He was right. Both lordlings had inherited a gold cast to their brown skin from the northern Hawks, but it’d take a close study to pick them out from Crows, and their dark hair and eyes only helped. The topknots, though … those would mark them for royals on sight.

“Absolutely not.” Prince Jasimir recoiled. “I’ll just keep my hood up. I’m sure you have long-haired Crows.”

“Only ones that fancy lice,” Wretch chipped in as she nabbed a piece of panbread and held it out for Pa’s salt.

Behind her, Swain let out an unvarnished laugh. “Madcap bet me two naka these boys would blow their own cover by the end of the day. I bet we wouldn’t make it to a league marker. At this rate I’m bound for fortunes.”

“Because I won’t cut my hair?” the prince asked, stiff.

Fie prayed the boys wouldn’t be this tedious the whole way. “Because you’d fuss the chief over it.”

“I’m sure you don’t follow his every little suggestion to the letter,” Tavin said with the slick assurance of an unscathed blade.

Pa scratched at his gray-flecked beard, but his face stayed mild. “Aye, Swain. You’re bound for fortunes.”

“Be serious.” Prince Jasimir’s lip curled as Swain and Wretch retreated. “You can’t truly expect us to obey your every command until we reach the Fan.”

Pa flipped the panbread. “You’re smart lads. I expect you’ll do what’s needed.”

Tavin stood and cracked his knuckles. “How much longer until we leave?”

“The Fan’s a province, not a debtor,” Pa answered, watching the dough. “It won’t be running out on us anytime soon.”

“If Rhusana takes the throne, she’ll want to do it on the solstice, two moons from now.” The prince’s face had frosted over. “My father could be dead before the end of Peacock Moon.”

“Chief swore to find people who like you,” Hangdog sneered over Fie’s shoulder. He’d risen at last. “No surprise that’ll take a while.”

Tavin’s expression stayed sharp but polite. “How much longer?” he asked again.

“An hour, if that, ’til we’re on the road.” Pa scratched a rough map in the dirt with one finger, tracing the route to come. “The walk from here to Cheparok … I say it’ll take a week, if we’re lucky.”

“‘Lucky’?” Tavin picked up his sword. “A crone could walk there in four days.”

Besom swatted him on the shin.

Fie froze. Tavin had been beastly clear about not being touched by Crows.

But he just laughed and sheathed his blade. By Fie’s eye, it hadn’t needed sharpening in the slightest. “Apologies.”