Shield of Sparrows (Shield of Sparrows, #1)

by Devney Perry

Hopping into a gray slipper, I flicked away the skirts of my matching dress and shifted to pull on the other shoe. Both were firmly covering my toes by the time a familiar rider crested the hill to the cliffside. Banner sat proudly in the saddle, his short, light-brown hair combed, not a strand out of place. His expression was blank. Was that a good blank? Or did it mean that I was in trouble because my fiancé had abandoned his responsibilities as general to collect me?

“Have you seen them yet?” I asked. “The Turans?” “Not yet. But I just met with your father.” His jaw clenched. “He informed me that the Guardian traveled with the rangers.” “The Guardian.” My jaw dropped as my stomach twisted. “The Guardian. He’s here? In Roslo?” “Apparently,” Banner clipped. Oh, hell. This was bad. This was the reason my fiancé had come out for a ride. We might not be in love, we might not even be considered friends, but there were a few things I’d learned about Banner during our engagement. He was unfailing in his loyalty to Father. He loved the status that came with his rank and betrothal to a princess. And he loathed the Guardian. “I’m sorry.” I reached for him, but he waved me off, raking a hand through his hair. “Will you be going to the meeting?” “I’m the general of your father’s legion. What do you think?” Was it really so hard for him to just say yes?

Well he’s a grump

Banner rubbed a hand over his jaw, smooth and set in an angry line. “Pray to Carine I’m able to keep my composure.” I’d pray for the Goddess of Peace to be with us all today. “I will have my revenge,” he said, more to himself than to me, and the cool, collected man who was to be my husband vanished.

“I vow it.” “Banner,” I warned. “If the Guardian sailed with the Turans, he’s here on Father’s invitation. It’s not the time. You can’t go after him while—” “Don’t you think I know that?” I flinched as he yelled into my face. It wasn’t the first time a man had directed his temper my way. It wouldn’t be the last. And I’d learned that it was easier to surrender than fight. “I’m sorry.” “I’m well aware that I have no choice but to stand aside and welcome these guests to our kingdom. That I must be in your father’s throne room and meet the piece of filth who destroyed my family. I deserve to have that bastard’s head on a platter, yet I can do nothing. Nothing. I know exactly what fucking time it is, Odessa.” I stayed quiet as he spat my name. “You’re going to be late,” he barked. “Right.” I nodded, dropping my gaze to his polished boots. Banner exhaled, collecting himself. Then he hooked a finger under my chin, tilting my face upward until our gazes locked. The anger in his irises was fading slowly. “Sorry. I’m frustrated.” “It’s understandable.” “Would you like me to take you back? I can skip the rest of my ride.” “No.” I gave him a soft smile. “You go. I’ll walk.”

“I’ll see you later,” he said. “Don’t be late, Princess.” Banner dragged a knuckle along my cheek, then retreated to his horse, swinging into the saddle and disappearing without a backward glance toward the sweeping hills and rolling fields that surrounded Roslo.

Was that supposed to be sweet?

From there, I could slip through a side entrance and climb the stairs to my rooms on the fourth floor. My gray rooms. Mae’s suite was pale blue, for the virginal bride who would soon be married to a prince. Who would fulfill her role in accord with the Calandra trade treaty that kept the five kingdoms at peace. She was the Sparrow. But Mae was far from a sweet, delicate bird. She certainly wouldn’t be a virgin on her wedding night. Funny how the guards never reported her comings and goings, not while she was screwing their captain. I glanced over my shoulder, to the edge of the cliff and the open ocean beyond. What was out there? Mae would find out. After the wedding, she’d set sail to Turah. “Lucky brat.” Not once in my life had I been jealous of Mae. She was Father’s favored daughter. When the time had come for him to choose the Sparrow, it was no shock he’d picked Mae. And she was Margot’s pride and joy. She had a mother while I had a ghost. Still, I’d never envied her, not once. Until now.

The ocean beckoned. I stopped and turned. What if I jumped? Would anyone notice? No. Not for this princess. A smile tugged at my mouth. I raced for the cliff. My drab, gray dress streamed behind me as I ran, faster and faster, arms pumping, legs pushing. I didn’t think. I didn’t falter. One moment, my feet were tethered to the earth. The next, I was flying.

Water dripped from the hem of my soaked dress, leaving a dotted trail as I tiptoed through the castle’s east-wing gallery. My heart raced, the rush from the cliff dive still coursing through my veins. I’d been sixteen years old when I made that jump for the first time. A group of servant boys had hiked that hill on a scorching summer afternoon, and I’d followed them out of curiosity. I’d watched them from a distance as, one by one, they leaped off the edge. By the time they’d all swam to the shore and retreated to the castle, I’d worked up the courage to approach the cliff. It had taken hours of assessing the drop before I’d finally made the jump. When I’d plunged beneath the cold water, kicking furiously for the surface, I’d vowed never again. But a week later, after a berating from the weapons master about my ineptitude at archery, I’d climbed that hillside. I’d claimed it as my own. In the moments when I needed to feel brave, to feel free and alive, that cliff was my salvation. Today wasn’t the first or last time I’d sneak into the castle waterlogged. My slippers were gone, stolen by the sea, and my bare soles squelched on the white marble floors as I crept through the deserted gallery.

It was written that the old gods, Ama and Oda, created Calandra’s animals as gifts to humans.

The Six crafted predators in the image of Calandra’s animals, though their variations were far more beautiful. Far more powerful. Far more deadly. They birthed monsters to serve as a reminder to humans and animals alike that we were fragile and insignificant.

Tearing my eyes from the mural, I rounded a corner, about to make a final dash to the stairwell, when I nearly slammed into a body, pulling back a fraction of a moment before we collided. “I’m sorr—” The apology died on my tongue as I stared up at the Voster priest. My gasp echoed off the walls as I inched away from my father’s emissary. He stared unblinkingly from his towering frame, a head and bony shoulders above my own height. He was dressed in burgundy robes, the fabric draped around his lanky body, pooling at his ankles and feet as bare as my own. The nails on both his fingers and toes were thick and grooved with a dark-green tint. He had no hair, no eyebrows, and his skin was a chilly, pale white. His hawkish nose rested sharply above his thin, colorless lips.

Power radiated off his body, rocking me onto my heels. The Voster magic crackled around me like sparks. It was dizzying. Nauseating. It was like jumping off my cliff, only there was no bottom. No end to the spinning of my insides or the pit beneath my feet. Humans weren’t meant to be this close to magic. I swallowed the urge to cry out as his power scraped and scratched along the bare skin of my arms. The Voster cocked his head sideways, like a bird, as he took in my wet clothes. He lifted a bony hand, holding up a single finger. With a flick of his wrist, the water spun from my hair. It swirled around my face, the droplets merging and lifting, until there was a ball of clear water spinning above my head. It stretched wider, thinning into a roped circle with a hollow center. Spikes stretched from the water, like it was being drawn toward the vaulted ceiling. Around and around and around it spun until the priest had shaped the water into a crown that loomed over my head. Father said the Voster brotherhood often used their fluid magic to deliver a message. That they manipulated air, water, and blood to make statements.

Woah!!

“Hair.” Margot snapped her fingers and pointed to the vanity, standing behind me as I took a seat at the bench. I hesitated to give her the comb. In her hands, it was a weapon she wielded often. My scalp would ache for hours after she finished with the torture. “You don’t need to do this. I can manage. I’m sure Mae needs you more.” “She’s…occupied.” Occupied. Meaning she was with the captain of the guard for their afternoon romp.

Omg her mom knows!!

“Do you think they’ll be able to kill them?” I asked Margot. “Well, if the six dead beasts hanging in the docks this morning are any indication, then I’d say yes.” “What? They already killed the marroweels?” I sat up straighter. “When?” “They brought them as they arrived last night.” Had I known, I would have skipped the cliffside and headed straight for the docks. I’d never seen one of the fabled marroweels in anything but books. “How big are they? Are they blue?” Margot scoffed. “You’re more excited about six dead monsters than you are for your own wedding to Banner.” She wasn’t wrong. I’d missed more planning meetings than I’d attended. I twisted around. “How do you think they killed them?” “Odessa,” she snapped, forcing my head to the mirror. “Hold. Still.”

The Guardian. A man rumored to be more vicious and deadly than any creature crafted by the gods.

Five Turans stood shoulder to shoulder, their broad frames forming a wall. Each was a pillar of honed muscle and brute strength. Gods, they were huge. Banner stood over six feet tall, but compared to these men, he was lean and gangly. Even Father, who was the largest man I’d ever seen, was no match for Turan stature and brawn.

The Turans weren’t dressed in finery, not that I’d expected tailored coats or shining boots from a band of warriors. They wore leather pants that molded to thick thighs. Their brown, tooled vests were worn over ivory cotton tunics that strained against corded biceps. Each wore leather cuffs at his wrists. Two of the men had intricate, dark tattoos covering their forearms. Every Turan was armed with knives or swords strapped across his back. One man carried three daggers on his belt. They looked prepared for war, not a dinner with royals. It was surprising that Father even let them into the throne room the way they were armed. Normally, guests were stripped of their weaponry before an audience with the king. Had the Turans refused? Or had the guards even bothered asking?

A Turan warrior with smooth brown skin and deep-set dark eyes walked to the chest, crouching to inspect its contents. His black hair was braided in long rows, and the cords were tied at his nape. He picked up a single coin, flipping it in the air. It landed on the others with a clink. Was that the Guardian? “Should I count it, Highness?” he asked as he stood and rejoined the others. Wait. What? Who was he calling Highness? The warrior in the center of the line shook his head. Except he wasn’t a warrior, was he? Was that the crown prince? I’d never seen the Turan prince before, but he must be Zavier Wolfe. The heir to the Turan throne. Mae’s soon-to-be husband. Okay, that was a surprise. If Margot was shocked, too, she didn’t let it show. Neither did Mae. Clearly, I’d missed something by being late. Prince Zavier was in Roslo. The Guardian was in Roslo.

“There is no need to count the coin.” Father spoke in his cool, indifferent manner, yet the fire in his caramel eyes betrayed his appearance. “Every ounce of coin we agreed upon is there.” The warrior who’d spoken earlier, the bearded man with the daggers, gave Father an assessing look. “And what if the price we agreed upon is no longer enough?” It was rumored that Prince Zavier didn’t speak. If the gossip was true, then maybe that warrior spoke on his behalf, like an advisor. Or a general. Father’s eyes blazed hotter, the amber starbursts like twin flames. “And what, exactly, is your new price?”

The man who entered next didn’t look like a god incarnate. He didn’t appear to be a ghost. He was tall and broad, like the other Turans. Muscled to the point of distraction. His chocolate-brown hair tickled the tops of his shoulders, and his chiseled jaw was covered in a short beard of the same shade. At first glance, he was just a man. Striking. Intimidating. But still, just a man. Yet his irises did not have the typical Turan green starburst. They were solid, molten silver. Liquid metal. Colorless, like my dress. The Guardian.

The way he’d murdered Banner’s brother. Hands tight around a throat until the windpipe was crushed. My eyes darted to my fiancé’s. There was murder in Banner’s gaze. His hatred of the Guardian was as potent as the scent of my hair dye. But Goddess Carine must have heard our prayers for peace, because he kept his temper leashed, standing stoically at Father’s side like the dutiful general he was. I wasn’t in love with Banner. I wasn’t particularly excited about becoming the wife of a man under my father’s thumb. But I didn’t want to see him hanged for treason, either.

It would probably help if he was less grumpy!

Mae loved secrets. Add in a solid dose of conflict and a dash of bloodlust, and she was happy. Was it her nature? Or was it her upbringing? As a child, Margot had given me dolls to celebrate my birthdays. When Mae had turned five, Father had gifted her a set of gilded blades. She’d fit in with these Turan warriors, wouldn’t she? With this prince? Mae had inherited Father’s strong frame and Margot’s height. Eighteen years of training had sharpened her into a weapon. The Turans wouldn’t break Mae. Perhaps Father was counting on it being the other way around.

Interesting

“Introductions. Before we continue.” The levitating Voster priest spoke, his voice like silk.

At his command, the attention of the men shifted in our direction. Five pairs of Turan eyes with green starbursts in their irises dragged over Margot and Mae while the Guardian’s silver gaze locked on me instead. It was as uncomfortable as the Voster magic. Father gave Margot a nod. She put her hand on Mae’s lower back, and together, they walked toward the Turans with me trailing a step behind. The Turan in the center of the group wore a circlet across his forehead. The band wasn’t inlaid with jewels or gems. It was a twist of metal threads, woven together to form a line of silver. His brown hair was shorter than any of the others’, the soft waves pushed away from his face, the ends curling slightly at his nape. The sides of his crown disappeared beneath the strands at his ears. A small scar cut through one of his eyebrows. His eyes were the color of moss on a stormy day. The shade nearly swallowed the green starbursts in his irises. Prince Zavier was handsome. Stunning, really, with a robust masculinity. And he was bored. There wasn’t a hint of interest at meeting his future bride. At any moment, I expected to see him yawn. The Guardian, however, looked amused, like this was all a joke. His eyes crinkled at the sides as he smirked.

“Prince Zavier, I present to you my daughter Mae,” Father said. “In accord with the Shield of Sparrows, she is to be your bride on the autumnal equinox in three months’ time.” Zavier studied Mae for a long moment, then glanced to the Guardian. An unspoken conversation passed between them. Was that one of the Guardian’s powers? Could he read minds?

The Guardian gave the prince a nod, then spoke in a gravelly voice that gave me goose bumps. “Not her.” Margot blinked. “Excuse me?” “Her.” The Guardian’s eyes flicked in my direction, and the whole room followed his gaze. To me. “Prince Zavier will marry her,” he declared. “Tonight. As the bride prize for killing your marroweels.”

Ohh well that’s a fun change of plans

Margot squeezed tighter, her fingertips digging into my flesh. Thankfully, I didn’t bruise easily. Otherwise, there would be five round circles by morning. But I didn’t try to shake her loose. I was too busy listening to the Guardian’s word screaming in my mind.

“There must be some mistake.” Margot spoke through gritted teeth. Every syllable was punctuated by her nails digging deeper into my arm. “No.” Father’s voice was a boom, rattling the walls. A growl, raw and ravenous, ripped from Mae’s throat. Then came Banner’s declaration of the obvious. “She is my fiancée.” And a laugh. Gravelly. Low. Dry and humorless. I blinked, forcing my vision into focus, homing in on that laugh. The Guardian. He was laughing. His silver eyes flashed white like lightning, and the smirk on his mouth stretched.

Oh no! Not good

“Prince Zavier,” Father said. “Mae is my daughter intended to be your bride. If you wish to forgo the planned festivities of the equinox, then we will arrange for your union tonight.” My gaze bounced around the room, hopping from Turan to Voster to Father to Banner and back around again. The prince was still bored. The Voster seemed comatose. Banner looked lethal. Father’s expression was too guarded to discern. Mae and Margot were livid. At. Me. And the Guardian was still smirking. I hated him instantly. Maybe I should have wished for Banner to cut his throat.

Tonight!?

Father wouldn’t allow this, right? He’d tell the prince exactly what he thought of a bride prize—whatever the hell that was. Except Father stayed quiet. His mouth pursed into a thin line as he kept his steady gaze on the Turans, waiting for their reply. Did he even care that they were asking me to be used as payment for a debt? That they were asking to trade his daughter like that coffer of coin? Or was the anger simmering in his caramel eyes simply because his orders were being questioned? I didn’t want the answer. When I tore my eyes from Father, the Guardian’s gaze was waiting. It wasn’t the same silver as it had been a moment ago. His eyes darkened, silver bleeding away to gray and brown and green. A hazel as hard as stone. Gone was his laughter. His humor had given way to a cold, cruel malice.

The floor beneath my slippers tilted sideways again. “She is not yours to have.” Fury crackled off Banner’s frame, his body practically vibrating. “She is mine.” It might have been romantic. Except Banner wasn’t mad because another man was stealing the woman he loved. No, Banner was furious to be losing his link to the royal family. I might not be the favored princess, but I was a princess. A gift for his service. A symbol of his status. The Guardian met Banner’s sneer with one of his own. “She was yours. Now, she belongs to the prince. She’ll satisfy both the bride prize and the treaty. She’ll be our queen.”

I mean maybe he likes you a little?? Maybe?

“I will not stand for this,” Banner announced. “You are to wed Mae.” Prince Zavier turned his chin and gave that impassive stare to my fiancé. A dare to defy royalty. A challenge to the oldest known treaty in Calandra. Banner gulped. Zavier dismissed him with a blink and faced Father. “The prince will have who he desires.” It was as if the Guardian were inside Zavier’s mind, speaking the words the prince could not. “And he desires her.”

“The Shield of Sparrows treaty stipulates a daughter of the king’s choosing. As I am the only king in this room, the choice is mine.” Father pointed to Mae. “You will wed Mae. She is the Sparrow. And you will be given the gold we have promised for your assistance with the marroweels.” These men were bartering for us like we were crops.

“King Cross is correct.” Father’s Voster emissary spoke with the same smooth voice as the priest. “The daughter to be offered through the Shield of Sparrows is of the king’s choosing.”

“The treaty only requires a daughter be given to another kingdom each generation. Her father has the right to choose which daughter,” the priest continued. “Though there is still the matter of the bride prize for the marroweels.” Father shook his head. “There is no bride prize. We will pay in gold.” “He doesn’t want gold,” the Guardian said. Right. Her. He wanted me. Why? I was not special. The other priest, the Voster still hovering above the floor, raised a hand, and before he spoke, I knew I’d loathe every word from his mouth. “The prince has slain seven female creatures on your behalf, per your request, King Cross. If he demands a bride prize, it must be paid. And for that, the bride is of his choosing.” “Six,” Father corrected. “There were only six marroweels.”

“Your informants were wrong, Majesty.” The Guardian’s cruel smile widened. “Seven female marroweels were slaughtered in the Krisenth Crossing. All by the prince himself. According to the Chain of Sevens, the prince can demand a bride prize.”

“The Chain of Sevens is nothing more than a children’s legend.” Banner scoffed. “It is not enforceable. So take your gold and leave. Come back when you’re ready to marry Mae and sign the Shield of Sparrows.” “The Chain of Sevens is no legend,” the Guardian told Banner. “Your request to dispatch the marroweels should have been more specific.” Specific about what, exactly? “What are you talking about?” Everyone seemed surprised that I had a voice. “The Chain of Sevens? What is it?” “Seven lives in a chain.” Father’s emissary spoke gently, like he was pulling a punch. “Long ago, before the five kingdoms, the lands and seas were overrun by monsters. To regain control, the ruling lords made a decree. Any warrior who risked their life against the beasts would be granted a prize of their choosing if they returned with the heads of seven slain females from the species. As with all treaties, the Chain of Sevens was sealed with our magic.”

“Why seven?” My voice wobbled. “Why is that number important? And why females?” “To alter the chain of life,” the floating priest said. “Killing seven females will break the chain. Break it in enough places, and it holds no strength.”

“The Chain of Sevens is not real. It is nothing but a legend.” Father raised his chin. “The only bride Prince Zavier will be given is Mae to fulfill the Shield of Sparrows. I will not send Odessa in Mae’s place because of an archaic myth like the Chain of Sevens.” The levitating Voster leveled Father with his stare. “What you call an archaic myth is old magic. And old magic is still magic, boy. It is quite real.”

“I sealed the Sevens with my own magic and the blood of ancient kings.” The Voster’s voice was as lethal as the shards of ice forming on the ceiling. “Mind what you call an archaic myth.” Father bowed his head. It was the first time in my life I’d seen him bow to another. He didn’t even do that for his own Voster emissary. Granted, this priest was about to kill us all, so now was the time to show a little humility. “I’m sorry, High Priest,” Father murmured. High Priest? The High Priest? I was about done with surprises for today.

“She is your daughter, yes?” the High Priest asked. “Yes.” Father nodded. “Then she will be the prince’s bride for both the Shield of Sparrows and Chain of Sevens.” She. Her. Me.

“Brother Dime.” Father’s eyes were pleading as he addressed his emissary. “There must be something we can do.” Dime. Strange that I’d never known his name.

I should have introduced myself before. Maybe Brother Dime would have spoken for me, stood up to the High Priest, if I’d bothered to learn his name. “Mae is to be the Turan queen,” Father said. “It cannot be Odessa. She is not capable.” Ouch. Okay, so I wasn’t the chosen daughter, but was the idea of me as a queen really so inconceivable? Not that I wanted to be queen. At. All. “Oh, gods.” I pressed my fingertips to my temples, rubbing at the ache blooming in my skull. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. Brother Dime walked toward me, his nearness making the throb in my head worse. My hands flopped at my sides as I met his fathomless gaze. “Please.” “This is your fortune, child.” He reached for me, long, spindly fingers extended. But before he could touch my face with his bony fingers, I shied away, leaning closer to Margot, hoping her body would absorb the sting of his magic.

“Gods.” I signed the Eight, circling my hand around my face and around my heart. I doubted the Eight gods were listening, but if Ama, Oda, and their six children had a hint of divine intervention to spare, I’d take it. “Odessa is to be my wife.” Banner stomped a boot on the floor. “You heard the High Priest.” Father tore the crown from his head and dragged a fair hand through his golden hair. The strands at his temples appeared more ashen than they had before this debacle. People called him the Gold King.

Okay stomping isn’t fixing anything

The magic rooted deep in Calandra’s land tinged our irises at birth with those starbursts, linking us forever to a place. No matter where we lived, where we moved, that one color was unchanging. Every Quentin had an amber starburst. Every Quentin except me. My eyes were solid gold. Not a starburst in sight.

“There must be another way,” Banner said. “The Turans cannot take her from me. This cannot be—” “Banner.” Father’s voice cracked off the walls. “Leave us.” “My king—” “Leave. Us.” Banner, the ever-faithful general, left without delay, his bootheels sharp as he crossed the floor. “Out,” Father commanded to the guards. Unlike Banner, there was no argument.

A blade being unsheathed sounded a moment before a knife was pressed against my throat. “What did you do?” Mae seethed. “Get that knife away from me.” On top of everything else, I didn’t have the energy for my sister’s antics.

I pushed at her hand, forcing the blade away from my neck. Though not before she flicked her wrist, just enough to break the skin and draw a bead of blood. “Shit,” I hissed, pressing my fingertip to the nick. “Did you really just cut me? Shades, you’re a demon.” “Tell me what you did,” she snapped. “Nothing. I did nothing.” Her beautiful features contorted in rage. “Then why does Prince Zavier want you?” “How should I know?” I wiped the blood from my neck, glaring up at her as I smeared it on the underside of my sleeve. “Maybe he doesn’t like blondes.”

“Mae,” Margot chided. “You are not helping this situation.” “She did something, Mother. Tricked him or—” “Enough.” Father’s command left no room for disobedience. He released Mae and lowered to a crouch in front of me, his caramel eyes searching mine. “Tell me honestly. Have you met Zavier before this day?” “No.” I shook my head. “Never.” “Have you crossed paths with any of the Turans since they’ve arrived?” “Not once.” “Where were you today?”

There was no chance that Father would see my beloved pastime as brave rather than reckless. “I went for a hike outside. Then I went swimming.” His eyes narrowed as if he could sense the half-truth. “And?” “When I came inside, I bumped into Brother Dime outside a gallery.” “Which gallery?” “The, um…crux gallery.” “Damn your curiosity with that hall,” he snapped, nostrils flaring. I winced. “I’m sorry.”