Shield of Sparrows (Shield of Sparrows, #1)

by Devney Perry

That castle was my home, but this cliffside was my sanctuary. This was the one place where the air wasn’t thick with judgment and guards weren’t stationed at every corner, ready to report my mistakes to Margot.

This was the reason my fiancé had come out for a ride. We might not be in love, we might not even be considered friends, but there were a few things I’d learned about Banner during our engagement. He was unfailing in his loyalty to Father. He loved the status that came with his rank and betrothal to a princess. And he loathed the Guardian.

Not once in my life had I been jealous of Mae. She was Father’s favored daughter. When the time had come for him to choose the Sparrow, it was no shock he’d picked Mae. And she was Margot’s pride and joy. She had a mother while I had a ghost.

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.

She shook the powder into my roots until my natural color was muted. Until the orange and red and copper and caramel strands were gone.

The Turans were here to kill the monsters that had wreaked havoc on Father’s trade routes over the past year. What had started as sporadic attacks from the beasts had escalated, and as of this summer, only one in three ships made it to their destination. With every attack, the marroweels left no survivors.

Before my mother’s death, Margot had been her lady’s maid, and since I had Mother’s hair, Margot was well practiced at taming the curls.

The Guardian. A man rumored to be more vicious and deadly than any creature crafted by the gods.

Prince Zavier was in Roslo. The Guardian was in Roslo.

The man who entered next didn’t look like a god incarnate. He didn’t appear to be a ghost. He was tall and broad, like the other Turans. Muscled to the point of distraction. His chocolate-brown hair tickled the tops of his shoulders, and his chiseled jaw was covered in a short beard of the same shade. At first glance, he was just a man. Striking. Intimidating. But still, just a man. Yet his irises did not have the typical Turan green starburst. They were solid, molten silver. Liquid metal. Colorless, like my dress. The Guardian.

“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.”

Except Banner wasn’t mad because another man was stealing the woman he loved. No, Banner was furious to be losing his link to the royal family. I might not be the favored princess, but I was a princess. A gift for his service. A symbol of his status.

She’ll satisfy both the bride prize and the treaty. She’ll be our queen.”

“Long ago, before the five kingdoms, the lands and seas were overrun by monsters. To regain control, the ruling lords made a decree. Any warrior who risked their life against the beasts would be granted a prize of their choosing if they returned with the heads of seven slain females from the species. As with all treaties, the Chain of Sevens was sealed with our magic.”

“Mae is to be the Turan queen,” Father said. “It cannot be Odessa. She is not capable.”

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.

“Gods.” Father sighed, dragging a palm over his jaw. “I’m sorry, Dess.” My entire body jolted. When was the last time he’d called me Dess? It had been years. And I’d never heard him apologize. The gentleness in his eyes was so foreign that my heart clenched.

Beyond the stipulations of arranged marriages, the Shield of Sparrows was a trade treaty at its core. It kept all five kingdoms alive. Equitable-ish. It provided us all with the necessary resources to thrive. And when the crux migration came, survive.

“Odessa.” Father shook my shoulders again. “You must find the way into Allesaria before summer’s end. Then send word of how I can find and infiltrate the city.”

“They have something I want in that city.” “What?” “The details are not important for you to know. But it is crucial I find a way into the city before the migration. It is our only chance at stopping the crux.”

When we’d gotten engaged, I’d wondered if Banner would want to have sex before the wedding. But Brielle had told me that he had a lover in the city. A woman he’d known for years.

That the necklace I’d found thirteen years ago had been worn around her neck.

“Any other advice?” “Don’t die.” Mae touched the hair at my temple. “You must be ruthless, Dess.”

The beginning explained the history of the treaty. The obligation of the five kingdoms to offer a king, or future king, and a Sparrow every generation. The first bride’s name had been Sparrow, hence the treaty’s name and why the woman offered every generation had since been called the Sparrow. Her father, the Turan king, had given her as a bride to his sworn enemy, the Genesis king.

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

Those eyes were dazzling. Terrifying. A shiver rolled down my spine. This man was a murderer. He shouldn’t have such enchanting eyes.

“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.”

“You are strong, Odessa. Stronger than you realize.”

How long had he been standing there? And when the hell had he learned to talk?

“Welcome aboard the Cutter, Odessa Wolfe.”

Then I snagged my necklace from beneath the pillow where I’d left it last night. The moment I looped it over my head, resting the pendant against my heart, a warm weight settled on my frame.

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.

“You snore, Cross.” Cross. Not Wolfe.

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.

“Why do you pretend not to speak?” Zavier hesitated, like he was debating whether or not to answer. “Because other leaders see it as a weakness they can exploit. It usually means they fill the silence with more than they should.”

“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.”

Zavier. They didn’t call him Prince or Highness.

The word surprised me as much as it did him. Maybe I’d ingested too much seawater? But I wasn’t going to blindly agree. I’d spent twenty-three years taking orders from men who thought they could dictate my every move. And I was done.

Shouldn’t that blood be red? The marroweels on the docks had bled red. Why was this one different?

“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?”

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

“You might earn my name one day. But make no mistake, Cross. I will never trust you.”

So what was so wrong with me that no one trusted me? Or was it really a lack of trust? Maybe the heart of the issue was faith. No one believed in me. No one had trust that I was capable.

There was a familiarity between them I hadn’t noticed before. It was almost affectionate, like brothers. Had the Voster given the Guardian his powers? Was that how he could swim so fast? Move so quickly?

He climbed them with deft ease in bare feet, his hand gripping the hem of his burgundy robes. Then he was swallowed up by the forest, disappearing from sight.

My problems had started the day I’d run into Brother Dime in the castle’s gallery. The day the High Priest had floated into my father’s throne room.

“Sore, my queen? We’ll have to add riding to your training regimen. That, or being ridden. I’ll have a word with Zavier.”

“Need help with your hair?” A rogue whisper