A ghost tree screamed as it crashed to the ground not ten paces off. Fie swore and hid her face from the shower of embers, choking on air that scraped vicious at her lungs with every breath.

Jasimir wrapped an arm around her and barreled on. His voice barely sounded above the maelstrom. “Use a Phoenix tooth!” he shouted. “You can put out the fire like you did with the Oleanders.”

It had taken near everything she had to bring that tiny campfire to heel nigh a moon ago. But even if she wanted to argue now, she hadn’t the breath for it.

Fie called up a Phoenix witch-tooth. The one that answered gave her a song of battles and glory, a prince convinced his name would resound through history. Fie drew the power through her, then bent it to the fires ahead.

She might as well have bent it to an ocean. Wherever she pushed, the fire only flowed round. Fie cursed and tried again, tried to shove enough away to let them pass, but the white flashburn flames scratched and pried and slid about no matter how she willed them away.

Get out. You have to get out. You have to keep the oath—

But everywhere she looked, she saw only burning ghosts.

The seed of a notion sprouted. Fie licked her dry lips, tried to take a breath, couldn’t. The world began to flood with gray.

She closed her eyes and called up a second Phoenix witch-tooth.

A queen answered this time. And she fought furiously with the dead prince, circling and spitting like cats. But they were neither a match for Fie, the worst Crow they would ever cross.

She wrenched the teeth into harmony without mercy and let them burn together.

Roaring gold fire erupted about her and the prince, fire that answered to Fie alone. It wheeled and shrieked, a blazing storm tearing through the flashburn-white flames, clearing a ring for her and Jasimir to pass.

The wider their halo grew, the more it sucked in clean air, leaving scarce enough to choke down. And with every breath, the twin teeth fought like no others had, thrashing for discord and, more dangerously, for release.

If Fie let them, they would burn Sabor from mountain to coast.

“Trikovoi,” she gasped instead, and staggered into a run once more.

The towers of Trikovoi carved at the sky ahead, creeping closer with each step, rimmed in the golden fire she kept leashed. Almost there. The teeth howled and twisted in her hold.

She tripped, stumbled, shoved herself back up.

Almost there.

Everything dissolved to flame and scorching air, breath after agonizing breath, ground that shifted with every step. She didn’t run so much as half fall, again and again, snatching her balance back each time, lurching forward through white fire and smoking earth and trees smashing down around them.