“It’s all been arranged,” Tavin said. A wiry strain of conviction twined about his words, the kind that said you’d draw blood trying to pull them loose. “He’ll take Jas in once we get to Cheparok, and then Tatterhelm will have to go through the governor.” He stood. “Let me know if the Vultures get closer.”

“Aye.” Pa waited until Tavin had jumped clear of the cart, then half twisted round. “You catch all that, girl?”

“Aye, Pa,” Fie answered, quiet, eyes on the road behind them. The wagon rolled on.

“Then keep practicing.”

“Aye, Pa.”

“There. Harmony.”

Fie tried to brand the moment into her memory: the rosy campfire against the dark, the cool, sandy earth pressing against her crossed legs, and most of all, the two teeth humming in her hand.

“Harmony’s the key,” Pa said, nodding his approval. “They don’t wake up the same, they don’t burn the same, but they’ll burn together if you strike a balance betwixt them.”

Using one Pigeon tooth always felt like stepping on a loose paving stone: an odd, sudden tilt, and then it was gone. Calling on two was wholly different. Now fortune flowed like a river around her, eddies coiling about her fist. Whorls also bloomed round Pa, likely from the lingering witch-tooth’s pull.

Fie gave one coil an experimental tug with her mind. It lit up … then sputtered out as the teeth’s harmony frayed. Both sparks flared and died as she swore.

Pa chuckled. “First step’s the hardest. Just a matter of practice from here.”

“I’ve been practicing all day,” she grumbled.

“Do you want to take a break?”

Fie looked over her shoulder. Tavin stood on the other side of the fire, stretching an arm. “If you want, I’ll teach you to play Twelve Shells.” He waggled his fingers at Jasimir and Hangdog. “Oh, look at that—twice in one day. Now you two are making the same face.”

“Because you always do this,” the prince grumbled, just loud enough for Tavin and her to catch.

Hangdog was less subtle. He ran a thumb down the scratch across his cheek, thunder in his brow. “Keep your own business.”

“You keep yours,” Pa rumbled. “Go on, Fie. You’ve earned a rest.”

Fie reckoned anything that riled the prince was worth doing. She rocked to her feet just as Hangdog’s snarl echoed across the clearing. “Just because he can’t rut his own women out here doesn’t mean he’s welcome to ours.”

She froze, an angry flush clawing up her neck, as the camp went quiet. Every Crow eye stuck on her.

Pa’s voice cracked across the clearing like a whip. “You’ll keep a civil tongue, boy, or you won’t use it at all.”