I did what you wanted. Handog’d yelled that and taken an arrow in the eye in payment. It didn’t take a scholar to square out who he’d been serving on the bridge instead of the Crows.

Yet she was the one walking away from her people now.

She forced her fist to uncurl and let Tavin help her up.

The three of them worked their way along the dark channels, through winding corridors and down crumbling stairs. Sometimes curious rat-shrills pierced the dark ahead, but they left only bones and dung by the time Fie arrived. Finally they reached a long drainage channel scarce as tall as her waist.

“This is the last,” Tavin promised behind her, dousing his torch. “Then we’re out.”

Out.

Pa wouldn’t make it out of the city tonight.

Pa wanted her to keep the oath.

Fie steeled herself and eased into the water.

And so the three of them left Cheparok the way they’d arrived: crawling on hand and knee.

Fie didn’t know how long she splashed through the empty dark before a slivery silver glow sliced over the water’s surface ahead. She crawled faster and faster—

And found herself below a square of iron lace. Tavin reached up to the middle of the grate and turned some unseen panel. The iron creaked and shuddered. With a heave, he shoved the grate aside.

For a moment, Fie could only stare at the night above, dusted in a belt of stars, buckled by a newborn Peacock Moon. She’d seen it near every night of her life, yet …

Her people, her home. If they could see the moon now, it would be through a cage of rooftops and plaster.

This was not like any other night of her life.

Tavin’s hand jabbed into her sight. “Fie?”

She let him pull her up one more time.

The walls of Cheparok loomed colossal behind them, skirted in a sour, briny fog. Blots of lantern-light singed holes in the mist, dotting an outdoor market along the eastern bank of the Fan River, just like the one before the western side’s gate for Common Castes.

Fie’s belly churned, half from nerves, half from hunger. Her frown dug deeper as she followed the lordlings into the haze.

Even if they could keep one step ahead of the Vultures, it would take near three weeks to get to the south end of the Marovar. And all they had were the boys’ blades, Pa’s broken sword, and a bag of very inedible teeth.

Jasimir had said days ago that the king could be dead before the end of Peacock Moon. Fie wasn’t sure they’d make it that long, either.