“What’s your word worth when you’re good as dead?” The rot in Hangdog’s voice said this was more than the Money Dance. “When we’re all good as dead?”

“Fine.” Prince Jasimir pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gold? Jewels? Lands? What’s your price?”

Fie mimicked Tavin’s dismissive hand flick. “Flash and trash. If the Oleanders don’t loot those from us, your other gentry will.”

“Then what do you want?” Prince Jasimir asked.

This time, Fie already had a chief’s price in mind.

Look after your own. She had one foot already down this road, and every eye was on her. She couldn’t go back; she couldn’t give her ma mercy or keep Hangdog from screaming in his sleep. But she could keep any Crow from having to walk that way again.

She took a deep breath and looked Prince Jasimir dead in the eye. “I never want to see the Oleander Gentry again. The Hawks that Rhusana promised the Gentry? They’ll guard us instead. I want your Covenant oath that with you as king, every caste will know we Crows are worth protecting. That’s my price.”

The prince’s face turned as gray as the steward’s had.

Pa, on the other hand, had the tiny wrinkles under his eyes that only showed when he was beating down a smile. Fie took that as a good sign.

“Crows,” Pa called out before either lordling could speak. “Do we favor those terms?”

Another twist of her dance. There was a chorus of ayes. Another twist of the knife. Tavin’s glare could have cut through stone.

“You know what you’re asking?” Prince Jasimir asked. “No caste has ever had special protection like this before.”

Swain coughed. “Suppose your palace Hawks are just highly trained, well-armed houseguests, then?” One more whirl and stamp, one more scratch in the floor.

The prince opened his mouth, then closed it, thinking. “It’s different,” he said slowly. “Royalty are prime targets for coordinated attacks and internal violence—”

“Aye, and we actually die from those.” Fie folded her arms. “You said you wanted to help. Rhusana seems to think she’s got Hawks to spare. We’ve named the terms, prince. Cut your oath or leave us be.”

Fie’s favorite thing about the Money Dance was that it always, always worked.

Tavin ran a hand over his dark hair. “She’s got a point, Jas. Several, in fact. Enough points that I’m starting to think she’s mostly thorns.”

“Some bone in there, too,” Pa added, his grin little more than lacquer over an unspoken threat. “Y’know. For structure.”

Prince Jasimir scowled, eyes darting from Fie to Tavin. After a long moment, his shoulders drooped. “Fine. You have my word.”

Fie caught her breath. A ripple shifted through the Crows; it might as well have echoed down the road, all across Sabor.