Barf was still in the wagon’s hold. And the Crane arbiter had shut the way out.

The Oleander lord walked away.

“What now?” asked the Crane.

He mounted his horse and turned to the trees. “We wait.”

Flames began to lick down the wagon’s sides. Another cry rose from inside, unmistakable. The Crane hesitated, stretched a hand out toward the side panel, then jerked back at the heat. After a moment she, too, mounted her horse.

Another plaintive mewl wound around the camp.

The ghost of Pa’s voice scratched across her skull: You have to keep your eyes open.

Fie fought down vomit as her bones screamed, holding on to the Sparrow witch-tooth, holding her own panic back even harder, clinging to the only truth that mattered: she had to see Pa’s oath through. She had to keep the prince safe. She had to look after her own.

Tears burned salt tracks down her face.

Look after your own.

Blood trickled from her nose.

Look after your own.

The Oleanders waited.

Look after your own.

Barf’s wailing rose, desperate, fearful. Flames streaked higher into the dark.

Something seized Fie’s elbow. She near fell off the branch.

“The tooth,” Jasimir muttered in her ear. “Give me the tooth.”

“Wh—”

“Will it still work if I’m holding it?”

“Aye, but—” Her whisper faded, another wave of dizziness splitting her sight.

The prince’s hand found hers. He pried the Sparrow witch-tooth loose. “Don’t let them see me.”

And before she could say another word, he slid down her robe-rope and dropped from the tree.

Tavin reappeared at her side for a split second as the Sparrow witch-tooth strained to cover them all. Then, mercifully, Pa kindled a third tooth. The Hawk didn’t vanish, but Fie found her eyes glazing right over him. Pa must’ve felt Fie’s own Sparrow tooth drop.

Even better, Tavin hadn’t yet kenned that Jasimir was gone. Instead, his hand settled on Fie’s shoulder. Whether he meant to comfort or restrain her, she couldn’t say.

Fie twisted the witch-tooth’s spark so she alone could see the prince. To his credit, he had landed with scarce a sound; his mother had trained him well before she died. Not a single Oleander looked his way, still hunting the dark for any sign of Crows.

Barf’s mews climbed to a frantic howl.

Jasimir plucked his dagger from the ground, and the Sparrow tooth’s range shrank even farther. Relief near brought tears to Fie’s eyes.

The prince’s bare feet were useful after all; he left nary a track as he picked a path across patches of moss and grass. But closer to the wagon, there was only open dirt. And two Oleanders idled nearby, their horses’ eyes rolling at Barf’s shrieks.