A chorus of sick whistles trailed in their wake.

Fie stared after them, belly churning. In the fray, they’d looked the same as any other Vulture, yet—

“Eyes,” Prince Jasimir croaked. “They had no—no eyes—” He doubled over, retching.

Tavin braced Jasimir’s shoulders. “They saw us fine, Jas. It was just the dark.”

A laugh gurgled through the camp. Fie wrenched about and found one of the Vultures clutching his spilling tripe.

“Aye, Highness,” he giggled. “Just the dark.”

Fie stalked over and knelt. The Vulture was fading. She snatched up a Crane tooth and called it to life. It wasn’t enough to force truth, but enough to smell a lie. “How did you find us?”

A bloody grin split his face. “We have something that belongs to you.”

Fie felt as if someone had unraveled her with one sharp yank.

So that was how the Vultures had caught their trail. Whatever they had—a loose hair, an old shirt, a worn ragdoll—it meant any Vulture would see a path to them as long as it sat in their bare hands, witch or no.

By rights, the Vultures should have shown up hours ago. Something had to have broken the trail.

Three teeth. She’d burned the trio of Sparrow teeth.

So three could shake even the best of the Vultures. Pa would be proud—

Pa.

“How many of your Crow hostages are still alive?” she demanded, suddenly horrified that it hadn’t been her first question.

The man convulsed, choking.

“How many?” she demanded. It was no use. In moments, the Vulture had gone still.

Tavin crouched by her side. “The scouts that ran will bring Tatterhelm as fast as he can ride. We need to get away.”

“There’s at least a week’s worth of food here.” Jasimir had pried a pack from a dead Vulture. “Tatterhelm must have sent them to search ahead of the main party.”

Fie stood. “Take anything of use from the dead—provisions, gloves, furs. We need cold gear and food more than they do. Then we move out.”

Jasimir looked up from the pack. “We have to give them final rites.”

“That better be a royal ‘we,’ cousin.” Fie set about dragging the bodies together. “If these scummers were dying of thirst in the desert, I wouldn’t give them a single drop of my piss.”

“If we leave them like animals, we’re just as bad as they are,” Jasimir insisted. “You’ll give sinners final rites, but not them? Is that what you call mercy?”

“No,” Fie answered, looking pointedly at the distant hill, where a bloody goat carcass painted a red smear in the grass. Three dead Vultures. Easy prey. “This is what I call wolf country.”

“Tav.” The prince gave his Hawk a look. “The code says, ‘I will not dishonor my dead.’”