"But you're a girl!"

She frowned at him and jerked the next shirt down over his ears roughly. "I'm a Cursor. And I think the First Lord is right."

"But what does this have to do with me? With Bernardholt?"

"You've seen the danger, Tavi. I need to take you to Garrison. You have to tell the Count there what you saw."

A cold feeling chilled Tavi, and he blinked up at her. "The Marat," he breathed. "The Marat are coming. Aren't they? Like when they killed the Princeps."

"I think so," Amara said.

"My uncle saw them, he's the one that should go. The Count would never believe that-"

"He can't," Amara said. "Crafting trauma, when he was healed. He doesn't remember any of it."

"How do you know that?" Tavi demanded.

"Because I listened. I faked passing out, and I listened in on all the talk up here. Your uncle doesn't remember, and your aunt is suspicious of me. There's no time to explain it to them-we have to leave here, and right now."

Tavi tugged the heavy tunic on over the shirts, his hands moving more slowly now. "Why?"

"Because downstairs are some men who are here to kill you, me, and anyone who has seen the Marat."

"But why would another Aleran do that?"

"We really don't have time for that. They're the enemy. They want to

unseat the First Lord, and they want the Marat to wipe out the steadholts in the Valley so that the Realm perceives the First Lord as weak and ineffective."

Tavi stared at her. "Wipe out the Valley? But that would mean…"

She regarded him, her face drawn. "Unless we take warning to the Count, unless the forces at Garrison are ready to meet them, the Marat will kill everyone. This steadholt and all the rest as well."

"Crows," Tavi whispered. "Oh, crows and furies."

"You're the only one who has seen them. The only one who I can use to convince the Count to rouse Garrison." Amara stalked back over to the window, opened it again, then turned to Tavi and extended her hand. "Are you with me?"

They used a sheet from Tavi's bed, tied to its leg, to drop from his window to the courtyard below. The wind whistled from the north, bringing with it the stinging chill of true winter. Amara went down first, then beckoned to Tavi, who tossed down a bundle thrown hurriedly together into the blankets from his bed. Amara caught it, and then the boy swallowed, and slithered down the sheet to the stones of the courtyard.

Amara led them across the courtyard in silence. No one was in evidence, though the light and noise from the hall could be heard through its thick doors. The gate door was open, and they slid through it and out into the outbuildings. Full dark was getting close, and shadows lay dim and thick over the cold ground.

Tavi led them past the stables and over to the smokehouse. The building shared a wall with the smithy, where both could use the same chimney for a fire. The sharp smell of smoke and meat hung around the smokehouse in a permanent cloud.

"Get the salt," Amara murmured to him. "Just take the sack, if there's one at hand, or a bucket. I'll keep watch here. And hurry."

Tavi slipped inside, where the fading twilight held little sway, and fumbled through the dark, to the shelf at the back of the smoke room. He stopped to take down a pair of hams that had been hanging, and dropped them into his makeshift bag. The salt, all rough crystals, filled a large homespun sack. Tavi tried to lift it and grunted with effort. Then he put it back down, took one of his blankets, and tore off a couple of large sections. He piled heavy salt crystals into them, and twisted them shut, tying them with several lengths of leather cord kept on hand for hanging the meats.

He had just picked them up and was heading back for the door when he

heard a squealing sound outside the smokehouse. There was a hiss of breath and a pair of heavy thumps. Tavi hurried outside, his eyes wide, his heart pounding in his chest.

There, Amara knelt with one knee on the chest of a fallen man, a knife gripped in her hand and pressed to his throat.

"Stop," Tavi hissed. "Get off of him!"

"He snuck up on me," Amara said. She didn't move the knife.

"That's Fade. He's no danger to anyone."

"He wouldn't answer me."

"You scared him," Tavi said and shoved at her shoulder. Amara shot him a look, but didn't fall. She took the knife from Fade's throat and rose back and away from the fallen slave.

Tavi leaned down and took Fade's hand, hauling the man to his feet. He wore heavy clothes against the gathering cold, including a woolen cap with flaps that hung down to his shoulders and dangled like the ears of a gangly puppy and secondhand gloves missing several fingers. The whole side of the slave's face was slack with fear, and he stared at Amara with wide eyes, backing up from her until his shoulders touched Tavi's chest. "Tavi," Fade said. "Tavi. Inside. Storm coming."

"I know, Fade," Tavi said. "But we have to go."

"There's no time for this," Amara said, shooting a glance behind her. "If one of them sees us-"

"Tavi stay," Fade insisted.

"I can't. Me and Amara have to get to Count Gram and warn him that the Marat are coming. She's a Cursor, and we have to go before some bad men try to stop us."

Fade turned to blink his head slowly at Tavi. His face twisted in confusion, and he asked, "Tavi going? Tonight?"

"Yes. I have salt."

Amara hissed, "Let's go then. No time."

Fade frowned, almost scowled. "Fade, too."

"No, Fade," Tavi said. "You have to stay here."

"Going."

"We have to travel light," Amara said. "The slave stays."

Fade threw back his head and let out a howl like a wounded dog.

Tavi choked and lurched toward the man, covering his mouth with one hand. "Quiet! Fade, they'll hear us!"

Fade ceased howling but looked at Tavi, his expression steady.

Tavi looked from Fade to Amara. The Cursor rolled her eyes and gestured at him to hurry. Tavi grimaced. "All right. You can go. But we have to leave right now."

Fade's mouth broke into a witless smile behind Tavi's hand, and he started chortling. He held up a hand to them, dashed inside the smithy, and emerged a few heartbeats later bearing a battered old rucksack on his back and muttering excited, nonsense phrases to himself.

Amara shook her head and asked Tavi, "He's an idiot?"

"He's a good man," Tavi said, defensively. "He's strong and he works hard. He won't get in the way."

"He'd better not," Amara said. She slipped the knife away into her belt and threw her bundle at Fade. "I'm hurt, he's not. He carries mine."

Fade dropped it and scraped a bow to Amara as he picked up the bundle of blankets and appropriated gear. He lifted that one to his other shoulder.

Amara turned to lead them away from Bernardholt, but Tavi put his hand on her shoulder. "These men. Won't they catch us if we're on foot?"

"I'm not good with horses. You're no earthcrafter. Is the slave?"

Tavi glanced at Fade and grimaced. "No. I mean, he knows a little metal. And he makes shoes for the horses, but I don't think that he's an earthcrafter."

"Better we walk then," she said. "One of the men after us is, and he can make the horses do what he wants to."

"On horseback, they'll be faster."

"That's why we'd better get going. Hopefully they'll be here until morning."

"Meet me at the stable," Tavi said, and hurried off toward it in the growing dark. Amara hissed at him, but Tavi ignored her, moving to the stable doors and inside.

He was familiar with the animals of Bernardholt. The sheep milled sleepily in their pen, and the cattle took up the rest of the room on the same side. On the other, the hulking gargants lay blowing lustily in their sleep in their burrow-and behind them, Tavi heard the noise of restless, nervous horses.