It was the same as Jasimir calling her bone thief, as leaving his dagger hilt unwrapped. He didn’t know better. He didn’t mean hurt by it. To a prince, this was all a week’s mummery before he paraded, glorified, back to Dumosa.

But that did naught to lessen the damage.

Fie’s hand shook as she pointed to the road. “That is my home, cousin.” She pointed, again, this time to the rolling hills due north. “That is my home.” The thin blue rag-edge of sea to the southern horizon. “That is my home.” And last, she pointed to the Crows scattered around the wagon as Swain’s walking song wound down. “This is my home.”

Wooden wheels ground against the sand-grit road, scraping at the silence that stretched betwixt Fie and the prince. Finally she trusted her voice enough to continue.

“We stay in Sabor because it’s our home. Aye, the villages don’t want us, but the sinners always do. Every plague-fearing soul sleeps easier knowing we’ll come when they call. So you ask why we stay? Because the plague stays. Because someone out there needs mercy. And because this is our damned home.”

“I didn’t mean to offend—” the prince began.

“You’ve been good as dead for two days and no one cares,” Fie interrupted. “Why don’t you leave? Ask a village with a live plague beacon if they want Crows or kings more, and you’ll know which of us the country can do without.”

The wagon rocked as Tavin swung himself up to peer at them over a railing. “Do we need a healer in here?”

“What?” Fie asked, startled but not surprised. The Hawk seemed to have a sense for when the prince’s pride risked a puncture. Barf chirped at Tavin until he scratched her chin.

“Do we need a healer?” he repeated, giving an exaggerated wave of his witch-sign. “Because it sounds like someone’s getting skewered.”

Jasimir’s cheeks darkened. “We were … having a discussion.”

“Of course.” Tavin rested his own chin on a forearm. “You know, you two are almost making the exact same face right now.”

Fie hadn’t known what to expect when his Peacock glamour ebbed away, but pretty-boy blood ran plain strong in the Markahns. By daylight, he still looked the prince’s kinsman but more the Hawk, one the world had gnawed at like a mutt gnawed a bone. He tilted his head at Fie. “I’d pay good Saborian coin to watch you have that discussion back at the palace. You’d tear half the court to shreds.”

Hangdog sent a foul look their way.

“Only half?” Wretch asked from the road.

For once, Fie caught no whiff of schemes in Tavin’s grin. “I’m hoping the other half would figure out to run for their lives. If they don’t, that’s entirely their fault.”