Wrackbird

Tamsin Redpath has three months before a moneylender's enforcer cuts out her tongue — unless she hauls one sealed iron box four hundred miles north before the equinox. The box is cold. It hums. Crows follow it in silent thousands, and at night something inside starts using her dead partner's voice. Saddled with a sour old monk who tastes lies on the breath, hunted by a crown spy, Tamsin must decide what she truly owes, and to whom.