Fie couldn’t say whether six Hawks could stop the Oleander Gentry in their tracks, but they were a sore good start.
Jasimir gripped her shoulder. “Don’t die,” he said, and only half of his tone said it was a jest. “I’m keeping the oath. You’re not allowed to die until you’ve seen it for yourself.”
Half of her grin said she believed him. “I’ll try. So far I’ve been fair good at it.”
“That makes two of us. But I think Tav’s about to commit an act of treason if I keep you any longer.”
Fie looked behind her. Sure enough, Tavin had gone fidgety, scowling at the road ahead. Coming from him, that was nigh a death threat.
She gave Jasimir a whole grin this time, then went to her Hawk.
“Do you want your sword back?” she asked him, reaching to unbuckle the scabbard from her belt.
He opened his mouth, shut it again, and, without a word, pulled her into a long, hard kiss. Madcap whooped somewhere at her back; Fie managed a rude gesture in reply before returning to more pressing business.
When they finally broke apart, he stayed near, cradling her face in his hands. “Please, please be safe.”
“You just made a fair case for staying in one piece,” Fie informed him. “But you should probably boot Rhusana fast anyway. Barf’s bound to miss you.”
That nudged a soft laugh out of him. “Only the cat?”
“Suppose I might, too,” she allowed. “You want your sword back or not?”
“Keep it. Use it. Just stay alive, no matter what.” Tavin traced her cheekbones with shaking thumbs. “I don’t care if you burn down half of Sabor. And I don’t care how long it takes, I swear I’ll find you again.”
“It won’t take you too long.” She kissed him one last time, light and quick. “Crows go where we’re called.”
And then she stepped back, knowing if she lingered any longer, she’d never let go.
But she was a chief with a beacon at her back. She had mercy to deal; she had an oath to witness; she had her own to look after. And her road had led her this far, down strange ways and to strange ends, taking her where no one thought a Crow would tread. She had no reason to doubt that even if Tavin couldn’t share her path now, someday it could lead her back to him.
“We’re moving out,” she announced, as Pa had done a thousand times before.
A chorus of ayes resounded from her kin. And a new answer followed from Corporal Lakima and her Hawks: “Yes, chief.”
She whistled the marching order, cast one more look to her lordlings, and turned away.
She had a chief’s string; she had Pa’s blade; she had a bag of Phoenix teeth. She had a king-to-be’s oath; she had a Hawk’s sword; she had a bastard boy’s heart. She had a mask and a fistful of fresh mint.
A league away, a red trail of smoke called for Merciful Crows. It was time for a chief to answer.
Fie set off down the road.
Acknowledgments
When it comes down to it, all I did was write down the words; there are countless people without whom this book would not exist, and really they should get some of the credit.
First and foremost, the team of highly trained professionals who have made this whole business bearable. Thank you to my agent, Victoria Marini, for steering me through the shoals of this industry, and patiently handing me a life ring whenever I found myself determined to flail in water a mere two feet deep. A thousand-thousand thanks to my brilliant editor, Tiff Liao, who has championed a chief, raised the bar for a queen, and fast-tracked skin monsters with enthusiasm I had scarcely dared to hope for in such a wonderful human being.
A whole bag of thank you to the team at Henry Holt and Mac Kids, particularly the elite squad of publicity and marketing sorceresses Morgan, Jo, Allegra, Melissa, Katie, and Caitlin—I want to lie down just thinking about the work you do, and I know I couldn’t be in better hands. Thank you so much to Jean Feiwel and Christian Trimmer for opening the door to a strange, angry little story, to Kristin Dulaney for sending it overseas, and to Rich Deas and Sophie Erb for designing the perfect book to carry it out.
Thank you to my early readers and critique partners, Sheena, Sarah, Jamie, Paula, Hanna, Emily, Christine, and Rory, for helping me believe I just might have something decent on my hands, and thank you to Elle McKinney, my fellow Sailor Scout, without whom I never would have made it to the end of this road. Thank you for never letting me give up on Fie, or on myself.
Thank you also to so many facets of the YA community, large and small; to the Novel 19s for sharing the journey, to the 2015 Pitch Wars class that has been there for me for this entire roller coaster and beyond, and to the bloggers and bookstagrammers who have been boosting TMC. (Special shout-out to the incredible Hafsah Faizal for commiserating with me on design, merch, and all things Book Hustle.) And thank you to so, so many authors who have extended a hand, an ear, and/or a word to a very nervous debut, helping me with everything from major decisions to my first speaking gig. Without you, I would almost certainly be hiding under my bed for the next decade, which wouldn’t be all that conducive to my career.
I also need to put in a good word for my circle of friends and family who have watched this whole publishing shenanigan unfold with occasionally baffled, but always supportive, delight. My Portland friends (and London and Boulder auxiliary chapters), for whom I would walk a minimum of five hundred miles, and quite possibly five hundred more. Gaby, you always took my writing seriously, which is doubly impressive considering how little I take seriously. Megan, can you believe I actually didn’t kill off the love interest in this one? (It’s fine, there’s a sequel.) Marie, this is my thank-you for driving me everywhere; I can only assume this has guaranteed me another five hundred free rides. Sarah V, I hope you know how your steady stream of cat GIFs has sustained me. Codino, I owe you a beer for putting up with my rants and conspiracy theories. Regan, I owe you a beer pretty much constantly, but in particular for refusing to let me calcify into a permanent installment in my apartment.
And finally, to my parents, who had the grace not to question your daughter’s sometimes-volatile career choices, in particular when I was using my BA to wash dishes part-time while working on my manuscript. (You could say that one … panned out.) You kept me knee-deep in books as a kid, so really this author thing is all your fault, and when I’d set out on my own, you kept me afloat when safe harbors were few and far between. Thank you for letting me find my own way.
(And of course, if I’ve neglected to mention you here, you can have my cats’ allotment of gratitude. They certainly don’t need it; they’ve been no help whatsoever.)
About the Author
Margaret Owen was born and raised at the end of the Oregon Trail and has worked in everything from thrift stores to presidential campaigns. The common thread between every job can be summed up as: lessons were learned. She now spends her days writing and negotiating a long-term hostage situation with her two monstrous cats. In her free time, she enjoys exploring ill-advised travel destinations and raising money for social justice nonprofits through her illustrations. She resides in Seattle, Washington. You can find her on Twitter @what_eats_owls. margaret-owen.com, or sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraphs
Caste Legend
Part One: Sinners and Queens
Chapter One. The Empty Throne
Chapter Two. The Money Dance
Chapter Three. A Covenant Oath
Chapter Four. Tooth and Nail
Chapter Fi
ve. Feed the Crows
Chapter Six. The Cat and the King
Chapter Seven. Twelve Shells
Chapter Eight. When
Part Two: Traitors and Chiefs
Chapter Nine. In this Life or the Next
Chapter Ten. Chief Voice
Chapter Eleven. Crossroads
Chapter Twelve. The Beacon
Chapter Thirteen. Dead Gods’ Mercy
Chapter Fourteen. Off the Roads
Chapter Fifteen. Wolf Country
Chapter Sixteen. The Fool
Part Three: Bastards and Gods
Chapter Seventeen. Little Witness
Chapter Eighteen. Skin Deep
Chapter Nineteen. The Crow and the Heir
Chapter Twenty. Royal Ghosts
Chapter Twenty-One. Crow Moon
Chapter Twenty-Two. The Slaughter Bell
Chapter Twenty-Three. Short Lives
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
Text copyright © 2019 by Margaret Owen. Map copyright © 2019 by Virginia Allyn.
Henry Holt and Company, Publishers since 1866
Henry Holt® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC
120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271
fiercereads.com
All rights reserved.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Owen, Margaret, 1986– author.
Title: The merciful Crow / Margaret Owen.
Description: New York: Henry Holt and Company, [2019] | Summary: Fie, a sixteen-year-old chieftain from a lowly cast of mercy-killers, must rely on her wits and bone magic to smuggle the crown prince of Sabor to safety.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018038716 | ISBN 9781250191922 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781250211903 (cd) | ISBN 9781250211897 (audio)
Subjects: | CYAC: Fantasy. | Euthanasia—Fiction. | Plague—Fiction. | Witches—Fiction. | Kings, queens, rulers, etc.—Fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.O89 Mer 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018038716
Our eBooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at (800) 221-7945 ext. 5442 or by email at [email protected].
First hardcover edition 2019
eBook edition July 2019
eISBN 9781250191939
The Merciful Crow Page 33