“Fie.” Tavin’s voice was almost too quiet to pick out. “Something’s wrong.”

She cast a look about and found the lordlings to her right, still walking like they owned the fortress. “What?”

“The lord-governor should walk out to greet us.”

“You think he’d walk out for Crows?” Hangdog barked out a laugh.

“I’m telling you—” Tavin’s voice rose.

Fie turned to hush them both—

And froze.

Their Hawk escort had lined up across the bridge at their back, a bristling wall between the Crows and the only way out.

Fie heard a scuffle and whipped around. Hangdog had shoved the lordlings out in front of the wagon, stripping off his mask and theirs.

“They’re here!” he shouted as Pa cursed and yanked on the reins. “I did what you wanted—”

An arrow sank, soft and immediate, into Hangdog’s eye. He crumpled to the ground.

The world went silent. Fie stared at the impossible heap of black fabric and limbs that ought to have been Hangdog.

Another arrow whistled past, carving a stripe of searing pain above her elbow before it clattered against marble. She cried out.

A bellow echoed down the bridge like thunder: “The queen wants him alive!”

“Get behind the wagon!” Pa shouted, scrambling out of the driver’s seat. Another arrow struck one of the oxen. It screamed and leapt forward, crashing into the other ox and sending the wagon skidding over the stone as Barf screeched inside.

Someone seized Fie’s arm and hauled her behind the shuddering wagon. Another scream ripped through the air. This time it sounded like Wretch.

Pa emerged, fist locked around his string of teeth.

“This wasn’t—He must have gone over to Rhusana—” Tavin’s arm still wound round hers. The other kept Jasimir kneeling on the ground, where arrows couldn’t reach. “We have to get out—”

Pa shook his head.

“I’m a marked man,” he said, cutting his chief’s string loose with a chilling calm. “Those Vultures could follow my witch-sign through all twelve hells. There’s no ‘we’ here, Lord Hawk.”

Pa threw the string over the wagon and closed his eyes.

Two Phoenix teeth roared to life in Fie’s senses. There was a terrible crack and a blast of heat. A wall of fire swept around the bridge, circling the Crows.

“There’s only you,” said Pa.

When, not if.

Fie finally, terribly understood.

She found her voice. “Pa—no—”

“You get out, get as far from here as you can.” He thrust the broken sword to her, and she hated it, hated the weight of it, hated the sudden flash of two deadly edges now in her hands. “Stay out of sight. Burn as many teeth as you have to.” His bag of teeth fell into her arms with a horrible thud.

They were Pa’s teeth, they were his sword, he was the chief, this was all wrong—