Shield of Sparrows (Shield of Sparrows, #1)

by Devney Perry

Poison was too good for the Guardian. Too easy. I was going to kill that man with my own two hands. Maybe a knife sliced across his throat while he was sleeping. Or an arrow shot straight through his heart while he was enjoying his midday meal. Whatever fury he saw in my eyes only made that arrogant grin widen. He shoved off the table, not sparing my father a glance as he passed me for the stairs. “Enjoy your last night in Quentis, Sparrow. We sail at dawn.”

Nerves churned in my stomach like the waves slapping against the piers. At least, I thought it was nerves. Maybe I was just hungry. My wedding feast had been canceled, not that I’d been upset to miss a formal dinner. But any dinner would have been nice. Instead, Father had taken me to his private study for spy lessons, and the meal had been forgotten entirely. So had sleep. He’d kept me in his study all night, poring over maps and the information he’d gathered about Turah. He’d gone on and on and on about his theories of Allesaria’s location until an hour ago, when Margot had come to collect me to change out of my wedding gown and into a dress suitable for travel.

Where was everyone? Where were Father and Margot and Mae and Arthalayus? They were coming, right? They wouldn’t let me leave without a farewell, would they? That I even had to wonder made my nose sting with the threat of tears. It was the exhaustion. The hunger. I was on the brink of an emotional meltdown, and all I could hope for now was that I could have it alone.

To hell if my hands would smell like fish. I reached for a scale, its size similar to my thumbnail, and traced along the bright-blue surface to the turquoise tip. I gasped as a jolt of pain shot through my finger and jerked my hand away to see a bead of blood. “Those scales are as sharp as their teeth.” A deep, rumbling voice came from over my shoulder. I shot to my feet and spun. Behind me, the Guardian leaned against a wooden post. Where had he come from? How had I not heard him approach? I must have missed it while inspecting the marroweel. That, or he could disguise his footsteps when it suited him best. Maybe he could levitate like the High Priest. I made a mental note to watch out for it later—and to watch my back. Besides the two of us, the dock was empty. He’d either dismissed my guard or chased him away. “Morning, my queen.” The corner of the Guardian’s mouth turned up as I wiped the blood from my finger on the skirt of my dress. He shoved off the post and walked closer. Too close. He towered over me, staring down with those ever-changing eyes. Today, they were a vibrant green, like emeralds. “Have you ever seen one before?” “No.” “Aren’t they beautiful?” He passed me, his strides long and unhurried as he walked from one marroweel to another to another. Down the entire line until he’d reached the last, the largest. His movements were too fluid, too graceful, to be entirely human.

The Guardian placed his hand on the monster’s side and stroked its scales. I tensed, expecting him to withdraw a bloody palm, but his hand was unmarred as he pulled away to face me with that annoying smirk. “Nice crown.” I should have given it to that merchant with the fish. “Thank you.” I plastered on a sweet smile. “Is that what you’ve put in your trunks? Crowns and jewels?” “My belongings are none of your business.” I crossed my arms over my chest, raising my chin as he walked my way, his boots a steady drum on the dock’s boards.

He was so tall that my eyes were level with his heart, and to keep his gaze, I had to tilt up my face. As I did, his eyes shifted to the brightest of greens, like a Quentis meadow after a spring rain. Those eyes were dazzling. Terrifying. A shiver rolled down my spine. This man was a murderer. He shouldn’t have such enchanting eyes. My guard shouldn’t have left me alone. “Our ships are not known for their royal finery. How ever will you survive the crossing?” he taunted. I shrugged. “I’m certain that if my husband can endure days without his royal finery, I’ll manage just fine. No need to concern yourself with my well-being. In fact, maybe it would be best if you forgot about me completely. I’d rather not associate with a killer.” The way his eyes narrowed, that smirk faltering, he had to know I was talking about Banner’s brother.

The Guardian’s gaze dragged over my face, lingering so long I fought the urge to squirm. “You look tired. Long night? I hope you weren’t up late saying farewell to your fiancé.” “Also none of your business.” “Isn’t it? You’re married to the heir to the Turan throne. Your children will be of his line. I’d say that I have every right to be concerned with the seed you allow between your legs.” My face flamed, my jaw dropping as I stepped away like I’d been struck. “You did not say that to me.” He lifted a shoulder. This. Asshole. “Who do you think you are?” His answer was to lean in so close I caught his scent. It was masculine and spicy, like leather and citrus. It was an ocean breeze and fresh earth and heavy rain.

His hand snaked around my waist, spinning me so fast that I gasped. Then, with a shove against my spine, he urged me forward. Or tried to urge me forward. My toe caught on a deck board, and I lost my balance, staggering to the side and nearly crashing into a marroweel’s corpse. Except the Guardian gripped my arm before I could collide with those pointed scales. He grabbed the exact place where Margot had held me yesterday. There were no bruises yet, but it was tender. A whimper escaped my throat, and he released me instantly, taking a step away. I shook off the pain in my arm and straightened, leveling him with a glare. “What is it that you want? To embarrass me? To intimidate me?” “Perhaps.”

“Then I guess I’m trapped between two monsters.” “You have no idea how accurate that statement is,” he muttered, stepping closer. “Your arm. Are you all right?” “It’s fine.” I waved it off. “Just an injury from earlier.” He frowned, looking like he wanted the details of that injury. But instead of asking, he reached for my hair, plucking the end of a loose curl off my shoulder.

The moment the lock was between his fingers, his nostrils flared, like he could smell the dye. With a sneer, he dropped it and wiped his fingers on his pants. He turned and walked away, snapping his fingers at me like I was a dog that needed to heel. “Come along, Sparrow. You’re late.”

Father, Margot, and Mae stood in a line dockside beside the Turan ships. Their spines were stiff, posture perfect with hands clasped and crowns gleaming in the faint rays of dawn. They’d come to say goodbye. The relief at seeing them was so great it knocked the wind from my lungs and drove my feet to a stop. They came. On the walk back from the marroweels, I’d convinced myself it didn’t matter if they skipped this send-off. That I wouldn’t be hurt, knowing that Father had promised to bring me home when my spying was complete.

She slowed our pace, nearly dragging me backward so we wouldn’t reach Father and Margot so soon. “Be careful around the Guardian.” “You think?” I deadpanned. “I hadn’t considered he might be dangerous.” “I’m serious. You must always be on guard. And you must not trust them. Father needs to find Allesaria.” “Wait.” I pulled her to a stop and waited until she faced me. “Do you know what he’s planning?” “Of course.”

“You can do this,” Mae said, lowering her voice. “Get to Allesaria. Send word as soon as possible. And while you’re at it, cut out the Guardian’s heart.” There was the beloved sister I knew. “You make assassination sound so simple,” I muttered, facing forward. I was met with a molten silver gaze from the man standing on the middle ship’s deck. The Guardian glared at me so intensely that a tremble rocked me on my heels. There was no way he could have overheard us from that far away, but the way he sneered, the way his jaw clenched, made me wonder if he’d heard every word. Gods. Was that one of his powers? Margot stepped in front of me, blocking the Guardian from sight as she put her hands on my shoulders. “Be careful.” “I will.” She pulled me into a hug, speaking into my ear. “You are strong, Odessa. Stronger than you realize.” Margot had been the only mother I’d ever known, but she wasn’t a woman to deliver praise. It was as foreign as it was welcome, like a raindrop to a dying plant.

Father took Margot’s place, standing before me with his strong hands on my shoulders. With a jerk of his chin, he sent Margot and Mae away, leaving us alone. His caramel eyes held mine, as gentle as I’d ever seen. If it was an act, too, I refused to believe it. “You can do this.” “I’ll try.” I gave him a sad smile. “For you.” His large frame deflated as he wrapped me in his arms. “I’ve made so many mistakes as your father. I’m sorry. Your mother would be so disappointed in me.”

“Remember all that I told you,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “I will.” “Good.” He loosened his hold, but before he could let me go, I held him tighter. “Can you really save us from the crux? Will you break the Shield of Sparrows?” This was my only chance to ask. I doubted he’d tell me, but I had to try. “I will try. But I must get into Allesaria before the migration.” “Why? What is in the city that you’re looking for? If you tell me, maybe I could help find it.” “That burden is not for you to carry.” No, but he’d given it to Mae. “How is it even possible? I read the treaty. If you invade, you’ll be going against its stipulations.” There weren’t many noted in detail, but that had been a definite rule. “You’re the king of Quentis. You’ll die.” “I have no intention of dying. Not any time soon.” “But—” “No more questions.”

“I’m asking for your trust, Odessa. Do I have it?” I gave him mine but didn’t get his in return. It wasn’t fair. But I spoke without hesitation. “Yes.” He closed his eyes, relief tempering his features. “Good.”

He cupped my face with a hand, his thumb tracing along my cheek. His gaze shifted to my hair, to the crown. “I never should have allowed Margot to dye your hair. The red was your mother’s.” “You told me.” A long, long time ago. When I was a little girl and he hadn’t forgotten Mother yet. “Be that as it may, the brown suits you.” He kissed my forehead, then shifted to the side, elbow extended to escort me to the center ship.

“Highness.” Brielle rushed to my side, her cheeks flushed and her straight brown hair escaping the knot at her nape. After a quick bob, she motioned to the rear of the ship. “Come with me. Jocelyn is waiting. I was told we were to stay out of the way.” Meaning she was told to keep me out of the way.

“How long have you been here?” I asked Jocelyn. “Not long,” she said. “I’ve been belowdecks, situating our room.” “Our room?” “The man who helped me aboard said we’d all be staying together.” So I wouldn’t be sharing quarters with Zavier. “Fine by me.” “Last night. Was it…” Brielle looked behind us, ensuring we were alone. “Was it unpleasant?”

“He hasn’t asked for me to join him in bed yet, and I have no plans to until he does.” “Oh.” She opened her mouth like she was going to say something else, then closed it with a click.

“Have you seen him? The prince?” I asked. “No, Highness,” Jocelyn said. Maybe Zavier had chosen another boat. Maybe, if Daria, the Goddess of Luck, was on my side—she rarely was—the Guardian would have slipped onto that other boat, too.

“There’s my mother.” Jocelyn pointed toward a woman standing apart from the others. Her hair was the same wavy blond as her daughter’s. “She made me promise to return.”

“Is your family here?” I asked Brielle. She swallowed hard, shaking her head. “No, Highness. With such short notice, all I could do was send them a letter.” Her parents had a farm in Quentis. It was enough to sustain them and her brother’s family, but she’d had to leave for work in the city. And their farm was too far away for word to reach them in less than a day. Maybe I should have insisted on taking Mae’s lady’s maids instead. They’d known for over a year that they’d be leaving Quentis. They’d had time to prepare. In the whirlwind since the throne room, I hadn’t thought to challenge Father and Margot’s orders that Brielle and Jocelyn were to accompany me to Turah. This bride prize, this godsforsaken marriage, had disrupted more lives than just my own. “I’m sorry.” She lifted a shoulder. “It’s not your fault.” “I’m still sorry.” “Thank you.” Her voice wobbled as she sniffled.

Jocelyn raised one hand in the air, waving to her mother, while the other covered her mouth and her quiet sobs. She sniffled as more tears streaked down her cheeks. This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking fair. “I promise to send you home,” I told her. “You’ll see Quentis again.” There was a very real chance I’d break that vow. It was cruel to make a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep. I made it anyway. Father wasn’t the only person I’d fail if I didn’t find the way into Allesaria. I couldn’t leave Brielle and Jocelyn trapped in a foreign kingdom, separated from their families indefinitely.

The crowd on the docks shifted as my father turned and strode toward his waiting horse. Margot and Mae retreated to their carriage. I watched them leave, trailing along the street, protected by their guards, until they were swallowed up by the city. They’d follow the streets that wound past white buildings to the castle. They’d return to their life, while I sailed into mine. The soldiers left next, followed by the merchants, who filtered to their stalls. To the work that would consume them until dusk and put food on their tables. Only one person remained on the docks as we sailed out of Roslo Bay. Jocelyn’s mother. She kept waving. She never stopped. Her arms had to be tired, but she kept waving to her daughter.

It was too hard to watch her mother and that wave, to see Jocelyn wave back another minute, so I looked to my cliffside. I’d expected to find it empty, but a lone rider sat on his horse at the top. A man dressed in a teal uniform, riding a buckskin stallion. Banner. I lifted my arm in the air. He did the same.

That was sweet!

I pulled the crown from my hair, blinking my eyes dry. “You’ll need other clothes.” A man’s deep, rumbling voice startled me with a jolt. I whirled, nearly dropping my crown as I expected to find the Guardian lurking. But it was Zavier. How long had he been standing there? And when the hell had he learned to talk? “Most women in Turah dress like the men.” He joined me at the rail. “They find pants to be more practical for daily living. Even in Perris courts, ladies typically only wear gowns for parties.”

“You can speak.” “Just because I don’t talk doesn’t mean I can’t.” He grinned. It was less of a smirk than that of the Guardian’s, but it was just as arrogant and infuriating. “Welcome aboard the Cutter, Odessa Wolfe.”

Odessa Wolfe. I hated it. Loathed it with every fiber of my being. Maybe he could sense that. Maybe this was his game, to strip me of everything that was me. Well, I wasn’t playing. They couldn’t strip me of anything if I did it myself. “Here.” I thrust my crown into his hands. “This should feed an entire family for years.” Zavier studied the gold and amber jewels, his forehead furrowing. I didn’t wait for his reply. I crossed the stern and hoped the pitiful splash I heard behind me wasn’t my crown being tossed into the ocean.

The Cutter. The Cannon. The Cleaver. Apparently, when naming ships, the Turans stuck to weaponry. And they were oh-so-proud of those names. CUTTER was inlaid into the dining table in my room. Each chair had a brass plate with the name. And it was painted in swirly, beige script on the wood above the rear windows.

Jocelyn hadn’t fully unpacked my trunks. She’d only taken out a few dresses to hang on the row of hooks beside the door. I’d planned to wear a simple gray dress today—like all days. Except there was a folded pile of clothes on the floor, right inside the door. The locked door. At some point while I’d been asleep, someone, on my husband’s errand, had broken into my room to bring me clothing. To bring me boots. To bring me pants. I didn’t wear pants. Ever. My last name, my home, my crown, and my family were gone, but damn it, I wasn’t going to lose my clothes, too. I was a woman who liked dresses, even if they were gray. Those pants could rot.

The drab gray dress, the brown hair, the scuffed slippers, and the warm necklace. My wardrobe might be dull and boring, but it was a sliver of normalcy in this sea of uncertainty. I tucked the pendant beneath the neckline of my gown, settling it over my sternum. Since Zavier seemed to hold no interest in my body or consummating this marriage, it would be perfectly safe between my breasts. I walked toward the pile of clothes and boots and swept them into a corner. If the Turans really wanted me to wear pants, they could knock before entering my room.

“The crew just swabbed. Try not to hurl on the deck, my queen.” He really needed to stop calling me that. My lip curled at that familiar deep voice. Last night, I’d mistaken Zavier’s voice for the Guardian’s. But they were as different as the green sails against the blue sky. Zavier wasn’t nearly as condescending. Did the Guardian’s powers include sensing moods? Had he felt that I was almost enjoying myself, so he’d come to ruin my happy moment? “Don’t you have anyone else to pester?” I asked as he came to stand at my side. “No.” And there came the smirk. It was more arrogant than ever.

He stood too close, so I inched away. It only made that smirk widen. Gods, I wanted to slap him. Probably not a great idea, considering he was a murderer of innocent men, but the urge was overwhelming. The men in my life didn’t smirk. Father scowled. Banner would never lower himself to anything so unrefined. And the guards at the castle had been trained to keep neutral expressions. The Guardian smirked like he’d invented the gesture. Only half of his mouth turned up into what some might consider a crooked grin, and it could have been a smile if not for the way his eyes narrowed. The man oozed scorn and superiority.

“Nice dress.” His gaze raked over my body in slow perusal, head to toe. “Didn’t want to try those clothes I left you this morning?” “You came into my room?” My knuckles turned white as my grip tightened on the ship’s rail. There’d be crescents in the wood from my fingernails before this conversation was finished. “The door was locked.” “Was it? My mistake.”

“I thought I’d smelled something foul in the air when I woke up. Must have been you.” That smirk stretched into an actual smile with straight, white teeth. “You snore, Cross.” Cross. Not Wolfe. He probably meant it as an insult. That I hadn’t earned the Turan royal name yet. But I didn’t want to be a Wolfe, so if this prick wanted to call me Cross, I wasn’t going to object. “I do not snore.” I definitely snored. It happened whenever I was overtired, like I had been last night. There were times when I snored so loudly, I’d wake myself up. Not that I’d ever admit it to him.

Before I could excuse myself to go below, he planted his hands on the rail beside mine and, in one fluid swing, leaped overboard. My jaw dropped as he plummeted into the water, disappearing beneath its waves. I scanned the deck, expecting to find shocked faces from anyone else, but the men kept on working like this was normal. Like someone didn’t need to throw him a rope before we left him behind.

“There.” An arm appeared in my periphery, outstretched toward the Cleaver. Zavier took the place where the Guardian had been standing and pointed to the other ship’s hull. To where a man who’d leaped off this boat only moments ago was already climbing up a rope and onto the other. No mortal man could swim that fast. “What is he?” I whispered. Zavier dropped his arm, eyes still locked on the Guardian. He didn’t answer my question. “Good morning, Odessa.” “Good morning,” I said, glancing between the prince and the Cleaver.

Zavier held out a hand, motioning me toward the quarterdeck, up the stairs to the stern where we’d stood last night. Where we could talk alone.

“Did you rest?” he asked as we settled against the railing, eyes trained to where we’d been, not where we were going. I shrugged. “A little.” He hummed, staring in the direction of Quentis. There was a layer of stubble on his face that contoured the hard lines of his jaw. There was a sword strapped to his back. Knives at his belt. The warrior prince. There were dark circles under his eyes, like he’d been awake all night.

“Have you ever made the Krisenth Crossing?” he asked, leaning his forearms on the railing to stare out over the sea. “I’ve never been on a ship.” Father had taken a trip to

“This passage is not for the weak. How’s your stomach?” “Not weak.” “Good.” “My lady’s maids, on the other hand, are struggling.” “Warn them that it will only get worse. I made the crossing once with a man from Genesis. He’d never been on a ship before and spent the entire trip hurling out a window.”

“Have you ever traveled beyond Quentis?” he asked. “No. This is a first.” My life had been spent in Roslo with the occasional visit to other Quentin towns. Quentis was the smallest and southernmost kingdom in Calandra. It was bordered on three sides by the Marixmore Ocean. On the fourth, our eastern border with Genesis, was a chasm. The Evon Ravine.

“How long will it take to reach Turah?” I asked. “Eight to nine days, depending on the weather. We’ve got provisions for two weeks in case of an emergency.” “Is that why you brought three ships, not one? In case of an emergency?” I looked to the Cleaver, then the Cannon. Three ships felt unnecessary. Unless maybe it wasn’t enough. “How many ships did you leave Turah with?” “Six.” My jaw dropped. Half hadn’t made the crossing. “Marroweels?” “And a storm,” he said. “Gods.” I signed the Eight. “Are you frightened?” “Yes.” I was too tired to deliver a decent lie. “Good,” he murmured. “You should be. So am I.”

“When it comes to monsters, safety is an illusion. The High Priest believes the females have chosen the Krisenth to lay their eggs. Why, no one knows. With seven dead, it should reduce their population. Make their attacks less frequent.”

“So, yes,” he said. “It is safer now than it was.” Well, that didn’t make me feel safe in the slightest. “How did you kill them when they attacked?” “The ships are armed with harpoons and spears.”

“It’s unlikely we’ll be attacked,” he said. “We have more to fear from a storm.”

“We baited them, Odessa,” he said. “At most, a sailor will see one marroweel in the span of ten years on this journey. Finding seven was intentional.” Right. Baited per my father’s request. Baited seven so he could claim his bride prize. “Why me?” I blurted. “Why did you want to marry me?” If we were going to be tied together, I wanted an answer. Except Zavier stayed quiet, leaning his elbows against the railing, his tall, strong body bent in half. His gaze affixed to the horizon. “You’re really going to ignore me, huh?” The corners of his mouth turned up. It wasn’t even close to a full smile, but there was promise there. He was already good-looking, but he’d probably be devastating with a smile. Maybe it was safer if he didn’t. The last thing I needed was to fall for my husband and let down my guard. “I must warn you, Turah is not like Quentis,” he said. “Because the women wear pants?” The joke earned me another handsome half smile. “Clothing choices aside, Turah is rugged and vast. We’ve got a long way to travel once we reach its shores.”

“Quentis has never sent a Sparrow to Turah. Not in three hundred years. It’s been the other way around, but in the past nine marriages, never this way.” The arrangements depended on the heirs each generation produced. Their ages. Their genders. Their kingdoms. Our parents didn’t care much about love or preference. If a prince was in love with another, he’d still be forced to marry a princess and produce an heir. If a princess was ten years older than the prince, they’d marry as long as she could still bear a child.

“The last Sparrow to come to Turah was from Laine,” he said. “That was over a hundred years ago. She came and didn’t stay long.” Um…what? “She left?”