The breeze died, the dim torchlight suddenly paltry in the wake of the oath. Fie swayed in place, trying to snatch whole thoughts from a whirlwind in her head.

She’d sworn the prince to a Covenant oath. No more Oleanders; no more riders in the night; no more fingers in the road. So long as they kept their end of the deal.

But if it went bad, Pa would pay the price.

The notion coiled about her throat like a collar on a queen.

If Pa or Jasimir failed in this life, they would still be sworn in the one after, and after, and after. Until their oath was kept, Pa would be bound to the prince.

And a royal Phoenix would be sworn to protect the Crows.

Hate the boys or no, Fie had to admit that extorting royalty had its sunny side.

“Pleasure doing business with Your Highness,” Pa said, cheery. He let the prince go. “Now I believe we’ve got some bodies to burn.”

CHAPTER FOUR

TOOTH AND NAIL

“Make yourself useful or make yourself scarce, Hawk.”

If Tavin kenned the salt in Wretch’s tone, he didn’t show it, swaying by the cart as he tried to balance a split of kindling on his head.

“I heard this is how Sparrow farmers carry their burdens,” he answered with a grin Fie was already sick of. “Don’t you want me to blend in?”

“Wrong caste,” Fie snapped, pulling another armful of firewood from the cart and loading it into the sling she’d made of her cloak. At least Prince Jasimir had the sense to stay out of their way as the Crows built up the pyre. “The only way you’ll pass for a Crow is if you keep your fool mouth shut.”

“That’s a lost cause,” Tavin admitted with a shrug. “I couldn’t even keep quiet as a corpse.” At Fie’s baffled look, he plucked the stick of kindling off his head and pointed it at her. “At the quarantine hut? You said something about the incense, and I laughed. And then your grumpy friend nearly broke my neck tossing me into the cart.”

She’d thought the laugh was Hangdog. And she’d thought wrong. Again.

The prince fidgeted, flexing the hand he’d cut. The Covenant had healed him with the sealing of the oath, but that didn’t seem to ease his nerves. “That incense has been the ceremonial—”

“The damn patchouli, that’s what she called it.” Tavin laughed, balancing the kindling on a fingertip. “Three solid days of that mess. I told you it was foul, Jas.”

Fie swiped the kindling from him, swung her bundle of firewood over a shoulder, and stomped away.

“She agrees with me,” Tavin added in her wake, unperturbed.