Fie’s bones didn’t just hum, they sang, an awful drone that felt like it might shake her straight into the next life. It took all her focus to pin the tooth into harmony, into balance, and to keep it there—but then there it stayed, each tooth steadying the other two in turn like the legs of a stool. Tatterhelm’s gaze sloughed away like an old scab.

And after a long moment, he rode on.

Each dwindling hoofbeat was an accusation. He had dead Crows to answer for, and Fie—she had enough fire teeth to light Sabor from mountain to coast.

But what she wanted didn’t matter.

Tavin, too, had steadied out. She pulled her hand free of his and looked away.

Three Sparrow teeth. Fie let her senses roam, prodding at what the triad could reveal. Nearer to Gerbanyar, she half saw, half sensed something like distant cobwebby nets casting about over the treetops. The nearest one already trailed dreamily toward them, just half a league off.

It had to be the rest of the trackers aiming to sniff them out. One thing was sore sure: she didn’t want to be any nearer those webs than she had to be. Tatterhelm had ridden on far enough now. It was time to move.

Fie let the third Sparrow tooth go and slipped off the branch, intending to dangle from her fingertips.

Instead every bone in her hands dragged like iron. Her fingers slipped off the branch. She hit the ground in a flurry of pine needles and crowsilk, knocking the wind clean out of her gut.

She gasped as cedar boughs and silvery sky spun dizzily above. A thin whine rang through her ears, the only sound until a thud said one of the boys had made it down as well.

Tavin lurched into view. He looked much better. At least she thought he did. Less blood, less flinching. Maybe no limping now. That meant he was better, right?

His mouth moved, but she caught no words, only a dull ringing. He really had a nice mouth. Even with a little blood streaked at one corner.

She almost believed the fear on his face. He’d gotten hurt for her today. Almost died. A lot. Kin might do that. Caste might do that. Not some near-royal lordling. It made no sense. He made no sense.

He crouched by her side, and as Fie’s thoughts slipped and wobbled about in her rattled skull, one thought drifted, dreadful and plain, to the surface: she wanted that.

She wanted him to stay at her side. Not for the day, not for the moon. She wanted him with her even after the oath. She wanted it more than she knew how to want someone. She wanted it more than fire or steel or teeth.

And she wholeheartedly hated it.