Shield of Sparrows (Shield of Sparrows, #1)

by Devney Perry

“Thanks,” I deadpanned. “And I was certain I wouldn’t earn any compliments today.” “Praise is for the bedroom, Cross. Not the training ring.”

OH MY!!!!

No. No, no, no. I refused to let my thoughts wander in that direction. The only man who’d be in my bedroom was my husband. Maybe. Someday. Gods, my marriage was weird. Focus, Odessa. I gripped my knives tighter. “Noted. Next?” He dragged his free hand through his hair, shoving the brown locks off his forehead. It was…not attractive. Not. At. All. The Guardian moved closer, snaring me with his hard, intimidating gaze. It took everything in my power not to gulp and shy away.

“Slide your knife past the ribs. Straight into the heart. Think you can do that?” he asked. “Don’t tempt me.” “It’s not a joke. There’s no point in you having these knives if you aren’t going to use them. Could you kill a man, Cross?” My eyes lifted to his. “If I must.” He leaned in closer, my knife pressing into that vest. The material resisted still, showing no weakness.

There was a dare in his eyes. He was baiting me to try. Do it. Push. My arm wouldn’t move. Could I kill a man? This man? No. I wasn’t sure I could ever take a life, even his. The corner of the Guardian’s mouth twitched, like he read that realization on my face. He stepped away. “Let’s see how well you can block.” And with that, the training began.

“Tired already?” The asshole wasn’t even winded. I squeezed my eyes shut, sucking in a breath through my nostrils, the oxygen making my lungs burn. Then I gritted my teeth and stood tall, letting the water cascade down my face as I resumed my fighting stance. My pants were caked with mud. This tunic was slashed and ruined from the swipes of his sword, the fabric hanging in tatters along my sides. But I wasn’t stopping, not yet. “Again.”

“Harder,” he barked, adding more pressure. A cry tore from my mouth along with a blob of spittle as I flung his sword to the side. It might have been impressive, except the ground was slick and I was unsteady. My boot slipped, and I crashed to a knee.

I rolled in the mud, frantically fumbling to get to my feet. As soon as I was up, he swung at me again, this time aiming for my stomach, and I barely deflected the strike. The metal of our weapons sang as they rebounded off one another. “Faster,” he barked. “Keep your feet.” I sucked in a breath before he came at me again, angling left, then right. My movements were sluggish, my hold on the knives faltering. He knocked the blade from my left hand, sending it flying toward the edge of the training ring. “Stop dropping your fucking knife,” he bellowed. “I’m trying,”

“Try harder,” he sneered, then walked to pick up my knife, thrusting the handle into my palm. “Again.” I gritted my teeth, willing my body to stay strong, to endure this. Then I anchored my heels to the slick earth. “Don’t fall,” he ordered.

He lunged, another overhead strike, and rather than stand tall, I shuffled backward, tripping over my own godsdamn feet. I fell right on my ass. Hell. This was hell. The Guardian glowered down at me, his frustration as palpable as the rain. He pointed the sword at my face, and for a moment, I wondered if this was it. If he’d tested me, deemed me unworthy, and would rid Turah of a weak princess. The blade’s tip was a whisper against my forehead as he used it to pick up a curl of my soaked hair. The dye was washing out. I could practically feel the brown coating my cheeks. My shirt. It would mix with the mud, making me look as dirty as I felt. “I said don’t fall.” He pulled back his sword, and the curl fell to stick to my face. “Ready to quit?” I couldn’t quit, no matter how much I wanted to say yes. “Never.” “Good.” He waved me to the center of the ring. “Your first instinct is to retreat. You must stand your ground. Move to the side. Create an opening to strike. But do not go backward. You’ll just land on your ass. Again.” “Move to the side. Got it.” I pushed to my feet, taking one heartbeat to breathe. Then I pointed both knives toward his smug face. “Ready.”

“Stop asking questions, Cross. Fight, damn it. Attack.” “I am fighting,” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. “I’m trying.” “Not hard enough.” He bent, getting into my face. His eyes shifted to swirling silver, and the rest of the realm melted away. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Quentins are usually better at running away than fighting.” “I’m not running away.” “Then stop backing away. You want to be queen of Turah? Then you must not be afraid.” “I don’t want to be queen of Turah.”

He scoffed. “So, you’d rather rot in a golden castle, withering away to nothing while your family forgets your existence? You were nothing to them. Your father gave you away without so much as a blink. Your sister put on a show of bidding you goodbye, but I’ll wager she’s already in your fiancé’s bed. A man who also let you go without a fight. And don’t you have a little brother? Did they even let you say goodbye?”

Oh wow

“Are you angry, Sparrow? Use that rage. Fucking. Fight.” I hate you. If he could read my mind, I wanted that at the front. I hate you. A slow grin stretched across his mouth. “There’s my queen.” “Stop calling me that,” I seethed. “Make me.” He stepped back, raising his arms as the rain poured over his shoulders, onto the soaked fabric that was molded around his roped muscles. He dropped his sword, sending it splattering to the mud. Then he pointed to my blades and crooked a finger. If he wanted to fight unarmed? Fine. I still didn’t stand a chance, but I wanted his blood. I wanted his pain.

The Guardian twisted to the side, a quick sidestep that took him out of my path. It forced me to change directions, once again following his lead. Once again on his leash. But I chased him anyway, never slowing my steps as I let my arms swing wildly through the air, hoping that I’d earn a bit of luck and find purchase. I didn’t want much. The shell of his ear. The tip of his nose. A finger or thumb. Bloodlust surged through my veins like fire. My vision coated in red. He dodged every strike, but I kept going, pouring out all of my anger at him, at Zavier, at my father for sending me to Turah. I used that rage, infusing it into my arms and legs. “Faster,” he yelled as I stabbed at his ribs, missing completely. “Move!”

I collected the frayed ends of my control and made one final attack, whipping the knives in all directions in the hope I’d catch his flesh. It was the quickest I’d ever moved. It wasn’t even close to enough. The knife’s tip whizzed past the Guardian’s neck, only a smidgen away from slicing into his throat. But that smidgen might as well have been a continent. A miss was a miss. The knife was moving so fast it tore itself out of my grip, flying to the edge of the training circle, where it landed with a muffled thump. I dropped to my knees. “Get up,” the Guardian commanded.

“Get. Up.” The Guardian planted his hands on his hips. “Now.” “Enough.” A new voice rang through the air. Zavier collected my discarded knife, joining us in the circle. He crouched before me, handing over the weapon. All I could do was look at it. My arm, limp and exhausted, hung at my side. Whatever he saw on my face made him frown before he stood. Then he crossed his arms over his chest as he spoke to the Guardian. “Enough.” “She’s not done,” he said. “It’s enough when I say—” “When I say it’s enough.” For the first time, Zavier sounded like a prince. The Guardian’s nostrils flared. “Zavier.”

Oooppp!!!!

“She’s had enough.” The Guardian clenched his jaw, then, without another word, collected his sword and walked past the fires. Into the storm. Zavier dragged a hand over his face, wiping away the drops, then held out a hand. “Are you hurt?” “No.” I shook my head, letting him help me to my feet. As much as I wanted to stand on my own, my legs were not going to cooperate. “I came to tell you that I’m leaving. I have business to attend to in Perris.”

“All right. I take it I’m not going along?” “It’s not safe.” Well, that sounded like a lie. Nowhere around here was safe. “You’ll travel with Tillia and the others.” To Ellder. The fortress. “Okay.”

“The next few days will be…strenuous. Try to get some rest tonight. You’ll leave—” “Let me guess. At dawn?” His eyes crinkled at the sides in an almost smile. “I’ll see you soon, Odessa.” “Goodbye, Zavier.” I waited until he was gone before I made my way through the tents.

I covered a yawn as I trudged through my tent’s flaps. A warm bath was waiting. And an apple. I didn’t let myself think about who had likely arranged for them both.

Brielle let out a small laugh, then leaned in closer, her head resting on my shoulder. “Do you think they’ll keep us safe?” “Yes.” I might not know why Zavier wanted me as his wife, but I did have faith that he wanted me alive. So did the Guardian. Otherwise, they would have let the marroweel swallow me whole.

Something had to be attacking the grizzur. Something had interrupted its path. The bariwolves? Except I hadn’t heard their clicks. My ears and eyes strained, my heart in my throat. The next roar was choked. Cut short. It faded in a heartbeat, and then there was nothing. The entire camp held its breath as the fires sparked and popped. Then the Guardian stalked through the flames, covered in dark blood. It dripped from the ends of his hair and his chin. It trickled down his arms, down the length of his gleaming silver sword. His eyes were the same color, swirling metal. And locked on me. The air rushed from my lungs. He hadn’t abandoned us after all. “Izzac,” Brielle gasped. Maybe those rumors about the Guardian were true. Maybe he was the God of Death.

When I looked toward the fires, the Guardian was with Tillia, their heads bent in a private conversation. He leaned in so close that their cheeks nearly touched. She rested a hand on his heart, shoulders falling away from her ears at whatever he said. Then her forehead dropped to his chest, resting beside her hand. It was a private moment. Intimate. And I was intruding. My gaze snapped to the ground. Tillia and the Guardian? Were they together? It made sense. Both were warriors. Both were fearless. She was breathtaking, and he was…him. A slimy sensation crawled beneath my skin, and I shoved it away, refusing to give it a name.

I hung my head, still on my knees. Knives still in my hands. I couldn’t seem to let them go. So I stared at their sharp edges, wishing I was made of steel, too. A finger hooked under my chin. I knew whose finger it was before I lifted my eyes. The Guardian crouched before me, still covered in blood. He’d walked to me without a sound, his footsteps as light as feathers. “Are you all right, my queen?” It was the gentlest I’d ever heard his voice. Low and smooth like silk. “Was it a grizzur?” “Yes.” “Is it dead?” He arched an eyebrow. “Cross.”

He let go of my chin and pointed to my bedroll. “Sleep. We leave—” “At dawn. I know.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “Good night, my queen.” I should have thanked him before he walked away. For killing the monster. For checking on me. For putting my fears to rest with his presence alone. But I settled on my blanket and let him disappear into the dark. He was probably with Tillia already, standing guard. Together. Well, at least they weren’t cuddling on her bedroll.

Oooh shes jelly!!

My horse, the roan I’d decided to call Freya, stepped over a fallen branch. The change in her gait sent me shifting in my saddle, and the pain in my ass spiked. I clutched the reins and gritted my teeth, holding back a groan.

“Would you like anything to eat?” Tillia asked. “No, thank you.” “You haven’t eaten much.” I waved it off. “I’m not hungry.” The food was tasty and nourishing, but my appetite was simply gone. My insides seemed to be in a permanent knot, with nothing else to do all day but ride and dwell. So I dwelled. On. Everything. My own mind had become my worst enemy. There wasn’t a single safe topic. I dwelled on my family. I dwelled on Brielle and Jocelyn and how they would undoubtedly hate me when this was over. I dwelled on Zavier and his disinterest. I dwelled on the gods and how they seemed to both love and hate humans. I dwelled on the stench of my breath and the stink of my body. I dwelled on the point of my chin and the taper of my nose. And no matter how hard I tried to stop it, I dwelled on the Guardian.

Not the way I would have expected people to act around a violent butcher. And no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get the picture of Tillia and the Guardian leaning on each other out of my head. I liked Tillia. She’d been nothing but kind and respectful since I’d arrived in Turah. If there was a person in this kingdom I wanted to trust, it was her. She cared for the Guardian. Maybe she was even in love with him. She didn’t seem like the type to love an evil man.

A noise rose up from the front of the group, a shout or a cheer. I couldn’t tell from my position in the middle of the riders. Tillia stiffened, lifting her arm to the sword strapped across her back. “What’s going on?” My knives were sheathed in their harness, the blades crisscrossed over my spine. Since that night with the grizzur, I hadn’t taken them off, even to rest.

Tillia’s arm dropped to her heart as she exhaled. “Thank Arabella.” Why was she thanking the God of Love? Unless… The Guardian had returned. The riders in front of us shifted, making room for a man galloping through the heart of our party, straight our way. I recognized him from the throne room. He was one of Zavier’s rangers, the man with long, black braids pulled into a knot at his nape who’d checked Father’s chest of gold coin. And his eyes were locked on Tillia. She brought her horse to a stop, waiting with her hand still pressed over her heart. The moment the ranger reached her side, he took her face in his large hands, cupping her jaw as he pulled her close to seal his mouth over hers.

Their kiss was hungry, like they were starved for each other. Their mouths moved, their cheeks hollowed as their tongues twisted. Like they’d done it a hundred times, he swept her off her horse, their mouths never breaking, and plopped her onto his lap. As he cradled her body, she slid her hands to his neck, her palms pressed against his pulse. They kissed as if they were the only people in the realm. Like the rest of us weren’t watching. I’d never seen anything like it before. And I’d never felt a kiss like that before. All-consuming. Desperate. When they broke apart, Tillia laughed, tears streaming down her cheeks. The ranger’s face softened as he caught them with his thumbs. Then he dropped his forehead to hers, murmuring something I couldn’t hear. They were too locked on to each other to notice us staring. “Come on,” I told Brielle and Jocelyn, nodding toward where the others had continued onward. “Let’s keep going.”

He dropped a soft kiss to her mouth. It was tender. Beautiful. He loved her. She was his universe. At her side, he was home. Tillia curled into him, her arms snaking around his waist as he breathed her in. My heart squeezed as I faced forward. Not in a hundred years would Banner have ever kissed me that way. Not in a thousand would I have cried if we were apart. It wouldn’t be any different with Zavier, would it? He would not adore me, worship me. I’d traded a loveless engagement for a loveless marriage. I’d never had a man look at me that way. And I never would.

It hit like a hammer to my chest. The envy I had for Tillia. The sorrow I felt because of that kiss.

“Have you ever been in love, Brielle?” I asked. “Yes.” A sadness filled her eyes. “He broke my heart, but I still love him. I always will.” What? I gaped at her. When had that happened? Recently? I had no idea she’d had her heart broken. I’d never asked. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” “Why would you? You’re a princess. I’m your lady’s maid. My love life is hardly your concern.” But it would be if we were friends. “Titles and roles don’t seem to matter as much in Turah.” “You’re still a princess, Highness. No matter where we are, you’re royalty. I am not.”

We rode for a while before Tillia returned to my side. A stunning smile lit up her face, and it was impossible not to smile back. “That is my husband,” she said. “Halston. He’s been traveling with Zavier. The Guardian told me the other night that he was leaving Perris to join us, but I always worry when we’re apart.” Her husband. Halston. The Guardian had told her about her husband. That’s why they’d been speaking so close. Not because they were together. The relief was instant. The air rushed from my lungs. And with it, a guilt so toxic and ugly it might as well have been fenek poison. I shouldn’t be relieved. I shouldn’t fucking care.

Halston reached out to touch Tillia’s hand as we passed by, and the rangers let us take the lead as we rode into a clearing. A perfect oval in the forest bordered by a simple wooden fence. A corral or paddock of sorts. At one end was a wooden building that looked to be stables. And then came another whistle. I searched the paddock, trying to find the source, but there was no one around. “There.” Tillia pointed up and up and up. To a watchtower built into a tree. “Welcome to Treow.” She stopped in the middle of the clearing and dismounted.

“Come,” Tillia said. “What about Brielle and Jocelyn?” Both had fallen behind a bit and had just reached the clearing. “They’ll be taken care of. Don’t worry. They won’t be far. Unless you need their assistance?” “No.” There was nothing I couldn’t do for myself. And with that came another wash of guilt. I hadn’t needed either of them since we left Quentis. They didn’t need to be here with me. The sooner I could send them both home with the information for Father, the better.

When I’d asked her again earlier if Treow was a town, she’d said, “Yes and no.” Now I understood. Treow wasn’t a town with streets or roads or shops or squares. It was a town built into a forest.

Four little girls raced along a planked walkway above, leaning over the rail to giggle and stare down at us. Two of them were twins, each with olive skin and silky black hair. Tillia brought two fingers to her lips and whistled up to them. It was sharp and loud, the same noise I’d heard before we’d arrived at Treow. The girls all pressed their own fingers to their mouths, attempting to whistle back. It came out as mostly sputters and spit, which only made them laugh harder. “We have lookouts at the perimeter,” she explained. “We whistle so that no one gets shot in the heart with an arrow.” “Ah.” I nodded. “I don’t know how to whistle.” “You don’t need to.”

“Why the treehouses?” I asked Tillia. “It’s safer this way. We’re in tarkin territory now. There are the occasional packs of bariwolves that will venture close. Grizzurs typically prefer the coast and plains, though they are unpredictable. They’ve been known to wander this way. Most villages in Turah have had to develop ways to guard against monsters. This”—she waved a hand to the structures above us—“is ours.” “You live here?” “Not permanently, but we spend a significant portion of the year in Treow.” She turned to walk backward, pointing to a house overhead. “That’s where Halston and I stay.” From down below, I couldn’t tell one treehouse from the next. They all were just…floors. “The one with the thatched roof and rope ladder,” she said. Was this a trick? “They all have rope ladders.” “But ours is the newest.” She laughed and spun forward, continuing our walk.

“Most of us spend our days down here,” she said. “Cooking. Riding. Training. We take meals in the commons. I’ll give you a tour of that tomorrow after you’ve had some sleep.” “How are the horses kept safe? Will my horse—” I stopped myself before finishing the question. Freya wasn’t my horse. Not really. I’d named her out of boredom, not ownership. But after these hard days together, I didn’t want her to die. “The horses are brought into the stables each night. Your horse is safe here, too.” “Thanks.” “You’re welcome.” She dipped her chin, then stopped at a rope ladder. I looked up to find another treehouse. Maybe because I was standing directly below it, this one didn’t seem as far off the ground as the others. And it seemed twice as large. It also had no walkways or bridges. It was a house apart. Secluded. Private. Was this Zavier’s treehouse? Would he be joining me to finally… I gulped. Eventually, we’d have to suffer through a night of awkward sex. I just really, really hoped it wouldn’t be today.

“Do you need help?” Tillia asked. To climb a ladder? Well, I’d never climbed a ladder before, wood or metal or rope. “Uh, no?” I guess if I fell to my death, at least I’d get to skip that awkward sex. With a fortifying breath, I started up the rungs, moving as fast as a sea turtle on sand. Sweat dripped down my spine and beaded at my temples by the time I finally reached the landing. There was probably a graceful way to get onto the treehouse’s balcony, but I flopped on my stomach like a dead fish, rolling and flipping until I was finally able to push to my knees and stand. I leaned over the railing and gave Tillia a thumbs-up. “Made it.” She looked like she was trying to hide a laugh. With a wave, she ran off in the direction of her own home, probably to hunt down her husband and find a bedroom. Lucky woman.

Lol oh jeez

The inside was a single room with a large bed at its center. The mattress was covered in plush, oatmeal-colored blankets and fluffy pillows. “Yes,” I breathed, my shoulders sagging. If enduring awkward sex meant I got to keep that bed, so be it.

I went to peer around the partition’s edge, and the moan that escaped my chest vibrated the treehouse. A water closet, complete with a sink and copper tub. The tub had been filled with warm, steaming water. I reached for the hem of my tunic, about to strip it off my body when the sound of footsteps came from outside. My stomach sank. Damn. I smoothed down my shirt, making sure every inch of my stomach was covered. Then I moved to the center of the room, expecting Zavier to walk through the door. Silly me and my expectations. When was I going to learn not to assume anything? Of course it wasn’t my husband who came inside. It was the Guardian.