Pa patted the nubby string of teeth around his neck. “I’ll know when they come, lads. You’re with three Crow witches now. We’ll keep the Vultures busy.”

Fie slipped her hand from her witch-sign and tried not to think on how Pa had said when, not if.

“Hm.” Tavin pried his foot from under the tabby and scuffed Pa’s map out of the dirt.

“Wee over-fearful, boy?” Besom asked.

“No.” Tavin didn’t elaborate, just held his hand out to the prince. “Jas, give me your knife.”

Prince Jasimir passed his dagger over, jeweled hilt twinkling in the sunlight. Tavin stuck it through his sash, then started to undo his topknot.

“You can’t.” The prince straightened. “How are you supposed to pass for me?”

“I already won’t pass for you once the glamour wears off. If Rhusana is looking for us, two needlessly hooded Crows is a little conspicuous. Besides, if there’s an emergency, they can spare a tooth to fix it.”

Fie tilted her head and donned her most cloying smile. “Who’s ‘they’ now, Hawk boy?”

Tavin rolled his eyes, twisted his dark hair about his knuckles, and began to saw. “You know what I mean.”

A tense quiet fell over the clearing as he hacked through all but a few wayward strands. Whether he kenned it or not, the Hawk boy had just chopped off his rank. And he’d done it because a Crow chief had asked him to.

Tavin caught the stares and gave a sheepish grin, hair falling in an uneven black curtain. “That bad?”

“I’ll tidy it for you,” Wretch offered, and that was when Fie knew Tavin had won the old Crow over. Her belly sank. Was it naught but one more ploy to charm the Crows?

“Thank you.” Tavin started to toss the hair in the fire, then thought better of it, wrinkling his nose. “Is there a place to wash up?”

“Hangdog.” To Fie’s shock, Pa lifted a string of teeth from the grass and handed it to him. “Anyone who wants to wash, follow Hangdog to the creek.”

Strings were for proper chiefs. Fie hoped Hangdog was closer to a chief than she wagered.

Tavin stuck the dagger back in his sash. “Creek it is. Jas? Coming with?”

“Once I’m done eating.” Prince Jasimir picked at his remaining panbread and didn’t look up until Tavin was out of earshot. Then he mumbled to Fie, “Was my father upset?”

“What?”

Jasimir ducked his head. “When you took us through the Hall of the Dawn. Could you see if my father was all right?” Fie shook her head. “He wasn’t all right?”

“He…” She didn’t know why it felt so sour to say. “King Surimir wasn’t there.”

Jasimir stopped tearing at his panbread.

“The thrones were empty,” Fie said. “Rhusana paid us at the gate.”