“Aye. And that’s why I asked for Hawks.” She staggered to her feet, ignoring the ache of weary muscles and the warning clamor of her own head. “But until I get them, I suppose it’s worth knowing how to use a sword.”

What was she playing at? Pa’s tooth rolled in her fingers. Crows weren’t allowed steel.

Nor were they allowed fire teeth and abandoned roads. She’d taken on both to keep the Covenant oath, and if it helped get them to Trikovoi in one piece, she’d take up a sword, too.

Tavin stood, then looked about. Alarm shot through his face. “Where’s Jas?”

Fie twisted. The prince’s shadow had vanished from the pond.

“Right here.” Jasimir emerged at the other side of the fire, pot and bowl in hand. “What’s the matter?”

Tavin ran a hand over his face. “Nothing. It’s fine. I’m teaching Fie to use a sword, if you want to help.”

The prince looked from Tavin to her then, tallying up a sore kind of sum. He sat, slow. “I’ll … keep a lookout.” He glanced up. “Since we are being hunted by Vultures. In case anyone forgot.”

Tavin forced out an uneasy laugh. “If only.” He gestured to a patch of level ground a few paces away. “Let’s be clear of the fire.”

They were also clear of the prince’s earshot. Fie didn’t think that to be chance.

It would be naught but practice. Plain and easy as a game of Twelve Shells, and no more to it.

Fie knew a lie when she heard one. Even one she aimed at herself.

Tavin unsheathed his swords but set them in the grass near his feet, much to Fie’s relief. Instead he passed her an empty scabbard, then used the remaining scabbard to draw two marks in the dirt, dim by firelight. “Keep your feet on those. Now look at me.” She did. “Keep looking at me.” He circled to her right side, so her chin near lined up to her shoulder. “Hold up your, er, sword. Elbow loose. There. If you remember anything, let it be this.”

“Standing like a dolt?” Fie asked. Everything about it felt unnatural and foolish. The Vultures couldn’t possibly be watching, or she’d have heard their laughter.

“I know it doesn’t feel right.” A shade of Tavin’s normal grin flashed as he turned square to her and tapped one of his shoulders. “Here, try to hit me.” She took an awkward step forward and jabbed the scabbard into his shoulder easy enough, then retreated to her footmarks.

Tavin shifted, mirroring the stance he’d set her into: scabbard held out between them, the rest of him angled to the side. He tapped the same shoulder. “Again.”