She called a Vulture tooth to life and gripped a stolen fur. The trail lit up—

And stopped a bare league off, in the valley below.

Fie sucked in a breath and shook Tavin’s shoulder, trying to keep her head steady. “Tavin—Tavin—”

He jerked awake. “What’s wrong?”

“The Vultures.” She staggered to her feet, swaying as blood rushed down her numb legs. “I just looked—they’re—they’re too close—”

“How far?”

“A league, maybe.”

Tavin swore and shouted for the prince. He and Fie scrambled about for clothing and blades, stumbling into each other in the dim. Cold guilt thudded about Fie’s belly. If she’d held out longer with her three teeth; if she’d taken first watch; if she’d checked sooner—

Calloused hands cupped her cheeks, stilling her. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Twelve hells it isn’t,” Fie spat. “I’m the—”

“The only reason we’ve made it this far. We’re all in over our heads.” Brute honesty chewed a ragged edge in his voice. “You’re the only one treading water. We can vanish once we clear the cave, and they’ll lose us again, all right?” She didn’t answer. He pulled her close, leaning his brow on hers. “Fie. They’ve been closer than this twice now, and we’ve still outrun them thanks to you.”

“But we have to keep doing it, keep outrunning them, all the way to the Marovar,” she whispered. “And they only have to catch up once.”

At the grate of a throat clearing, Fie and Tavin jolted apart. Jasimir stood a few paces away, face ironed blank. “What’s wrong?”

“The Vultures are a league off,” Fie blurted.

Jasimir’s eyes widened, then landed on her. “How did they get so close?” he asked, frosty.

“We all needed to rest.” Tavin strode past the prince. “And now we need to get out.”

Fie followed him, furs and cloaks bundled under an arm. Behind her, she could have sworn she heard the prince mutter, “‘Rest.’”

A flush ran up her neck. She did not look back.

They left minutes later, Fie dragging three Sparrow teeth into harmony as sunrise ripped the dark seam of the horizon. Spindly fingers of Vulture tracking spells pried all about the cave behind them, fumbling over rock and tree like a drunkard who’d dropped his purse in the dark.

All through the morning they hurried on, through beech and spruce and bristling pine, as the trees thinned and yielded to snow-patched black stone. A hushed murmur through the leaves swelled to a full-throated roar once they reached the gnashing river.

“It’s the Fan,” Tavin said as they paused at the top of the banks. He hadn’t spoken since they’d left the cave. None of them had. Instead they’d glanced over their shoulders again and again and rushed ahead. “This is where it starts, from the glaciers.”