“Annur’s great and powerful exploit the weak and poor all the time,” the flier snapped. “I know, my family is both. Your father raised taxes on blacksmiths—did you know that?” He didn’t wait for Valyn to answer. “Of course you didn’t. The thing is, the Emperor of Annur didn’t bother differentiating between the huge city blacksmiths with dozens of apprentices and small shops with one man and a forge. A little oversight that put my father into debt.” He shook his head in disgust. “My father went to a moneylender. The bastard was happy enough to supply the coin but at a rate no human being could possibly repay. My father worked eight years at it, eight years without a single day of rest, and he died at his fucking forge, more in debt than when he started.”

Valyn stared. In all his years with the Kettral, in all their days of training and nights nursing their wounds, he’d never heard Laith tell the story.

“Look,” he began slowly, uncertain how to respond. “The empire isn’t a perfect state . . .”

The flier raised his brows. “But this was unusual? The exception?” He jerked a finger at Talal. “What about him? The citizens of our good and noble empire hunt down and kill leaches in huge, gleeful mobs. No trial, no law—just a fire or a rope.”

Talal nodded slowly. He hadn’t said a word throughout the entire argument, watching silently, arms crossed over his chest. “Annur has flaws,” he said quietly. “Deep flaws. There are liars and murderers to go around.” He glanced over toward the prisoners. “I do not want to be one of them.”

“Well, fuck,” Laith said, shaking his head. “Neither do I. I just don’t want them coming after us.”

“That’s the chance we take for doing the right thing.”

“Fuck,” the flier said again.

“Does that mean you agree?”

Laith blew out a long breath, then nodded reluctantly. Valyn turned to Annick.

“What about you?”

“I told you what I think,” she said. “You’re the Wing leader.”

“All right then,” Valyn said. “We take the horses, take most of the food, take an api so that we look like real Urghul. I’ll retie the knots holding the prisoners, something they can wriggle out of in two or three days. We head north. . . .”

“I thought we were going west,” Gwenna said. “There’s nothing north but steppe, then ice, then icy ocean.”

“We head north,” Valyn said again, “half a day, in case they decide to follow our tracks. We’ll tack west when we find a stream to follow.”

He turned on his heel before anyone else could object, leaving his Wing to their preparations. The prisoners were on the other side of the camp, giving Huutsuu plenty of time to stare at Valyn as he approached. Pyrre glanced over when he was close.