Tavin’s mouth opened, then closed. He sighed. “So do you, Jas. Everyone’s right. Gods, I’m tired of talking about this.”

“Oh aye, you’re tired,” Fie scoffed.

Tavin tipped his head back. “Yes. I’d much rather address the fact that we’ve been followed for the last quarter league.”

“Aye.” Pa didn’t turn about, but one hand rested on his string of teeth.

Fie swore a silent oath. She ought to have been minding her roads, not dancing about with the Hawk. She snuck a glance down the trail. Sure enough, three distant figures hovered at the road’s bend, just far back enough to haunt them unheard. Weak sunlight glinted off their hand-scythes.

“They won’t trouble us long as we still have the bodies,” Pa said. “And they’ll leave off once we hit the flatway, it’s too open.”

That was half the truth. Fie swallowed a sigh. Followers could be an omen of Oleanders. That meant the Crows had to drag the bodies double as far before making camp tonight, and hope the distance put off any Gentry.

“So you’ll allow them to trail us as long as they please?” Prince Jasimir asked.

“What’d you have us do, Highness?” Wretch scowled. “This is squarely why scummers like them don’t let Crows carry whole blades. They don’t chase fights they won’t win.”

Jasimir only rolled his eyes.

In that moment, Fie knew that for all his talk of murderous plots and ruthless assassins, the prince had never once known the true fear of a stranger in the dark.

You need this deal, part of her whispered.

But another ugly voice hissed back: Only if the prince is good to keep it.

Barf posted herself atop the pile of masks, but leapt off to catch her dinner once they pulled over for the night a couple leagues down the road. Fie let her go. The lurkers had vanished after they’d reached the wide-open flatway road an hour ago, and the cat seemed able to look after herself.

Unlike the eve before, the Crows had true sinners to burn. Pa, Hangdog, and Fie left their arm-rags in the budding pyre, then took turns washing up in a nearby stream, first with soap-shells for any lingering blood, then with salt for any lingering sin. Fie returned to the pyre in time to hear Pa send the sinners on with a fistful of salt in the fire and a rumbled, “Welcome to our roads, cousins.”

The Hawk kept one eye on the proceedings as he aided Swain with the cooking fire, staying out of the Crows’ way for once. The prince exiled himself to the far side of the clearing, sneaking looks Fie couldn’t trace until they landed on Hangdog changing his shirt. She couldn’t begrudge Jasimir that, at least: Hangdog had problems aplenty, but looks weren’t one.