Shield of Sparrows (Shield of Sparrows, #1)

by Devney Perry

Father sighed. “What else happened today?” “Nothing. After I saw Brother Dime, I ran upstairs to change my gown. Margot helped with my hair.” Father didn’t move. He didn’t speak. Suspicion filled his eyes, like he knew I hadn’t given him the whole truth.

“Gods.” Father sighed, dragging a palm over his jaw. “I’m sorry, Dess.” My entire body jolted. When was the last time he’d called me Dess? It had been years. And I’d never heard him apologize. The gentleness in his eyes was so foreign that my heart clenched. He hadn’t looked at me like that in, well…a long, long time. Since I was a child. Since I’d wake in the middle of the night, screaming from a nightmare, and Father would hold me until sunrise. “I’m sorry that you must do this.” “I can’t, Father. Please don’t make me.” He brushed his knuckles across my cheek. “You must.” “I don’t want to marry him. There has to be a way to undo this.” He leaned back and gave me a sad smile. “The bride prize aside, we cannot afford to anger the Turans with a refusal. And we cannot break the Shield of Sparrows, not with the crux migration upon us. Mae was to go to Turah. You must take her place. You must be the Sparrow now.”

“I can’t believe this,” I whispered. “This isn’t happening.” “Listen.” Father placed his hands on my shoulders and gave me a shake, the gentleness from a moment ago gone. “There is much to be done before tonight. Much you must learn.” “Isn’t it a bit late to start preparing me to rule a foreign kingdom?” “Odessa.” Father shook my shoulders again. “You must find the way into Allesaria before summer’s end. Then send word of how I can find and infiltrate the city.” I gaped, replaying his demand. “Wh-what?”

“Your lady’s maids will accompany you on the journey to Turah,” he said. “Invent a reason to send one or both of them back to Quentis with whatever you learn.” “Brielle and Jocelyn?” “Allesaria is your priority. Understand? It’s crucial to my plans. We cannot delay. But you must also learn everything you can about the Guardian and his powers. Find a way to kill him.” My jaw dropped. “You want me to kill the Guardian?” A murderer. A man who was rumored to slay the legendary monsters in Turah. Possibly the best fighter in Calandra. That Guardian? “Yes,” Father said. “You must try. At the very least, find out what he is capable of. No matter how many spies I’ve sent to Turah, none have been able to learn the extent of his powers or their source.” “Powers? He looks…normal.” Well, mostly normal.

Oh wow!

“D-did you plan this?” The marroweels and the mercenaries and whatever else he had in his head? He frowned. “Did you really believe that Banner’s legionnaires couldn’t kill a handful of marroweels?” So yes, he had planned this. “People died. Did you send soldiers into the Krisenth, knowing they wouldn’t return?” Say no. Please say no. I would not be able to look at him again if he’d willingly used his people as bait for some political scheme. “The marroweels have been attacking along the trade route. Every life lost has been a tragedy. Once we realized it was no longer safe, we staged the disappearance of a few ships. All the soldiers aboard came home. But the Turans don’t need to know that.”

“I don’t understand. Mae was to marry him in three months. Why not just wait for the equinox? Why bring them here now?” “I can’t wait three months. We’ve tried for years, decades, to find the way to Allesaria. From everything we can assume, the capital is deep within the Turan mountains. If so, it may be impassable for an army come winter. I wanted Mae to have enough time to find a way to breach the city and for a legion to make the journey before the snows. Otherwise, we’ll have to wait until next spring. If the crux migrate earlier than the scholars predict, I will lose my chance.” “Chance at what? At conquering Turah?” His jaw flexed. “They have something I want in that city.” “What?” “The details are not important for you to know. But it is crucial I find a way into the city before the migration. It is our only chance at stopping the crux.”

“How?” “That, I cannot explain. Not yet. But for the good of our people, you must do this. You must trust me. Find me a way into Allesaria.” “But the treaties. What about—” “Treaties can be broken, Odessa. Remember that.” The spinning in my head was back with a vengeance. “How? That would mean you’d die.” “Not necessarily.” What was he talking about? “I don’t understand.” He placed his crown back on his head. “You don’t need to.”

“How did you know that Prince Zavier would come when you hired them to kill the marroweels?” I asked. He sighed, clearly annoyed with my string of questions, but answered anyway. “We’ve gathered from different sources that he’s been traveling more frequently with his rangers. It wasn’t a guarantee but worth a chance. When we learned that the Guardian and High Priest were spotted with their group, I assumed Zavier was among them, too.” “But you didn’t anticipate a bride prize?” “That was…unexpected.”

“So you hired the Turans to kill the marroweels and brought them here so they could collect payment, knowing that Zavier would likely tag along, all in the hopes that the prince would, what? Take one look at Mae and fall desperately in love and demand they marry months earlier than planned?”

“I had hoped that he’d be open to shifting the wedding date,” he said. “That if he came here, I could persuade him to marry her sooner under the guise of strengthening our trade routes. We have worked hard to build up stores in preparation for the crux. Turah has suffered two years of drought. Their production has not been enough to sustain them through the migration. I was hoping to accelerate the wedding in exchange for increased grain shipments. Then Mae would get to sail with them this summer. She’d have more time to gain knowledge of Allesaria.” “What if the prince hadn’t come? What if he hadn’t wanted to move the wedding?” “Worst-case scenario, they’d take our gold as payment and she’d marry Zavier at the equinox.”

“Why would he choose me?” A crease formed between Father’s eyebrows. “I don’t know.” “Does he suspect Mae was going to be a spy?” “He’d be a fool not to. It’s no secret every kingdom in Calandra is curious about Allesaria’s whereabouts. But this is the only opportunity where they cannot refuse us.” An opportunity that only came with this marriage. “I didn’t think he’d dismiss Mae entirely,” Father said. “A fault in my plan.”

Mae’s lip curled. “We should have left her out of this.” “You’re probably right,” he murmured.

My hands began to shake. “I’m not a spy. I’m not a warrior. I’m sure as hell not an assassin. I can’t do this.” The last time I’d held a sword, the weapons master had shuffled me off to the infirmary because I’d sliced open my own palm. “You will,” Father commanded. “Repeat your orders.” I swallowed hard. “I am to find the way to Allesaria. Then I’m to learn about the Guardian’s powers. And if I have the chance, you want me to kill him.”

“Yes.” Father’s relief was palpable. “You can do this. You must do this. Then I will bring you home.” Impossible. When I sailed away from Quentis, I doubted I’d ever return. Especially if—when—the Turans realized I was a spy. Or when the Guardian killed me first. “You must trust me,” Father whispered. He brushed a kiss to my forehead, then stood and nodded to Margot. “Get her ready.” For my wedding. Tonight.

For the past four hours, Brielle had been racing around the castle, obeying each of my stepmother’s sharp commands without fail. But finding a blue dress in my wardrobe? Impossible. We both knew that. Brielle was simply too sweet to stand up to Margot. If Jocelyn were here, she would have told Margot from the beginning that I didn’t have a stitch of blue. Except Jocelyn had been sent to the apothecary to collect contraceptive tea for us to take on the journey. Since we’d left the throne room, Margot had done exactly as Father had instructed. With Brielle and Jocelyn’s help, she’d prepared me for both a wedding and a cross-continental move.

Contraceptive tea? To get pregnant or not get pregnant??

Greenery was woven into my hair. Brielle had pinned it into an elaborate tangle of thick braids and twists that draped down my spine. Jocelyn had powdered my cheeks with peach rouge and stained my lips pink. There was shimmer on my lids and kohl lining my lashes. Bracelets adorned both wrists, and golden floral cuffs trailed along the shells of my ears. In my twenty-three years, I’d never looked more beautiful. More like a princess.

“You’ll run out of this eventually.” Margot stuffed jars of hair dye into one of three trunks stacked against the wall. “You’ll need to find a market in Turah. Until then, wash your hair sparingly.” Prince Zavier had bargained for a brunette wife, so a brunette I would remain.

Was it good or bad that everything I owned fit into three trunks? One steward could move them all to a carriage in less than an hour.

Brielle rushed out of the closet with my palest gray dress. “This is the closest thing she has to a blue.” It wasn’t even close to blue. Certainly not the bold, vibrant colors that most brides wore on their wedding days. The dress was almost white. The color we clothed the dead. The color we wore to funerals. “Absolutely not,” Margot clipped. “It’s perfect.” I stood from the bench, and before Margot could take it from Brielle’s hand, I snagged it and carried it behind the dressing screen. “It’s not blue,” Margot said. “It’s good enough.” “We must have already packed your blue gowns.” I scoffed as I unfastened the satin robe I’d been wearing since my bath. Did she really not know I only had gray dresses? Or was she practicing the argument she’d use when Father asked why I was wearing the color of death for the ceremony?

“This dress is perfect. Mae can stab me in the back without any fabric getting in her way,” I said. “Odessa.” I couldn’t see her from behind the screen, but there probably was a frown on her face. “Let’s not be dramatic.” A crash echoed beyond the nearest wall. It sounded like a vase being smashed against the floor. I leaned past the screen and raised my eyebrows. “I’m dramatic?” She was lecturing the wrong daughter. Margot flicked her wrist. “Just get dressed.”

Clothed and ready, I stepped out from the screen, my gaze sweeping the space, stopping on the bed. The coverlet was wrinkled from where my belongings had been piled before being put into trunks. Would I get to sleep in this room again? Or would I be sharing Zavier’s bed tonight? I shuddered. “Brielle, leave us,” Margot ordered. “Yes, Majesty.” My lady’s maid curtsied and hastened to the door. She had her own packing to do if she was to accompany me to Turah. Margot waited until the door clicked shut. “You’ll need to bed him.” Shades. “Are we really having this conversation?”

“Have you been with a man before? Banner or…” When we’d gotten engaged, I’d wondered if Banner would want to have sex before the wedding. But Brielle had told me that he had a lover in the city. A woman he’d known for years. Was he still sleeping with her? The idea of him with another had never bothered me. Maybe it would have after we had married, but that was no longer an issue, was it? I’d never slept with Banner, but there’d been a boy once. When I was fifteen. A boy with freckled cheeks and an easy laugh. He’d worked in the stables. Father must have found out that I’d been sneaking him into my rooms, because one day I’d gone to visit him at the stables and he’d left the city. How much had Father paid him to leave Roslo? Certainly not a chest of gold. My value was going up. Good for me. “Yes, I’ve been with a man before,” I told Margot. “Next topic.” Did she drop it? Of course not. “Kings are powerful men. Powerful men often have…tastes.” “Margot.” I cringed. “Please stop. I beg you.”

“There’s a reason everyone looks the other way about Mae’s escapades,” Margot said. Because Mae was practicing her seduction skills? Eww. “You must please Zavier,” she said. “The happier he is with you as his wife, the less he’ll suspect ulterior motives.”

With every passing year, the secrecy surrounding Allesaria compounded. Was there really a way to save our people from the crux? What was hidden in the Turan capital that Father wanted so badly? Did other kings know? Or just Father? He certainly wasn’t the only king curious about Allesaria. People went in search of the city and never returned.

There was a reason Mae had been trained so thoroughly since she was a child. She was to be the first foreign princess to enter Allesaria. She had the chance to tear down generations of mystery. To shine a light on a kingdom that seemed content to thrive in the dark. And now that task had been given to me. Zavier wasn’t going to make it easy, was he? He’d watched us all too closely, too carefully, in the throne room. Did he suspect Father was up to something? There had to be more to this bride prize than Zavier wanting to marry someone other than Mae.

I fished out the leather journal I’d bought at the market this spring. The first page was a sketch of Margot I’d drawn after witnessing a fight she’d had with Father. Her mouth was turned down, her face weathered and her eyes brimming with tears. It was a drawing I’d never show her. It was too real. Too raw. Margot didn’t like real or raw. The second page was a drawing of Mae in the training center. Her mouth was stretched wide in a scream, her hands fisted at her sides. Sometimes I wondered if she screamed because there was so much piled on her shoulders. Maybe she’d stop now that it had been loaded to mine. Other than those couple of sketches, the pages were blank. I’d intended to fill them with drawings of Arthy or the castle or Banner or whatever else caught my eye. Instead, this book could keep my notes about Turah and the Guardian. Beneath the book was my necklace. The delicate chain was coiled neatly. As I lifted it free, the pendant glinted in the light. A wing of silver was inlaid in a circle of gold. Except it wasn’t gold. The hue was red and orange and as bright as the harvest moon. It was a symbol I’d never seen before. I’d scoured books in the library. I’d drawn it out and taken it to the docks to see if anyone recognized the design. But after all these years, it remained a mystery.

I was just walking out of the closet when the door to my rooms opened and Mae walked inside. “All finished destroying your rooms?” I asked. “So I broke a few things.” She lifted a shoulder. “How would you feel if you’d spent your entire youth preparing and hoping for something only to have it ripped out of your grasp?” “Angry.” She wasn’t alone in that emotion. I was angry, too. But did I wreck my rooms? “I want to be queen,” she said. “And I don’t. But neither of us has a choice.” Mae took in my face, my dress, my hair. “You look beautiful.” “Thank you.” She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Will you miss me? I’ll miss you.” “Yes.” I crossed the space between us, and even though I was the shorter, weaker sister, I hauled her into my arms.

“You could still be a queen. Father will plan another marriage.” To another prince in another kingdom. Mae huffed a laugh. “He’ll make me marry Banner.”

Arthy was only three. There were many years left in Father’s reign, but as he got older, he needed loyal soldiers. Margot had struggled to conceive after Mae was born. She’d had three stillborn babies in that time. But finally, before Father had found himself a new wife to give him a male heir, Margot had given birth to Arthalayus.

“You need to hug Arthy after I’m gone,” I told her. “Promise me.” “I promise.” She was horrible with promises, but maybe this was one she’d keep.

“Don’t plan to return until you have the information Father wants.” Sister time was over. Back to business. “I won’t.” “They will never trust you. Don’t be fooled by any kindness.” “Kindness is bad. Got it.” She sighed. “You’re going to make an awful spy.” “On that, we can agree.” I laughed. “Any other advice?” “Don’t die.” Mae touched the hair at my temple. “You must be ruthless, Dess.” Ruthless. We both knew that was her specialty, not mine. “I love you, Mae.” “I love you, too.”

Father’s caramel eyes assessed me from head to toe. His nostrils flared as he glanced over his shoulder to Margot. “You couldn’t find her a blue dress?” Margot’s gaze dropped to the floor. Father retrieved a glass vial and small knife from his coat pocket. Without needing his instruction, I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and held out my hand. Gods. There was no going back, was there? Not after this. Father took a firm hold of my fingers and dragged the knife across my skin. Pain lanced through my palm, spreading up my arm. Tears swam in my eyes, but I blinked them away as Father tilted my hand and filled the vial with my blood, topping it with a cork. Then he wrapped a linen cloth around the wound. Three loops and a hard knot by my knuckles, like I was a soldier being bandaged on the battlefield.

The castle’s sanctuary was stuffy and hot. The scents of smoke and incense were so potent they singed my nostrils as Father escorted me through the carved doors.

There were no windows to let in the sunlight. This sanctuary had been carved into the rocks below the castle as a place for people to worship the gods during the migration. The pews were empty tonight, but when the crux flew, the wooden benches would likely serve as both seats and beds to those who’d shelter within these walls.

Was there a stronghold in Turah? Caverns and tunnels beneath the castle in Allesaria? Was that where they were hiding the information about the crux Father was after? Maybe there wasn’t even a castle in Allesaria.

The sanctuary was illuminated by hundreds of candelabras that battled against the dark shadows. When I was a girl, I’d asked a cleric how long it took them to light all of the candles each day. He’d told me that they never extinguished the flames, only replaced the candles that burned out—that way, they’d never be lost to Oda’s gaze. When I’d asked why they didn’t just go outside to worship the Father, he scowled and summoned my tutor. I’d learned two things that day. One: the sanctuary wasn’t a great place to hide from my teachers. Two: the clerics weren’t overly fond of the sun.

I’d expected to see at least the Head Cleric tonight, this being a wedding ceremony and all, but the sanctuary was empty save for the two Voster priests already standing at the altar. Maybe their magic scared away the clerics. The pinpricks on my skin were instant. Insufferable. And Quentin weddings were often three-hour affairs. I wasn’t sure I could suffer through this sensation for that long. “Where are the clerics?” I asked, my voice low enough for only Father to hear. “There will not be a ceremony. Only the marriage decree and signing of the treaty.” “Oh.” Why did I sound disappointed? At least this would be over quickly. Though that would mean I wouldn’t have hours to delay joining Prince Zavier in his bedroom.

I shifted so close to Mae that we touched, and something hard pressed against my side. “How many knives do you have stashed in your gown?” I asked. “A few. Why? Want to borrow one for your wedding night?” she whispered. I pulled in my lips to hide a smile.

Zavier entered first, wearing the same attire he’d been in earlier. No finery or tailored coat. He looked more like one of his rangers than a prince, save for the silver circlet across his brow that glittered in the candlelight. His four warriors trailed behind him, their expressions as solid and unreadable as their leader’s. They seemed even larger than they had in the throne room. Deadlier. “Sending you to Turah is a suicide mission,” Mae murmured. There was genuine worry in her voice. “Better me than you.” I clasped her hand. Even with all her training, it would have been dangerous for Mae. “No. Better me than you.” She squeezed my hand once, then pulled away. As with hugs, Mae wasn’t the hand-holding type, either. The last to enter the sanctuary was the Guardian. He ambled, his pace slower and more deliberate than the others, like he wouldn’t be hurried down the aisle. His gaze was that hard, stony hazel. When it landed on me, the corner of his mouth turned up.

The Shield of Sparrows. My stomach did another spin. This was really happening, wasn’t it? There was no going back. The treaty was simple and unadorned. Just ink on paper in a neat, clean script. Ink. And blood. I scanned the words on the treaty, my heart sinking deeper and deeper until it was resting beside my slippers. Zavier and I would sign this with our blood, and the Voster would seal it with their magic. Turah and Quentis would be tied together by this union. By the children I’d bear.

The Turan rangers stopped beside Mae and Margot as Zavier climbed the stairs, taking his position at my side. The heat from his arm warmed mine. He smelled of soap and cedar. It was nice. Clean and woodsy. At least he didn’t stink of horses or other women. Zavier’s profile was granite, his eyes sweeping across the decree, line by line. Okay, so we were reading this now.

A King cannot kill his Sparrow, and a Sparrow cannot kill her King, either directly or indirectly, without death befalling them both.

Death. The word leaped off the parchment. Whatever magic the Voster held in their veins, when they infused it into this decree, when it mingled with our blood, I would die if I killed Zavier. Good to know.

Were the priests men? We called them the brotherhood, but had anyone asked their preference? I kept those questions inside and looked to Zavier. Unlike the others, he was still staring straight ahead at the wall. Expressionless. Was he this blasé about everything? Or just this marriage? Why claim a bride prize if you didn’t want anything to do with said bride? A low chuckle filled the room. My attention whipped to the source. The Guardian. How was any of this funny? I gave him my fiercest glare. He laughed again. Poison. I was definitely poisoning that man. Was it bad to plot someone’s murder while you were in a sanctuary for the gods? I mentally signed the Eight, just in case.

“We will begin.” The High Priest’s smooth voice was at odds with his prickling magic. Zavier turned to face me, holding out his hands. For the first time, the empty expression cracked, and he gave me a tight smile. Well, at least he wasn’t laughing. I wiped my clammy palms on my skirt before I placed them in his, one bandaged in a cloth like mine. Then I met his moss-green eyes. They were alert and assessing. He studied me as if he could read every thought racing through my mind. Maybe he could pluck out a few of my questions and give me some hints. “Odessa Cross.” As the High Priest spoke, I stood taller, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Do you vow to uphold the Shield of Sparrows with your union to Zavier Wolfe, prince and future king of Turah?”

“I, Odessa Cross, make this vow.” It came out in a rush. A whisper. “Zavier Wolfe,” the High Priest continued. “Do you vow to uphold the Shield of Sparrows with your union to Odessa Cross, princess of Quentis and future queen of Turah?” Zavier waved a hand to the Guardian. “Will you speak on his behalf?” the High Priest asked. “Yes. I speak on the prince’s behalf.” The Guardian’s baritone timbre filled the sanctuary. It was deeper than it had been in the throne room. It held an edge sharper than any of Mae’s blades. “Zavier Wolfe makes this vow.”

Not a fan of him not speaking for himself

“It is done.” My eyes flew open at Brother Dime’s statement. The High Priest was already rolling up the decree, stowing it in a black leather sleeve. Without another word, he and Brother Dime descended the altar and left the sanctuary. That was it? We were done? It was over, and I was married? There’d been no fanfare. No ceremony. No kiss. Zavier was staring at the wall again, jaw clenched like a ten-minute wedding had been too long. My husband. I was his wife. And he couldn’t look at me.

“We shall honor your marriage with a feast.” Father extended an arm toward the sanctuary’s doors, motioning for us to go first. He was usually the last to leave a room, save his guards, to ensure no one could stab him in the back. Zavier tore his gaze from the wall and settled it on Father. With a quick shake of his head, he declined the feast. Fine by me. My stomach was too twisted for food. Though the idea of wine, a lot of wine, didn’t sound so bad. Zavier stared down at me, inching closer. My heart climbed into my throat as he took my chin between his index finger and thumb, tilting it up. An expression flashed in those green eyes. Finally, he showed some emotion. Too bad I couldn’t tell what it was. Sadness, maybe? Pity? Both? He brushed his mouth across my cheek. Then he was gone, his hand falling to his side, as he looked over his shoulder to the Guardian. Like they had in the throne room, the two men shared a silent conversation. Then Zavier nodded once and walked off the altar. His rangers fell into step behind him, marching for the doors. Was I supposed to go with them? Now that this was over, who did I belong with? The Quentins? Or the Turans?

My father was a powerful king and unaccustomed to being slighted. Since Zavier had arrived, he’d refused Father at every turn. I had no envy for the person who’d be on the receiving end of his terrible mood. I really, really hoped it wouldn’t be me.

No, my plan was to ditch this dress and sneak out of the castle. Except before I could descend the altar, a low chuckle made me stop. That damn laugh was getting all too familiar. I whirled. “Yes?” The Guardian remained by the table, arms crossed over his broad chest, that signature smirk firm on his lips. “Eager to chase Zavier to his room, my queen?” Margot’s gasp filled the