Sure enough, a handful of Vultures had stalled at the base of the slate slide, their horses tossing their heads. If Fie’s sandals had struggled, hooves had no chance at all. She’d bought them time—

A glint caught her eye, just in time to see the arrow loosed direct at her.

Something knocked her clean off her feet. The arrow whizzed over her head, streaking across the sky in the brief moment before everything went dark.

For a heartbeat she thought she’d fainted—but shouts and sliding slate still rattled in her ears. A hand kept her head tucked down, and arms anchored her to crowsilk and flesh as impact after dizzying impact shuddered through them both. Soon they fetched up against a boulder.

Fie took a moment to ken that they’d stopped, her brains still skittering about. Then the grip on her loosened. She raised her head and found Tavin sprawled under her, gray-faced and wincing. He’d taken the brunt of their fall.

He’d taken it for her. To save her life. To save her.

Fie didn’t know why the notion gutted her so.

Jasimir skidded down to them. “Is he hurt?”

“No,” Tavin grumbled.

Fie rolled to her feet. “Are you lying?”

He shot her a sour look. “Yes.”

“How bad?”

“I’ll live.” He let her help him up, one hand pressed to his side, leaning askew to keep the weight off a leg. Fie winced at an ugly burn over one shoulder. She hadn’t kept all the flames off him after all. “How long do we have?”

“Ten minutes at most. But we’ll never outrun them on foot.” Prince Jasimir peered up at the hill’s summit for any sign of Vultures.

“So we don’t outrun them. We hide.” Fie pointed to the trees below.

The prince pursed his lips. “These are the best skinwitches in Sabor.”

“And I’m the worst Crow they’ll ever cross,” she snapped. “They have my family. They’re lucky all I aim to do is hide.”

She slung Tavin’s arm over her shoulders and set off, not bothering to wait for royal permission.

“We’ll hole up and you can fix yourself,” Fie muttered, as much to Tavin as to herself.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re worried.”