Another dusty shadow followed him, standing steady in the road. Madcap. Another: Wretch. And more still.

Crow by Crow, they walled Fie off, and at last Pa’s arm wrapped about Fie’s shoulders as he took his place by her side.

For all her spite and cleverness, everything had emptied out of Fie, leaving her only with a knot in her throat and eyes that burned with tears. Pa pulled her in and let her bury her face in his shirt, just as he had for years. For a perfect moment, Fie didn’t give a damn for Hawks or princes or skinwitches.

She’d done it. She’d kept the oath, she’d struck down Tatterhelm, she’d looked after her own.

Draga might execute her now, but at least she’d die a chief.

“Out of the way,” the master-general ordered.

“You’ll not lay a finger on her,” Wretch answered, just as hard.

“She assaulted and abducted the heir to the throne so she could use him as bait. He could have been killed.” Draga cleared her throat. “I cannot—”

“I commanded her to.”

Fie raised her head and looked at Jasimir. This had not been part of their plan.

Draga blinked, which seemed to be as much surprise as she’d allow herself to display on a battlefield. “Think very carefully about what you are telling me, Highness.”

“I commanded her to,” Jasimir repeated, loud and plain. “Perhaps we should discuss this on the ground, master-general?”

To Draga’s credit, she knew better than to let the prince shout within her soldiers’ earshot about how he and a half-grown Crow had played the head of Sabor’s armies for a fool. She climbed down from her mammoth and strode over, looking not the slightest bit appeased. “There were clear signs of a fight in your chambers.”

Jasimir shrugged. “If there weren’t, you would have searched Trikovoi for us first. We needed you to come after us at the right time.”

That much was true. They’d left a clear trail of nail scratches all the way out.

“And if I hadn’t followed? You couldn’t just surrender to Tatterhelm.”

“Oh aye, that they did,” Madcap said, their voice bright. “Hoodwinked us all, head and heart.”

“I carried Phoenix teeth in my hands,” Jasimir clarified. “Tatterhelm didn’t think to check the captive for any weapons.”

Draga frowned. “The Phoenix teeth couldn’t have been a surprise to him. Did he magically forget to bring a hostage you wouldn’t burn, or did you just cut your losses?”

Jasimir glanced over his shoulder, then turned back. His voice dropped, though there was precious little point in subtlety now. “He brought Tavin.”

Draga’s face fractured as she found her son behind the Crows. For once, she couldn’t frost it over. “And?” Her voice cracked.

“I’m fine,” Tavin answered, stiff. “Tatterhelm is not.”

“You’re hurt—”

“I’ll live.”