Fie blinked and found Tavin pointing to her tattered hands. “Aye,” she croaked. He took one and began peeling away the stiff makeshift bandages, murmuring an apology each time she flinched at threads snagging on her wounds.

She’d never been tended to by a Hawk before today. She’d expected healing to be a relief. Instead when Tavin closed his eyes, an awful heat like nettles spread across her broken flesh.

To distract herself, Fie plucked at her string of teeth, over bones of Peacock and Sparrow, Phoenix and Crane. Then her fingers stalled on two milk teeth knotted side by side.

One tooth sat cold, a distant shade where its spark had been an hour before.

That tooth belonged to Hangdog.

The other still simmered with life.

That one belonged to Pa.

How long did he have? How long did any of her kin have?

“Once we’re ready, we can take the tunnels out.”

Tavin’s voice bulled through the quiet. Fie and Jasimir both started.

“What?” Fie asked.

Tavin let her hand go. “Done with this side. Let’s see the other. And the graze on your arm.”

She rolled up her sleeve, wincing at the crackle of blood. “What do you mean, ‘out’?” she asked again.

“The city gates will be buttoned up tight for days,” he said, unwinding the rags from her fingers. “And most of the merchant ships are moored across the bay, so—”

“No. What do you mean, ‘out’?” Fie jabbed her free thumb up. Stinging rolled up her fingers once more. “I’m getting my kin back.”

Tavin’s face stiffened. “Fie … there may not be much to get—”

“Pa.” She pinched his tooth between her thumb and forefinger until it ground against her own knuckle-bone. “He’s … he’s still alive.”

The hush that followed ached near as much as Fie did.

“He swore an oath,” Tavin said at last.

It was Fie’s turn to stiffen. She turned a hard stare on the Hawk. “What,” she hissed, “does that mean?”

“I think you know what it means.”

Fie did. She was a Crow; she knew a Money Dance when she heard one.

Jasimir sat up. “Tav—”

Fie jerked her arm free. It started to bleed again. “If you think I’m going to leave my family with some monster—”

“Your father told me if anything happened to him—” Tavin began.

“You two happened to him.”

“So did your oath.”

Her heels dug into the earthen floor. “We said we’d get you two to Cheparok—”

“Your father swore a Covenant oath to get Jasimir to his allies, in this life or the next.” Frost slivered through Tavin’s voice. He wouldn’t look at her.

That only maddened her more. A Money Dance worked only when you knew your worth. When you knew what you were owed.

But they both knew what she owed him and his prince: nothing.