Greggur Tatterhelm rolled from the fire, skin blistering over his valor marks, and leapt for her. The plain, brutal knife swept down—

And jolted away as Jasimir threw himself into Tatterhelm’s side. They toppled into the skin-ghast at her feet, knocking its grip loose.

Fie’s feet hit the dirt. Hangdog’s hollow hands dug into the flesh of her throat. Through watering eyes, she saw more skin-ghasts bursting from the ash, grasping for the Crows—she had to get free—she had to look after her own—

The Phoenix tooth burned yet in Jasimir’s fist. She called it once more.

Golden fire rushed round her, devouring empty skin with a horrid crackle. Swain crumpled like paper, shriveling in an instant. The other skin-ghast let her go.

Fie crashed to the cinders, gasping air stained with old grease.

Hangdog’s skin-ghast staggered, peeling and charring, until he collapsed. The dark sockets of his face warped as flames ate him whole.

Why? she wanted to ask. You sold us to them, and this is what they made of you. Why?

He crumbled away, into the ash.

“Fie—!”

She wrenched about on her knees. Jasimir crawled toward her. Fie yanked the prince’s cloak aside and freed Pa’s broken sword from where it dangled along Jasimir’s backbone. The weight of it steadied her as she reached for Jasimir’s bound hands.

The prince’s eyes snared behind her and flew wide. She couldn’t turn fast enough.

A fist like a hammer smashed into her jaw, knocking her back into the dust. Pain shot through her teeth. She heard another crack and cry paces away.

“Get up!” She’d know Tavin’s voice anywhere, even raw and hoarse.

A steel-toed boot thudded into her ribs. She tumbled through ash again, slipping and choking on a mouthful of grit. Pa’s sword slipped from her grip.

“Cute trick,” Tatterhelm grunted. “You oughta’ve run.”

Blistered fingers locked around her throat and hefted her to dangle before the skinwitch. The world reeled in Fie’s eyes, painting a streaking picture: the fire fading, the Vultures and their skin-ghasts circling the Crows, Jasimir slumping against a wall paces away, one ankle bent awful wrong. Tavin kneeling at his side.

Fie saw a fistful of dwindling flame in Jasimir’s palm, the remnants of Fie’s grand plan. Tavin’s mouth moved. Then he reached for Jasimir’s hand.

She squirmed, clawing at Tatterhelm’s fingers. He squeezed tighter, crueler even than the skin-ghasts.

“Coulda just walked away,” he said dully. “Had to go and cause a mess. You thought you could fight?” He shook her like a ragdoll, voice rising. “You thought you could take me?”

He slammed her into another wall. The stones shook, a few black chunks falling.

“You forgot what you are,” he snarled.

Fie’s sight fogged, her lungs howling like a skin-ghast for air. Tatterhelm hefted his knife.

Suddenly, Tavin’s arms whipped over Tatterhelm’s head, his bound wrists yanking tight against the Vulture’s windpipe. Fie dropped free.