Tavin loaded up an armful of firewood, but as he straightened, one of the Hawks let his bronze-tipped spear slip, just enough of a twitch to make Tavin jolt back. A log fell from his arms and landed on the guard’s foot. The guard swore.

“I think you owe my friend an apology.” The other Hawk guard laughed.

Tavin stiffened with indignation, an indulgence no Crow could afford. The only thing saving them all was his mask.

Swain looped his arm through Tavin’s and bobbed a hasty bow. “No disrespect, guards, none. The boy doesn’t speak. Nasty accident. Terrible sorry about that.” He steered Tavin back to the cart as Pa signaled for the others to collect the firewood. Soon enough, the Crows rolled on their way.

For a while, only their footfalls and rattling wheels broke the forest’s birdsong-speckled hush; not even Madcap dared a walking song this far off the flatway. Then Pa stripped off his mask and tossed it into the cart. Fie followed suit, dragging fresh air through her teeth. Soon a pile of masks rested atop the shrouds and firewood.

The Hawk kept both his mask and his prince’s, one slung over each shoulder, as over-fearful as he’d been with Pa’s dirt map.

“Was that really necessary?” The prince’s chin was set proper mulish beneath his hood.

“How do you mean, Highness?” Pa asked, not looking back.

“They left you payment. And you ripped their friends’ teeth out in front of them.”

“Firewood isn’t a real payment.” If Tavin noticed heads turning his way, it didn’t show. “You can’t hire a smith to make a sword, then pay her only enough steel to forge it. There’s no compensation for the labor, let alone walking three leagues for the job.”

Jasimir’s cheeks darkened. “That’s no excuse for mutilating bodies. The dead should be treated with honor.”

“Honor?” Fie asked, heat creeping up her own neck. “That village wanted to spit in our faces. And they wanted that more than they wanted their dead friends to leave with dignity. They got what they wanted. Why shouldn’t we?”

“And who decides if you want too much?” Clearly Prince Jasimir was still sore from cutting the oath. “What if you demanded half their cattle? Or a year’s wages? Or the rest of the bones, while they’re still warm?”

Fie glared. “The Oleanders would gut us all before sundown—”

“Perhaps if you didn’t give them a reason—”

“Jas.” Tavin cut him off. “Taking the teeth was a message. A harsh message, yes, but that village will think twice before trying to cheat Crows again. It’s no different from our court games.”