A jolt shot up her arm, stampeding into her brain before she could stave it off. For a moment, Fie’s vision went blank and the world was mud and sour slop, squeal and grunt, bristle and—

“Pig bones.”

The torch-lit night returned at the sound of Tavin’s voice. Firewood lay scattered about Fie’s feet, her hands still tangled in linen. Tavin was clearly fighting down a grin; likely he thought she was disgusted, not dizzy.

“They’re pig bones,” he laughed, kneeling to gather up the spilled firewood as her mind scrambled back into a more human tongue. “We figured the pyre wouldn’t be complete without some bone fragments.”

She hadn’t fouled up with animal bone in months. The power in human bones and teeth, that she could draw out or stuff down at will, but beasts … beasts had a nasty way of running wild.

Fie’s hands shook now more with rage than shock. “You listen, Hawk boy, and you ken me.” She threw the linen bundle back at Tavin’s chest. “Don’t you ever, ever surprise a Crow with bones like that. Never.”

“Especially not one like Fie,” Pa said from behind her with a brief pat on the shoulder.

“She’s a bone thief?” Prince Jasimir asked, eyeing her sideways.

Most every Crow in earshot flinched at the slur. So did Tavin. The prince didn’t seem to notice. Pa dug round in the cart’s lower cargo hold before answering, prompting a mew of protest from Barf the cat, who had holed up beside a sack of millet.

“Every Crow chief is,” Pa said at last, stowing a jug of flashburn under his arm. He rolled his right sleeve back to show a black witch-sign swirling on the wrist, same as the one Fie bore. “Bands don’t last long without a witch. I’m chief for this band, and I’m training Fie and Hangdog to lead their own someday. But with Fie, the witch part’s not your trouble. It’s her temper that’ll leave a mark.”

Pa winked at Fie, then twitched his fingers at the blades the boys had strapped at their sides. “You’ll wrap those scabbards and hilts in rags tonight, and you’ll keep them out of sight. Hunting Castes don’t abide Crows with whole blades.”

“What do you mean?” Prince Jasimir clutched the jeweled hilt of his dagger. “Saborian law allows everyone to bear steel.”

Pa shrugged. “And that’s well and fine, but the law doesn’t weep much for Crows. Most we’re allowed is a broken blade for the chief. Your blades stay hidden, or they go in the pyre.” He didn’t wait for a response before walking off.

After that, Tavin’s stupid grin made itself scarce.