Shield of Sparrows (Shield of Sparrows, #1)

by Devney Perry

What if I jumped? Would anyone notice? No. Not for this princess.

One moment, my feet were tethered to the earth. The next, I was flying.

It was written that the old gods, Ama and Oda, created Calandra’s animals as gifts to humans.

The Six crafted predators in the image of Calandra’s animals, though their variations were far more beautiful. Far more powerful. Far more deadly. They birthed monsters to serve as a reminder to humans and animals alike that we were fragile and insignificant.

“Not her.” Margot blinked. “Excuse me?” “Her.” The Guardian’s eyes flicked in my direction, and the whole room followed his gaze. To me. “Prince Zavier will marry her,” he declared. “Tonight. As the bride prize for killing your marroweels.”

“Then she will be the prince’s bride for both the Shield of Sparrows and Chain of Sevens.” She. Her. Me.

The magic rooted deep in Calandra’s land tinged our irises at birth with those starbursts, linking us forever to a place. No matter where we lived, where we moved, that one color was unchanging. Every Quentin had an amber starburst. Every Quentin except me. My eyes were solid gold. Not a starburst in sight.

Since the Shield of Sparrows, the five kingdoms had endured, surviving nine migrations. Celebrating nine marriages. Mae’s would have been the tenth. If not for the fucking Chain of Sevens.

Disobedience came with the same price as refusing to deliver a daughter for marriage. A king’s death.

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.

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

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.

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

My sister didn’t care that her friends would just as soon stab her in the back. She didn’t seem to care that most of those girls called her a cunt and a whore. But I wasn’t Mae. I cared.

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

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.

This is getting a little TOO real

The Guardian stood in the center of my room, his legs planted wide, arms crossed over his chest. A breeze drifted in from the open window. And he was livid. “Hello, my queen.” Well, fuck.

“There’s only one inn in Ashmore. And your hair isn’t exactly subtle, Sparrow.”

I pushed up on my elbows. “You know this is my real hair?”

“That dye you wear is as pungent as a dead fish. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

I knew those clicks. I’d heard them on a dark, terrifying night. There were bariwolves in Ashmore.

There were cuts on his face. A gash on his arm. Every injury of his was coated in that horrid green. Fury quaked through his body, his grip on my arm punishingly tight. The silver in his eyes swirled so fast, so dark, they were like storm clouds streaked with lightning.

And what I saw made my knees buckle. This wasn’t the same man I’d been verbally sparring with for weeks. This wasn’t the same man who’d taunted me relentlessly. This man was a monster.

The Guardian stared into the distance, his eyes a different shade of green. This was a new color. Not the vivid emerald I’d seen countless times when he was in a mood to tease me mercilessly. No, this was a deep shade of hunter. The color of Turan forests. “It’s beautiful.” The forest. Those eyes.

Did he regret telling me his name? Well, too bad. I liked saying it.

He was the crown prince. Ramsey’s son. There was a reason Tillia didn’t bow to Zavier. Didn’t call him by a title. It wasn’t Zavier’s to claim. And neither was I.

I’d hoped that maybe Jocelyn and Brielle would become my friends. But then she’d fucked Zavier. We weren’t friends.

“Let’s talk about names, shall we? What the fuck is yours, Guardian?”

“Ransom.” He leaned left, then right as I came at him again, avoiding each of my swipes. “Zavier Ransom Wolfe. I’ve always gone by Ransom. Not everything has been a lie.”

“You are not a pawn, Odessa. Not to me. You are the Sparrow. You are my wife. You are the future queen of Turah.”

Ransom was my husband. There was no need to keep fighting my own feelings. I no longer needed to convince myself that he hadn’t stolen my heart.

But if Zavier was to be the prince, if Ransom was so sure he was dying, what was the point? To have him and lose him? To break my heart into a thousand pieces when I had to go back to pretending?

Lies of omission were still lies. But they were easier to forgive.

And with it in his hand, the Guardian ordered the gates reopened. To kill a monster.

“When I am nothing but dust and ash, Turah will endure. I do not need a crown. And I have made peace with my destiny. But before I step into my grave, my choice is you.”

“You were hogging the bed.” I closed my book, setting it beside Faze on my lap. “Has anyone ever told you that you sleep like a starfish?”

As she prodded my neck, I let my gaze sweep over her face. The silky chocolate hair. Those familiar green eyes. When I first met Luella, her regal, poised composure had reminded me so much of Margot. Of a queen. Ransom might look like Ramsey. But his mother had given him a few features of her own. “You’re his mother,” I whispered.

With that single beat of her wings, the crux leaped from one side of the courtyard to the other. And with a snap of her beak, she cleaved Luella’s body in two.

“Where are you going?” Cathlin called. I kept walking. “To find my wife.”