Pa whistled a stop and guided the oxen to the side of the road, then twisted in his seat to face her and the prince. Tavin climbed up into the wagon bed a moment later, prompting a disgruntled mew from Barf as she peered out from behind a sack of rice. The other Crows gathered round.

“Hold up a moment.” Pa cast his gaze about and waited until a band of Owl sojourn-scholars had passed down the flatway. “All right, here’s the pinch: they’ll have Vulture witches at the gate.”

“Why?” Prince Jasimir frowned.

“Checking for witches, mostly unregistered ones from the countryside. That’d be no trouble, but…”

“They’ll spot me for a Hawk witch,” Tavin finished. “One who’s supposed to be dead. So how do we get past?”

“Can’t hide you in the wagon. Odds are we’ll be searched.” Pa continued even as Prince Jasimir tilted his head at that. “We burned our only Sparrow witch-tooth on the Oleanders. We can sneak you through with two plain Sparrow teeth … but the Vultures will pick up on any spell I’m casting when they test my witch-sign. So that leaves Fie.”

Fie’s stomach dropped. “What?”

When, not if.

“It’s time.” Pa held out a fistful of Sparrow teeth. “How’s that practice?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

WHEN

“Step in the footprints.”

“What?” the prince whispered to Fie’s left.

“Don’t make new footprints. Step in Hangdog’s prints. Or Swain’s.”

“Good thinking.” Tavin’s voice drifted too close behind her.

Hair stood on the back of Fie’s neck. She ignored it, focusing on the Sparrow tooth in each fist. One burned already, humming steady with her bones. The other waited yet for her call.

Fie picked her way through Wretch’s tracks behind the wagon as they headed for where the flatway split five ways. Each path led to a gate in Cheparok’s sturdy walls, just like those on the eastern side of the Fan River. Blue-green roof tiles flashed just behind the city walls, crowning towers that flew the banner of the Floating Fortress. The lord-governor’s palace had earned its name by squatting direct over the Fan and the reservoir it filled.

At least, that’s what she’d been told. From this side of the walls, all she got was fancy roofs and bright flags. She’d have her chance to see it up close soon enough.

A trio of Hawk guards sat at the root of the branching roads, rolling gambling shells and sweating in the brutal sun. The one with a corporal’s copper armband eyed the Crows, spat, and jerked his thumb over a shoulder. “Fifth gate.”

He didn’t look up from the shells even once as Fie and the lordlings passed.