Shield of Sparrows (Shield of Sparrows, #1)

by Devney Perry

The Guardian stared at me like I’d sprouted bat wings. “What?” “Nothing.” “Something,” I hissed. “Stop looking at me like that. You told me not to let you take the knife. This is me doing that.” “Maybe we should have started with something simpler. Like walking.” I fought the urge to stick out my tongue. “I’m not used to wearing shoes with thick soles.” “Should I send for your slippers?” “No,” I gritted out, backing away again as he advanced, this time a full step. His eyes narrowed, his features hardening. And when he moved again, it was a blur. The knife flew out of my hand before I even registered the sting in my wrist. Then I was falling, landing on my ass with a hard thump. Ow. “You tripped me? Really?” “All I did was take back my knife. You tripped yourself.” The corners of his mouth quirked. “If you laugh at me, I swear to Izzac I will find a way to stab you in the eye.” I’d never prayed to the God of Death before, but there was always a first.

“It is unwise to threaten me.” “Surprise, surprise. I’m not scared of you.” Even after hearing rumors of the Guardian, after listening to Banner’s story about his brother, I wasn’t scared. Why was that? I’d attempt to dissect why later. For now, I wanted that knife back. I growled, forcing myself up off the deck. Then I held out my hand, waiting as he stood. “I want to try again.” “At this point, I think Zavier was right. Either you’ll hurt yourself, or someone is going to kill you with your own blade.”

“Again.” He shook his head but handed over the dagger. “Don’t stand square to your opponent. Get into a fighting stance. Your weapons master must have at least taught you that.” It sounded vaguely familiar. I shifted slightly to the side, mirroring his feet with my left ahead of my right. “Okay. I’m ready.” “Praise the gods,” he muttered. When he lunged, I really was ready. I shuffled backward, careful to pick up my feet so I didn’t trip. “Ha!” The gleam in his eyes made my stomach knot. Shit. I was in so much trouble. This time, he did trip me. One quick sweep of his front leg to mine, and my balance faltered. He took the knife straight from my grip as I dropped to my hands and knees. Well, at least I hadn’t fallen on my ass. This was slightly less embarrassing.

Except before he could pass it over again, one of the crew called his name. “Guardian.” He held up a finger. “That’s enough for today.” “That’s it? You’re quitting already?” “Walk around. Break in your boots.”

“Fine. Guardian,” I drawled. “Is that really what everyone calls you? You must have a name.” “I do.” I waited. And waited. And waited. “Well, what is it?” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping low. “Maybe I’ll tell you. If you earn it.” There was always a test when it came to this man. “Earn it, like your trust?” His laugh was humorless. “You might earn my name one day. But make no mistake, Cross. I will never trust you.”

Ooopp!!!!

He walked away without another word. Before he could see just how much his parting comment hurt. Was it me? Was there something I did, I said, that made people inherently not trust me? I didn’t gossip. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d shared someone else’s secret. I did draw people sometimes without their knowledge. Maybe that was an invasion. Except very few saw my sketches. After showing Father and Margot when I was younger and being met with scowls, I’d mostly kept my art to myself.

Well, he didn’t need to worry. I’d never tell the Guardian the truth. My priority was my father’s errand. To earn his trust. To prove to him I wasn’t his worthless wallflower of a daughter. And in doing so, I hoped I’d help him find a way to save our people. It might seem like an impossible task, but damn it, I wasn’t giving up yet.

A throat cleared behind me a moment before Zavier came to a stop at my side. His eyes were tired and his jaw covered in stubble. He needed a shave, too. And a long night’s sleep. “We’ll arrive in Turah soon.” “All right.” I nodded. “Is the crew allowed to talk to me?” “Yes.” His eyebrows knitted together. “Why?” “They don’t.” “Ah.”

“How did the training session go?” Zavier asked. I shrugged. “Was it your idea for him to train me? Or his?” “Mine. He is the best warrior in Turah.” I stared up at him, taking in the straight line of his nose and the band of silver above his brow. Did he always wear it? It seemed nearly set into his skin, like he’d grown into that crown. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You seem…sad.” I shrugged. “Just homesick.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the truth, either. “Zavier.” We both turned as the mustached man I’d spoken to earlier approached. “You’re needed on the Cannon,” he said. Zavier nodded, glancing off the port side to see the other ship sailing closer. Then, without a word, he followed the mustached man off the quarterdeck while I took one last look at the sea that stretched toward Roslo.

The Guardian stood at the bow of the Cutter, where we’d been earlier this morning. His arms were crossed and his jaw set. He seemed to be monitoring the rowboats, making sure they made it safely to shore. Except his eyes didn’t track the boats. He was staring at the land itself, his expression hard and unblinking. Like Turah was an enemy. Or a battlefield.

I was shuffling forward, nerves fluttering in my stomach, when I felt him at my side. “Any chance that this is where we’ll part ways?” “Not yet.” The Guardian’s smile was wolfish. Menacing. And not attractive, not in the slightest. “Welcome to Turah, my queen.”

Lol yea okay!

“If I never set foot on a boat again, I’ll die a happy woman,” Jocelyn said. “Don’t say that. You need to sail home.” Sadness filled her brown eyes. “You’ll go home,” I said. “You promised your mother, remember?” “Yeah.”

Zavier sat in the front of our rowboat, his posture rigid and his shoulders tense. He hadn’t spoken a word as we loaded onto the rowboat to go to shore. He was back to the silent, brooding prince. Was that because my lady’s maids were around to hear? Probably. I hadn’t told either of them that he could speak. I wasn’t going to fail that test of his confidence. If he stayed quiet, so would I.

The Guardian began walking across the sand, dragging a hand through his wet hair and pushing it away from his face. His large hand pulled the water from his beard. His tunic, the same cream fabric as my own, was nearly transparent. It molded to the strength of his chest, to the contours of his rippled stomach. A warmth spread through my belly, pooling lower. Oh, gods, no. I forced my eyes forward, clenching my fists and molars. Yes, he was attractive, but I could not—would not—let a handsome face and body carved from stone distract me from my task. That man was a murderer. I refused to allow a spontaneous physical reaction to cloud my judgment.

A gorgeous woman with bronze skin approached. Her black hair was braided at her temples, three tight rows with the rest free to curl around her shoulders. She had a sword sheathed across her back. “Zavier.” He dipped his chin in acknowledgment, then motioned to me. I guess that was as much introduction as he could give with Brielle and Jocelyn nearby. The woman dropped into a small bow. “Princess Odessa Wolfe.” Was that how they were going to address me? Absolutely not. “Call me Odessa. Please. ‘Princess’ and ‘Wolfe’ are unnecessary.” She looked to Zavier, eyebrows raised. Her eyes were a rich, beautiful brown. With the Turan green starburst, they were the color of the forest beyond the beach. Zavier nodded, giving her permission to drop the titles. And his name. Maybe he knew I’d just keep correcting her if she called me Princess Odessa Wolfe. “Odessa,” the woman said. “My name is Tillia. Welcome.” “Thank you.”

I closed the gap to Zavier, lowering my voice. “Tillia has a sword. It looks to be just my size.” The corner of his mouth twitched. Then his gaze shifted to my trunks, a silent command to pack. “Does everyone here know you can speak?” I asked quietly. He nodded. “Does everyone in Turah know you can speak?” He shook his head.

Interesting....

“So I shouldn’t have told Brielle.” He bent, his voice barely a whisper as his mouth came to my ear. “You didn’t.” “How do you know?” “Because you’re trying so hard to earn my trust.”

Oh my!

I turned, hiding a shaky breath under the guise of packing this satchel. The only thing I wanted from my trunks was my journal, but I packed a clean dress, too, just in case. Then I left the rest of my things, the books and slippers and jewels and jars, behind, following Zavier as he marched toward a pair of saddled horses. His was a gorgeous bay stallion that stood tall and proud. It reminded me of Banner’s horse. An animal fit for a commander. A general. Beside it was a blue roan mare, her grayish coat a pretty contrast to her black hair. She sniffed at me as I approached, then went back to grazing. Brielle and Jocelyn were taken to join a group of warriors. Apparently, we wouldn’t be traveling together. “Can you ride?” Zavier asked. “Yes.” Not well, but I wouldn’t fall off.

“I take it we’re not camping here.” He handed me the roan’s reins. That meant no.

The clop of hooves was my only warning as the Guardian appeared at my side, riding a massive black stallion. “Have you spent much time on a horse, Sparrow?” he asked. “Can I ride? Yes. Do I often? No.” “Pity.” Meaning I’d be spending many, many hours on this horse. What if I pushed him off his? Would he break his neck? Wouldn’t that be nice. “We’re ready, Zavier,” the Guardian said. Zavier nodded, and without fanfare or announcement, we left the clearing, my horse keeping pace behind his. He rode to the trees, a cue for everyone to do the same. A minute later, five warriors galloped past, the Guardian in the lead.

The forest stretched before us like a different ocean, this one made of endless trunks and branches. There was no trail, no path, but the warriors seemed to know the way. I kept pace with Zavier, staying at his side, my gaze sweeping left to right and right to left. Searching. For landmarks. For buildings. For anything to note in my journal. There might not be a clear path, but I was expected to find one anyway. And it was time to do what I’d vowed. To earn my father’s trust. To do this duty for my kingdom. To save my people. To find the road to Allesaria.

Later, when I had the chance to summarize our journey thus far, my only instruction would be ride through the forest until your entire body screams in agony. Oh, and if you’re not terrified, you’re doing it wrong.

This headache, this everywhere pain, made thinking nearly impossible. Even breathing hurt. “Are you all right?” Zavier asked, his voice low. “Fine.” If fine meant I wanted to die, then yes, I was fine. It was the first time he’d checked on me since we left the coast. It was the first voice I’d heard since then, too. No one had spoken, not a single word. We’d all blindly followed the Guardian toward daybreak.

A wagon came into view ahead, stopped atop a gentle rise. Beyond them were wisps of white, rising from the earth, and the scent of smoke in the air. “Campfires?” I asked, sitting straighter. Zavier nodded. Was this how it would always be? Nods and short replies. He hadn’t exactly been chatting on the Cutter, but since we’d reached Turah, he’d hardly spoken a word. At this rate, it might take me a decade to get to know my husband.

Zavier swung off his horse, his movements easy, like riding all night was nothing. He held out a hand to help me down. My muscles were locked and tense, but somehow I freed my feet from the stirrups and slid out of the saddle, nearly crumpling when my boots touched the earth. Would they let me walk the rest of the way to Allesaria? The idea of getting back on this horse made me want to scream. “Zavier.” Tillia joined us, hand outstretched. “I’ll take care of your horses.” He passed her the reins, then took my elbow, urging me along at his side. Every step was stiff. Agonizing. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his green eyes full of apology as he guided me toward a tent in the center of the campsite. A man was hammering a stake into the ground, securing the canvas to the earth. “They’re nearly finished inside.” Zavier gave him a single nod, then looked down at me like he wanted to say something. “What?” I whispered. “Highness.” Jocelyn hurried to my side, clearly suffering through only a fraction of my pain. “Are you all right?” “Tired.” I forced a smile. Zavier sighed. Whatever he wanted to say would have to wait.

“Why do you think they’re lighting so many fires?” Jocelyn asked, looping her arm through mine. “I have no idea.” I leaned into her side, using her strong frame to keep me on my feet. My very bones were weary. Even my hair hurt.

“You should eat something.” Jocelyn slid her arm free. “I’ll find Brielle. We’ll bring you food.” “Sure.” I didn’t have the energy to argue, either.

Oof, my ass hurt. The feeling was slowly coming back, tingles and pinpricks shooting through my legs and backside. I was massaging the muscles through my pants, not caring how I looked, when a tug on my braid yanked my head back. “Do you have no personal boundaries?” I swatted the Guardian’s hand away. His eyes were hazel again, a mix of the Turan colors that surrounded us, from brown to green to gold. He dragged his gaze down my tunic to where one of my hands still palmed my ass. “Sore, my queen? We’ll have to add riding to your training regimen. That, or being ridden. I’ll have a word with Zavier.”

OMG!!!! Lol

Did I want to sleep with Zavier? Not yet. He was handsome and built, but he was a stranger. I’d never been the type for casual affairs. “Don’t you have anyone else to bother?” I seethed. “Not today.” The corner of his mouth turned up as the flap to my tent flew open and the woman inside stepped out. “Princess.” She waved me inside. “Your tent is ready.” “Thank you.” I gave her a smile, then flicked the end of my braid, letting it smack the Guardian in the face. His laugh followed me inside the tent.

My trunks were still loaded onto the wagon, but there was a neat stack of fresh clothes on the foot of the cot. And against the other wall was a simple round tub that had been filled with steaming water. She must have brought it in through the flaps that opened on the back of the tent. “Yes,” I moaned at the thought of washing away the smell of horse and wind. “Need help with your hair?” A rogue whisper caressed the shell of my ear. I whirled on the Guardian, planting my hands on his chest as I shoved him out. Or tried to shove him out. The son of a bitch didn’t so much as budge. “Do you mind?” “Not at all.” He smirked. “If that water gets cold, I swear to Ama and Oda that I will kill you with my bare hands, here and now.” “Such rage, my queen. I am simply here to ensure you’re comfortable.” “I’m comfortable. Happy?” “Would you like a meal?” “Not at the moment. Goodbye.”

“You’ve got today and tomorrow to rest. We’ll give the horses and weaker riders”—meaning me—“a break. The journey beyond the river will not be easy.” “Harder than last night? Actually.” I lifted a finger. “I don’t want to know.” “We’ll train tomorrow.” That idea made me want to cry, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “I’d love to. Anything else?” “Don’t wander past the fires. Not even for the river.”

“Fine. Would you please tell Zavier I’d like to speak to him later? In private?” The Guardian’s eyes narrowed. “Why?” “Because I’d like to speak to my husband in private. What we discuss is none of your concern.” “The crown prince is always my concern.” “If you’re not going to send him here, I guess I’ll have to find his tent myself.” “Feel free to wander into mine, Princess.” He leaned in closer. “Zavier likes to share.”

OMG!!!!

“No,” I said. To him. To myself. I took a step away, crossing my arms over my chest. I was not that woman. I was not that weak. If this was another test, he could go fuck himself. “Highness, are you—” Brielle’s question was cut short with a gasp as she stepped into the tent and noticed I wasn’t alone. “Oh. Uh…” “The Guardian was just leaving.” He stared at me for another long moment. Then he was gone.

“You should be careful around him,” she said, checking over her shoulder, making sure we were alone. “He’s dangerous.” “I’m aware.”

I shivered, the movement sending ripples of pain through my limbs. “I’m sore.” “Me too.” She shuffled to the bed, sitting at its end. “You should take a bath.” “Do you have a tent?” “Jocelyn and I are sharing. It’s not set up yet, but they’re working on it. It’s closer to the fires. They put you in the center of camp.” Where I’d be protected. “Jocelyn went to find food.” “Okay.” I walked toward the tub, every muscle in my arms and shoulders screaming as I stripped my tunic over my head. “That was…a strange night.” She closed her eyes. “I’ve never been in such a dark place.” “Neither have I.” “Tillia said it was safer to travel at night away from the coast because of the grizzur. Do you believe that?” “I don’t see why she’d lie to us.”

“I’ve never hurt so much in my life.” “I used to ride all the time. At home on the farm,” she said. “But nothing could have prepared me for this.” “You should lie down while you wait.” “It’s your bed, Highness.” “I don’t mind.”

“I think they made us ride all night so we couldn’t tell where we were going,” she said, curling up on her side, her hands tucked under her cheek. “They don’t trust us.” And they shouldn’t. “I was sure we’d be attacked by a tarkin or bariwolf.” She yawned. “Do you think the fires will keep them away from the camp?” “I don’t know.”

So I closed my eyes, savoring the warmth of the water. I didn’t get to sleep. Before I could drift off, a roar ripped through the campsite. A roar, vicious and feral, that sent a chill down my spine. A roar that meant maybe Zavier had been telling me the truth. That in Turah, it was safer at night.

Sleep was impossible. Not only was it too bright, but Brielle was passed out on my bed—and I kept waiting for another roar. After I’d gotten out of the bath and dressed in fresh clothes, I’d squeezed in beside Brielle to rest.

“Miss you,” Brielle murmured, snuggling closer. Her arm slid around my waist. I shied away, checking that she was asleep. Yep. Dead to the realm. Who did she miss? Her mother? A lover? Brielle had been my lady’s maid for years, but I didn’t really know her.

Maybe she was Banners lover in the city!!

“Highness.” Tillia spoke from behind me, her hands clasped together. “Odessa,” I corrected. If Zavier wasn’t called Highness in his own country, then I certainly didn’t need the title. “Is there anything I can do for you?” “No, I was just wandering.” She didn’t move, not until I took a step closer to the fire. Then she stepped, too. Right. How dare I think I could walk around alone? “Zavier assigned you to shadow me, didn’t he? I promise I’m no flight risk. I was only restless.” She nodded. “Of course.” But did she leave me alone? No.

“Zavier said we’d be staying here for a few days,” I said, turning to face her. “Will you be with me the whole time?” “Yes. My tent is beside yours.” So she was my faithful babysitter. “Where will we go from here?” “We’ll travel to Ellder.”

“Did I hear a roar earlier?” I asked, hoping a change in subject would soften her gaze. She opened her mouth, but before she could answer, her attention shifted over my head. There was no need to turn to see who stood at my back. I felt his presence. It was as noticeable as the waves of heat rolling off the fires. Tillia ducked her chin, then disappeared into the cluster of tents. Trading one babysitter for another. “Am I not allowed to be alone?” I asked as I turned to face the Guardian. “Your tent is safe.” There was a taunt in that statement. No one, not even my husband, would venture inside. “Have you no one else to pester?” “Not today.”

“About that roar I heard earlier,” I said. “What about it?” Confirmation enough. At least I wasn’t delirious. “What was it?” “A monster.” I rolled my eyes. “That doesn’t answer my question.” “Does it matter?” “Yes.” I looked up at his profile, waiting. His silence gave me a moment to scrutinize his face, searching for flaws. There were none. In a way, he looked a bit like Zavier. The Guardian was larger, though. His features more pronounced. Bolder. But they had a few similarities. The straight nose. The slight hollows beneath cheekbones. The sharp jaw. How had I not noticed before? Were they related? Cousins, maybe? Brothers? “A grizzur,” he said. “This is their territory.”

“Did you kill it?” I asked. The look he gave me was the epitome of What the fuck do you think? There were flecks and dots on his tunic. I hadn’t noticed them on the walk because he’d been behind me. But the speckles had to be blood. There was even a smear on his wrist. A drop on the column of his throat. “Was anyone hurt?” He scoffed.

“Can I see it?” I asked. “The grizzur?” “Why?” I shrugged. “I’ve only ever read about them in books.” “So curious, my queen.” Yes, I was. “I want to know what I’m up against.” With the monsters. With him. I wanted to see this beast he’d killed. Without a word, he walked past me, his elbow grazing my own.

By the time we reached the other side of the camp, I was out of breath. Sweat coated my brow. My heart pounded. It came to a dead stop when I saw the grizzur. Its bearlike frame lay prone on its belly. Its massive body was covered in coarse cinnamon fur. Along the spine, jutting through that thick, wiry hair, were spikes as long as my arm. They were as white as snow and as pointed as the Guardian’s sword. They angled in all directions, some curving to the sides, others aiming straight. Was that how they survived the crux migrations? There’d be no picking up a grizzur from above, not with those spikes. Its feet, tipped in claws, were as wide as my shoulders. On all fours, it had to stand at least six feet tall. If it rose up on its hind legs, ten. The grizzur’s head was turned on its ear, enough to reveal the gash in its throat.

A cut so deep that it left the monster’s head barely connected to its body. It hung only by a sliver of that heavy hide. I choked. “You cut its head off?” The Guardian shrugged. “Almost.” “How?” Before he could answer, I held up a hand. “Actually. Never mind.”

“I want my sword.” The Guardian sighed like he’d heard that request a hundred times over a hundred years. Not twice in the past few days. “You agreed.” “That I did.” He rubbed a hand over his bearded jaw. “You look dead on your feet, Sparrow. Rest. Tomorrow, we’ll train. Be ready at dawn.” What was it with the Turans and dawn? Something always seemed to be happening at dawn. “Fine.” “Don’t go past the fires.” He pointed a long finger at my nose. Go into the wild where these monsters lived? “Not a chance.” “Can you find your way back to your tent?” Probably. Though it might take me an hour. “Yes.”

I stared at the monster for another long moment, marveling at its size. It shouldn’t have been beautiful, not a beast so terrifying. Yet I couldn’t seem to tear my gaze away. Not until I heard the sound of horses, of hooves beating against the earth, carrying over the pop of the fires. Zavier and three of his warriors raced away from the camp. A minute later, another rider broke past the fires, racing to catch up. The Guardian. His coal stallion flew across the plain, its rider as graceful in the saddle as the animal itself. Where were they going?