“I think he’d jump the king himself if he had a chance,” Pa said, grim. “We need this deal.” He plucked the puff of panbread from the griddle. “That’s why I’m trusting you to see it through if need be.”

Fie’s belly knotted up like the string in Besom’s hands. Pa was right. No matter how the prince called her a bone thief, no matter how his pet Hawk rattled his steel, they needed the oath. They’d needed the oath for generations.

Fie’s ma had needed the oath.

Fie’d just never thought she’d be the chief to barter it. And there was no running from the chief’s bloody road for her now. Not anymore.

“Done.” Besom passed the string to Fie. It was heavier than she expected. Teeth of all twelve castes dangled in dull clusters, more than Fie could count. Familiar sparks flickered in each one, a promise and a burden.

Once she tied it on, she’d be duty-bound to bear a chief’s string until the day her road ended.

She’d asked for this, back at the palace. Demanded it. And she had danced Pa into this mess. By every measure, by every dead god, she was bound to help him make it out.

True to Pa’s word, he whistled the marching order to send them to the roads before the hour was up. Madcap launched into a loud and lewd walking song once they reached the flatway, a wider, busier road that the kingdom’s Pigeon and Sparrow laborers kept smooth and even. Barf resumed her post inside the cart, though Fie reckoned that would last only as long as they stayed to the flatway. Besom had claimed she’d miss the cat more than the lot of them combined.

Then, halfway to the next league marker, the demands of the Covenant called.

Madcap’s song dried up. The cart drew to a halt.

“Why are we stopped?” Prince Jasimir demanded, sweating beneath his hood.

Wretch spat in the road and pointed to a string of deep-blue smoke rising over the treetops.

“I say let ’em rot,” Hangdog grumbled.

“Aye, and then the farmers rot, and their fields rot, and our pay rots, lackwit,” Fie shot back. She’d watched Swain tally up their supplies. Duty to the Covenant was the pretty side of it. The hard truth was that they also had two more mouths to feed.

“But what is that?” the prince asked.

“Really?” Hangdog gave him a look of disgust. “When was the last time your powdered ass set foot off palace grounds?”

“Enough.” Pa cleared his throat, scowling at the sky. “It’s a plague beacon.”

CHAPTER FIVE

FEED THE CROWS