“First of all,” Fie snarled, “you keep your voice down out here, unless you fancy an avalanche. Second. Aye. I fouled up. Likely I’ll do it again. But Ambra help me, you leave who’s bedding who out of it, or I swear to every dead god I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Jasimir spat. “Leave me to die out here? Let the Oleander Gentry ride down your caste?”

“The sad thing,” Fie hissed, “is you really think you’re better than Rhusana.”

Jasimir’s whole face tightened, then crumpled. Wind shrieked through the comb of the summit behind them.

Eventually Tavin spoke, softer now. “Changing course now does nothing. Trikovoi is still the closest fort in the Marovar. And we still have to clear this pass tonight.”

He took Fie’s hand and headed down a snowbank.

“If you’re wondering,” he said after a long moment, “that is what it’s like to deal with the king. And every one of us knows Jas is better than that.”

Fie wasn’t so sure. She kept that much to herself. “The king throws a tantrum when his Hawks stop doting on him for an hour?”

“The king throws a tantrum when someone else wants his toys. Jas takes after his mother more.” Tavin grimaced. “And you were right. He’s afraid I’m abandoning my duty.”

Fie tilted her head. The prince looked fair alive to her. “How?”

He squeezed her hand and gave her a strained smile. “For you.”

“Oh.” Fie couldn’t stave off a smile of her own.

“I didn’t expect to find meaning and purpose and all that when I faked my death, but here we are.”

“Here we are,” Fie echoed. “I didn’t expect all this trouble when I thought we were picking up two dead lordlings.”

“Two exceptionally handsome and charming dead lordlings.”

“I should have burned that quarantine hut down with you both inside.”

“And here I thought you didn’t have a romantic bone in your body.”

“Don’t get used to it,” she returned, and realized that she wanted this: his jests, his laugh, his hand in hers as they traveled on. Even with the skinwitches haunting each step, the notion of walking the roads of Sabor with her kin at her back and him at her side … that was something to want and to have.

If they made it out.

Ahead of them, mountain upon mountain scraped at the sky; at their backs, the prince ground his teeth.

Somewhere out there waited Trikovoi. Somewhere much, much too far from here.

They pushed on.

After the sun tumbled below the horizon, the waning Peacock Moon lit their way, ghosting off sheets of snow and ice and wet rock. More than once, Fie looked back at the ragged trail they’d carved and cringed. The Vultures needed no spell to follow them this far.