Then she kenned her own folly and ground the soap-shells betwixt her palms until their hulls split, ears burning. The sharp-smelling sap foamed into suds once she worked it into her face, arms, and hair, wishing she could go deep enough for a proper wash. Maybe once this was all over the prince’s cousin would spare a bit of hospitality.

The thought of over made her pause.

Over meant a Covenant oath kept. It meant no more fear of the Oleanders, not with an armed guard of the Crows’ own. Over also meant no more lordlings.

Fie’s stomach gave a mutinous twist.

Enough.

Gritting her teeth, she splashed deeper until the water reached her waist, shuddering at the chill. Then she sat and plunged her head below the water.

The cold shocked her skull mercifully empty, even if she could only take it a scant moment before bolting to her feet. Annoyance set in a moment later. She ought to have stripped out of her clothes first, even if she’d dry off quick enough keeping watch by the campfire. But her head was in a twisted way tonight, and it didn’t seem she could think straight for the life of her. She turned to slog back.

A shadow waited on the bank.

“You reckon that bastard’s shining to you?” Hangdog’s sneer slid across the water.

Something in his voice said she was better off staying in the creek. Fie didn’t answer. When Hangdog got himself in a temper like this, she knew better than to try aught but look for a way out.

“You reckon he’ll take you away and polish you up so much that the gentry forget what you came from?” he continued. “Don’t fool yourself. That oath’s trash. You’re only good to his kind on your knees.”

The angry simmer flared fierce. “Oh aye, and I was never that to you? Us fooling about moons ago doesn’t give you a spit-weight of say in who I talk to.”

“I didn’t know you were just practicing until you found a lordling to lie with,” Hangdog shot back. “You think he wants aught more from you than an easy—”

Footsteps crunched toward them. Most of Fie prayed it was a Crow. A treacherous part of her wanted someone else.

Wretch stepped into a patch of moonlight, hefting an armful of empty water skins. “You fall in that creek, girl?”

Relief tumbled down Fie’s spine. She wrung out her shirt’s hem. “Something like that.”

“Help me fill these, will you?” Wretch tossed a water skin to her.

Hangdog looked from her to Fie, then stomped back toward the camp.

Wretch didn’t speak until his footfalls faded. “He corners you again, you call for me, all right?”