Shield of Sparrows (Shield of Sparrows, #1)

by Devney Perry

“Getting ideas?” Zavier arched an eyebrow. “Maybe,” I admitted with a laugh. He grinned—not a smile, but it had the makings of one. It was as dangerous as it was attractive. “Yes, she left,” he said. “After her daughter, my grandmother’s grandmother, was born. She returned to Laine. Though not without paying a price.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked. “To set your expectations. Turah is not Quentis.” “If you wanted the strongest wife possible, you should have chosen Mae.” He stared forward, his mossy green eyes hard and unreadable. “Why do you pretend not to speak?”

“Because other leaders see it as a weakness they can exploit. It usually means they fill the silence with more than they should.” “Ah.” Smart. Something to remember as I attempted to spy.

“Why did you trust me with your secret?” It made no sense that he’d deceive Father but reveal himself to me, especially so soon. I wasn’t fool enough to believe he actually trusted his new bride. “Turans are loyal to Turans.” There was a warning in his tone.

“Why did you choose me?” Like before, he didn’t answer. If he thought I’d stop asking, he was very, very wrong. “Do you desire me?” The question slipped past my lips before I could stop it. He cleared his throat, and I could practically see his mind racing for the gentle answer. “You’re a beautiful woman.” That meant no. “So does that mean we won’t…” I couldn’t even finish the question. Which was probably good, because Zavier’s response was to walk away. “Ugh.” I sagged against the railing, my entire body flaming with embarrassment.

Brielle’s gasp filled our room. “Highness. What are you wearing?” “Pants.” Caramel leather pants. A belt, the same color, was wrapped at my waist. And my top was an ecru tunic. The slit at the collar was deep, dipping to my sternum, but with a string woven through both sides, I could lace it up. The long sleeves cuffed at my wrists, and the soft fabric was embroidered with flowers at the sides. Flowers of every color. Red, pink, blue, purple, and green. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn anything with so much color. I’d been staring at myself in the mirror for the last five minutes, hoping to find fault with these clothes. But damn it. I liked these pants.

Lol

“I like them,” I admitted. “They’re comfortable. And they’re not gray.” “If color is the issue here, I’m certain we can find you a gown in Turah. We don’t need to resort to this.” I almost laughed at the horror in her expression. All I’d seen on her face for days was sadness and sickness. “Apparently, most women in Turah dress like the men.”

“So, you’ll wear them to fit in?” she asked. “Would that be such a bad thing? Fitting in with the Turans?” She sighed. “Probably not. Do I have to wear them?” “No.” Brielle wouldn’t be in Turah long enough to conform to their style. “Good.” She walked to her bed, plopping down on its edge.

“Breakfast will be ready in an hour. The galley is in disarray this morning. One of the cabinet latches broke and everything inside was tossed during last night’s storm.”

“I figured those clothes would have been tossed overboard days ago, my queen.” The Guardian’s voice was deeper than usual. There was a husky edge, like he’d used it too much the previous night.

“Zavier said these clothes were typical for Turan women,” I said. “I thought it best I give them a try.” “You’re not a Turan.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Yes, but my husband is. He sent these to me, which you very well know, so I’ll wear them at his behest.” “The dutiful wife, aren’t you, Sparrow? At least in title.”

The entire ship rocked so hard that every person on deck lurched. “What was that?” Brielle asked at the same time the Guardian bellowed, “Eel!” Shouts filled the air as men abandoned their tasks, racing for the weapons stowed on the ship’s side walls. “To the harpoons.” The Guardian’s voice boomed around us, louder than any man’s. Any human’s. It was more like an animal’s roar. “Oh, gods.” Brielle trembled. “We’re going to die.” “We’re not going to die.” I pushed her toward the staircase. “Get below. Now.” Except before she could take the first step, the Guardian grabbed her arm and yanked her away from the stairwell. “Do you really think the safest place to be when this ship sinks is below?” he growled. “Sit down. Hold tight. Stay the fuck out of the way.”

“Go.” The Guardian’s eyes shifted from green to silver in a blink. Then he left me for the mast, climbing the ladder two steps at a time. When he reached the platform halfway up the massive post, he stared at the water, like he could see beneath the surface to the monster lurking below. “Cross!” I jumped as he bellowed my name. His back was to me. How did he know I hadn’t moved? “What about Jocelyn?” Brielle asked. “Where is she?” Shit. “I’ll get her.”

Where was Zavier? He was the marroweel killer. Was he still asleep? Well, if he was in bed, he was on his own. I needed to get Jocelyn. Only when I reached the mouth of the staircase, she was already climbing. “Hurry.” I waved her up, waiting as she hefted her own skirts higher. When she reached the top, I pushed her toward Brielle, letting her go first. I was still on my feet when the ship jolted again. And then, all I could see were my own boots and blue sky as I flew backward, landing on my ass.

I should have been prepared. I should have expected the violent lurch of the ship. I should have listened to the Guardian when he told me to hold tight. I should not even be on this godsforsaken ship. And I wasn’t, not anymore. My boots lost purchase, and my spine slammed into the railing before I toppled into the water with a splash. The cold was a shock, stealing the breath in my chest. Then came the tug from the currents of the waves and the ship, both pulling me away. Pulling me deep.

Oh jeez!

When I gasped another breath, a screech rang out, and the marroweel dove into the water, abandoning the ship. My heart stopped beating. I was in the ocean with a marroweel. This was how I would die. “Gods, save me.” “Swim!” The Guardian appeared at the railing, his focus on me as other men clustered around him, all armed for when the marroweel surfaced again. I scanned the waves, searching for an iridescent fin or a flash of sapphire scales or razor teeth. But I was alone, and the ship was sailing away. “Damn it, Cross.” The Guardian slammed his fists on the railing. “Swim!”

OMG!!!!!

“Let’s go!” He slammed another fist on the rail, and for a moment, I wanted to scream back that I was trying. Except he wasn’t talking to me. He was yelling at the men. A crewman appeared with a harpoon in one hand, its rope in the other. The Guardian backed away until he was out of view. Then came the harpoon, flying through the air with the rope streaming behind it, a line of brown against the bright sky. I gasped, certain it was going to sink into my flesh, when the pointed tip disappeared into the water beside my leg. The rope dragged along my arm, and I grabbed it with both hands, holding tight as it pulled me through the water. My chest slammed into the waves, cresting their peaks, as the men on board hauled me faster and faster toward the Cutter. I was going to make it. Twenty yards. Fifteen. Something hard brushed against my leg. Something sharp. “No.” Wet warmth spread between my thighs as my bladder loosened. Never in my life had I felt this kind of fear. It was down there, below my body. I couldn’t see it, but it was coming. It would not let me reach that ship.

“Hold.” The Guardian’s command tore me from the dread. When I looked to the ship, his silver eyes were waiting. His harpoon was raised, his face eerily calm as he stared past the weapon’s point. There was a spraying noise behind me, the same sound a ship made as its hull cut through the sea. But it wasn’t a ship on my heels. It was death. If I was going to die, I didn’t want my last sight to be rows of teeth, so I stayed locked on the Guardian. He might be a jackass, but at least he was handsome. There were worse things to behold at the end of a life than a nice face.

Ten yards. I was so close. So, so close. And too far away. “Now.” On his command, the rope in my hands tugged hard, and I was yanked from the water so fast my stomach dropped. A scream tore from my throat. But I wasn’t the only being screaming. The marroweel flew out of the water, mouth wide as it stretched to devour me whole. The screech coming from its throat was so loud it rippled across my skin. I closed my eyes, my hands raw and throbbing as they began to slip from the rope. My grip loosened, the strength of my fingers faltering. But instead of falling into the monster’s waiting jaws, I crashed on the Cutter’s deck. My body crumpled as I toppled to the side. “Don’t let it drop,” the Guardian shouted. “Haul it in.”

Blue scales. Inches from my feet. “Ah!” I scrambled away, slipping and sliding along the deck as my gaze raked over the monster, following spine to neck to head. A head skewered with a harpoon. “Highness.” Brielle and Jocelyn dropped to my side, both sobbing as they helped me to my knees. Brielle wrapped her arms around my shoulders, crying into my soaked shirt. “I thought you were dead.” “So did I,” I whispered, my breaths coming in ragged pants.

The Cleaver approached, gliding along the Cutter too fast to stop, but close enough that Zavier could leap from one ship to the other. His face was hard, his expression unreadable as he took in the dead marroweel and the crew hauling its rear half from the water. The Guardian had his hands on his hips, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths. Zavier scanned the deck, finding me in the fray. His entire body sagged. Then he looked to the Guardian again and gave him a nod. The Guardian nodded back. “Zavier.” One of his warriors waved him over to where a man was lying on his back, blood seeping onto the deck. A shard of wood from the ruined starboard side of the ship was lodged in his thigh. Zavier. They didn’t call him Prince or Highness. The Guardian appeared, hauling me to my feet, and oh, he was pissed. “Leave us,” he barked to Brielle and Jocelyn.

The silver in his eyes swirled to melting metal. He bent into my face, leaning in so close our noses nearly touched. “When I give you an order, you obey.” “I’m sorry.” My apology only seemed to make him angrier. That buzzing I’d felt in Roslo, the simmering rage, boiled to the surface. “If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to hide, you hide. If I tell you to hop on one foot and pat your hair, then you. Fucking. Hop. Do we have an understanding?” “No.”

Not when I’d already lost so much. He blinked, clearly having expected a different answer. “What did you say?” “No.” I squared my shoulders, using my last shred of strength, and lifted my chin. “I will listen when it’s a matter of safety for myself. For other people. I will do my best to ‘stay the fuck out of the way.’ But I will not bend to your every whim. I will not humiliate myself because you deem me insignificant. If you wanted me to stay quiet, then you should have let that marroweel kill me. I am not one of your warriors to lead. I am not your wife to command. So no, we do not have an understanding.”

But before I disappeared below, I paused, twisting to speak over my shoulder. “Thank you for saving my life.” Someday, if I had the chance, I’d repay that favor by taking his.

“Hungry?” An apple slice on a dagger’s blade was thrust in my face. “No.” I pushed the Guardian’s hand away, my stomach turning. He popped that slice into his mouth, the fruit crunching as he chewed. His eyes were hazel today. Maybe that was their normal shade. I preferred the vivid, bold colors. It made it easier to remember that he wasn’t a normal man. “Don’t tell me you get sick at the sight of just a little blood?” he asked. “I’d hardly consider a bucket’s worth ‘just a little blood.’”

Then he swept the bucket from the floor, carrying it to the ship’s edge to pour out. I’d expected a stream of crimson, but the liquid wasn’t red. It was a shade of the darkest green that reminded me of the Voster’s eyes. A shiver crept down my spine. Uh… Shouldn’t that blood be red? The marroweels on the docks had bled red. Why was this one different? Fresh droplets fell from the monster’s snout, splattering on the deck’s boards, a few leaping out toward my slippers. I jumped backward a step before those splatters stained the hem of my dress. After yesterday’s swim, my boots, pants, and tunic needed a thorough wash. They’d been hung to dry, but they were all stiff with salt. So I was back to gray gowns and flat slippers for now. But not for long.

“That blood isn’t red.” “Very observant, Cross.” I frowned. “The blood of the female marroweels Zavier killed and left in Roslo was red. Why does this one bleed green? Why are its eyes white, not black? Is it a male or something? A different type of monster?” The Guardian stared at the monster, crossing his arms over his chest. “It is a male.”

“It should have killed me,” I said. “In the water, I felt something brush against my leg. It should have eaten me then and there. Why didn’t it?” “My guess? It was focused on the ship. With the commotion, it didn’t even realize you were in the water until it touched you with its tail.” “I don’t think I’m that lucky. Daria has never been a goddess on my side.” “Then be grateful she was yesterday.” Thank you, Daria. “You’re a fast swimmer,” I said. “Are you going to keep stating the obvious today? Because I do have other obligations.”

“Why didn’t you jump into the water to rescue me? Wouldn’t that have been faster?”

His eyebrows lifted. “Shall I consult with you first the next time you’re nearly devoured by a marroweel to make sure the way in which you are spared from its jaws is acceptable?” “I didn’t mean—” I shook my head. I was too tired and too frazzled to articulate my thoughts, so I wasn’t even going to try. “Sorry. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. Thank you, again, for saving my life.” He frowned but gave me a single nod. “Why keep its body? Why not dump it overboard and save us all the stench?” “Those scales are valuable. We’ll dispose of it once they’re harvested.” “Oh.” I glanced toward the ocean. “Should I be worried about another marroweel attack?” “It’s unlikely. Though there are other beasts to fear on the Krisenth besides marroweels.” “Like you?”

“Not all monsters are born from the gods, my queen. Some of us were made.”

“Where is Zavier?” “The Cleaver.” “Is that where he stays?” It hadn’t really occurred to me to ask before today.

“Curious about Zavier’s whereabouts, Sparrow? Why don’t you ask him where he sleeps?” I’d walked right into that reply. “Maybe I’m hoping he just shows me someday.” I batted my eyelashes and gave him my sweetest smile. A throat cleared from over my shoulder. The Guardian’s smirk meant it could only be one person. I turned and found Zavier waiting. “My room shares a wall with yours,” he said. “My rangers stay on the Cleaver. I was training with them yesterday when the marroweel attacked.” “Ah.”

“Don’t worry, my queen. We’ll keep you safe,” the Guardian said. “Especially if you stay. On. The. Fucking. Ship.”

“I want a sword,” I blurted. The Guardian, predictable as ever, let out a dry laugh. “Would you know what to do with a sword?”

“I’ve had training with our weapons master.” It was nothing like the training Mae had received, probably because he’d given up on me years ago, but training was training. There had to be some lessons that had lingered, right? “I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Zavier said.

“I’ll be fine.” I planted my hands on my hips. “And I insist. You warned me Turah is dangerous. The least you can do is arm me against that danger.” Zavier’s mouth pursed in a thin line.

He stared at me, his expression unreadable. Damn. He was definitely going to say no. The hilt of a sword appeared in front of my face. The Guardian held it by the blade, his fingers pinching on the smooth metal to avoid the sharpened edges. “Take it.” Wait. He was giving me his sword? “Um, okay.” The slice on my palm from the wedding fiasco was still wrapped, the scabs ripped open by the rope yesterday, so I gripped the sword’s handle past my bandage. The indentations in the handle were too large for my hand, but I did my best to fit my fingers into the worn grooves.

“Lift it up,” he ordered. I fisted it with both hands and raised it into the air, making it as high as my waist. “Heavy?” the Guardian asked. “You know it is.” I shot him a glare, using all of my strength to keep it from dropping again. “Now what?” “Now, you hold it.” He hooked a finger under the tip, lifting it until it was poised at his neck. “Right here.” Ah. So this was some sort of a test. “That’s it?” The corner of his mouth turned up. “For now.”

“Getting tired, Sparrow?” the Guardian asked. “No,” I lied. “I’m hearing that word a lot from you lately.” “Get used to it.” Sweat beaded at my temples. My arms started to shake. “You can stop, Odessa,” Zavier said. I shook my head. “I can hold it.” “You’ll drop it on your toe.” “I’m fine.”

The Guardian moved so fast I never saw him shift until it was too late. One moment, the sword was aimed at his throat. The next, he’d hit the blade, forcing it out of my hands and into the air, toppling end over end until the hilt crashed into his waiting grip. Then the blade was aimed at another throat. Mine. I gulped as the cold metal touched the underside of my chin. “Your former fiancé must not have a big sword.” The Guardian’s eyes flashed emerald green, the innuendo dripping from his tone.

Lol

Then I faced Zavier. “Well?” He looked to the Guardian so they could have another of their unspoken conversations. Zavier sighed and nodded. “Fine. We’ll get you a sword.” Hopefully it was one that I could actually swing. “Thank you.” I walked away before he could change his mind, hiding my smile as I crossed the deck.

“It’s spreading.” Zavier’s voice was quiet. “I know,” the Guardian murmured. What was spreading? The marroweels? Did that mean the Chain of Sevens wasn’t going to keep them from the Krisenth? That Father’s ships would still be in danger? “Arming her is probably a bad idea.” Her. Me. “Probably,” the Guardian said. I inched back, sure they’d turn and find me eavesdropping. A good princess would have hastened below before she could get caught. But I wasn’t a good princess. “You realize she’s going to try to kill you,” Zavier told him.

“Do you really think arming her is smart?” Zavier asked. The Guardian laughed. “I’ve had worse ideas.” As they walked up the stairs to the quarterdeck, moving to the stern, I slunk down the stairs. And spent the rest of the day with Brielle and Jocelyn, hiding in our room.

I’d stripped out of my sleep shirt, about to pull the dress on over my underclothes, when something caught my attention from the corner of my eye. A pile of clothes sitting beside the door. The locked door. “Did you put those there?” I pointed toward the folded stack, knowing that Brielle wouldn’t have done it, but I asked anyway. “No.” Would my room in Allesaria have a better lock? I walked over to collect the pile. Another tunic, this one embroidered with green leaves along the sleeves. Another pair of leather pants, this time in dark brown. And a set of boots that hadn’t taken a swim in the ocean, made from the same strange, scale-textured black leather. Apparently, seeing me in my gray dress two days ago hadn’t been to Zavier’s liking.

“You’re not wearing those pants again, are you, Highness?” Brielle gave me a look of horror as I unfolded the tunic and pulled it over my head. “If I had been in a gown the other day, I wouldn’t have been able to swim as fast. Besides, I like them.” Her face soured. “You do? But they’re so…male.” None of the men on the Cutter had embroidered tunics. Something she would have realized if she’d left this room. Not that I was going to force her out.

“You’ll see land soon enough, Sparrow. We’ll reach Turah before midday.” The Guardian stood behind me, leaning against the ship’s wall, ankles crossed. He was like having a giant, burly shadow. Did this man have nothing else to do but pester me whenever I came up for air? Couldn’t I have a moment of peace? “I see you got my delivery.” “Stop breaking into my room.” “What’s that word you like so much?” He tapped his chin, pretending to think it over. “No.”

“You need a shave.” It was an absurd comment. His facial hair was absolutely none of my business, but as always, where he was concerned, whatever thought crossed my mind came out of my mouth. “Do I, my queen?” He reached for the dagger strapped against his ribs, taking it out of its sheath. He tossed it up, a quick flip in the air before catching it by the blade. Then he held it out, handle first, for me to take.

“Here’s your chance. Go ahead. Go for the throat.” I gulped. Was he really telling me to try to kill him? Was this another test? “Are you going to give me a shave or not?” he asked. I forced my eyes away from his neck as a flush crept into my face. “I’m not your valet. Do it yourself.” He dropped his chin, and our gazes clashed, his amused, mine annoyed. “We’ll start with small weapons. There are no swords on board that you’ll be able to wield, so we’ll start your training with that dagger.” “Whoa.” I lifted my free hand, palm out. “What do you mean, ‘we’?” “You asked to be armed in case of danger. We can give you a weapon, but it won’t do much good if you don’t know how to use it.” “Wait. You are training me?” No. Absolutely not. “Someone has to.”

“This was your idea,” he quipped. “Unless you’ve changed your mind. Am I interrupting your napping schedule? Should we reschedule for another time?” Like he’d said, I should have gone for his throat. “No.” I plastered on my fakest smile. “Now would be lovely.” “Lovely,” he mimicked. “First lesson, don’t let me take that knife.”