Jasimir crawled over to the edge of the canyon, his mouth moving in the fading sunlight. Shouting? Was he calling down to the Hawk? To the Vultures?

Keep the oath.

Tavin’s last words sent the cogs in her head grating into a mad spin. The gates opened; noise and fear and wrath flooded back in.

Gone, he was gone—

You have to keep—you have to—

She had a screaming prince and a broken bridge and a pack of Vultures coming for her head. And she had an awful cold part of her that knew no matter what, getting caught by Tatterhelm could bring naught but hell on their heads.

With a ragged sob, she drew Pa’s broken sword. Then she hurled herself at the prince.

He didn’t see her coming. She slammed into his back, knocking him flat to the ground. Something crunched in his pack.

“What in the twelve hells are you doing?” he gasped.

“Stay down,” she growled through her tears. “You’ll give us away.”

Jasimir thrashed, trying to toss her off his back. “No, we have to help him—he can’t—we can’t just—”

The hoofbeats slowed below. If the prince kept yelling, they’d all be rutted.

Fie flipped the broken sword and leveled its jagged, trembling point to Jasimir’s right eye.

“Stay down and shut up, or else,” she said, ice in her voice, ice in her spine, ice in her gut. “You can still be a king with one eye.”

Jasimir went still. For once, he’d taken her at her word.

“… don’t understand!”

Tavin’s voice drifted up from the ravine.

“I’m not—you—you’re after the prince, right?” he whined. “He abandoned me, him and that Crow girl—they cut the bridge—”

“Shut him up.” A gravelly bass rolled off the stones. Fie had heard it before: Business of the queen.

Fie heard a crack and a brief yelp. If she strained, she could peer just over the edge.…

The Vultures surrounded Tavin, trapping him against the far rock wall, their backs to her. Tavin had yanked his sleeves around his hands and wrists, hiding his burn. His left shoulder sagged in a way that made Fie queasy, and blood painted his mouth and chin bright in the dying light.

“No, you’ve got it wrong,” Tavin said, piteous as Barf begging for scraps. “I’m the double. The prince took off with that girl. They tricked me, they cut the bridge while I was crossing. I’m just a decoy to slow you all down.”

Jasimir squirmed beneath her. Fie twitched the sword’s jag closer. Tavin always had some scheme up his sleeve, she had to believe in him—

And if that scheme meant dying for the prince?

Her fingers slipped a little on the hilt.

She inhaled through her nose, imagining cold iron running down her backbone, keeping her steady.