“I sent a message-hawk to our contact in Cheparok before we were quarantined.” Tavin helped Prince Jasimir to his feet. “He’s a Markahn stationed in the markets. His commanding officer will alert the governor to light the fortress’s plague beacon once I give them the signal. That gives us an excuse to walk right up to Governor Kuvimir’s front gate.”

Pa nodded and whistled the marching call, casting one final look behind him. “Then let’s hope our good luck holds out awhile.”

Good luck came swift, wearing the face of ill fortune: a black finger of smoke beckoning over the treetops an hour later. Hangdog sulked the entire short walk to answer the beacon, and Fie couldn’t help chewing over her own doubts.

When they returned to the flatway with a flush viatik of two river oxen, a new wagon, and all else they fancied from the dead sinner’s abundant property, Fie’s doubt was naught but dust in their trail. She hadn’t even had to cut the sinner’s throat.

“How many villages are like that?”

Fie looked up from the twin teeth in her salt-lined palm. She was allowed to ride in the wagon with the prince as long as she practiced her toothcraft, but thus far the two Pigeon canines only squabbled in her grasp like fussy toddlers.

“Like what?” she asked.

The prince leaned on the wagon’s railing, watching the vine-laced cypress reel past as he rubbed Barf’s ears. The tabby hadn’t strayed from his side all morning, save to beg attention from Tavin. “Friendly. Generous. Was that just the tooth at work?”

“No.” She leaned back against a sack of rice, then hissed as a splinter from the wagon’s rough planks slipped into her thumb. “The Covenant marked that sinner long before we used the tooth. Likely the village wanted him gone. That skinflint sucked up all their wealth and squatted on it. Luck didn’t do any of that. Luck just made them wait to light a beacon until we were the nearest band of Crows.”

“I see.” Jasimir pursed his lips, tugging on the hood that hid his topknot. A walking song from Swain seeped in over the rumble of the wagon.

Fie picked out the splinter and sucked on her thumb, grimacing at the whisper of salt beneath her nail. “What’s Your Highness really after?”

“I … I suppose I’m wondering why the Crows are still here if it’s all that bad.” Jasimir unfurled the words slow and careful. “You have no home. I don’t know why you would stay in a place that doesn’t want you.”

Fie’s fist closed around the teeth a little too tight, thoughts skittering around her head like water off hot iron.