Shield of Sparrows (Shield of Sparrows, #1)

by Devney Perry

“You’re back,” I said. “Miss me, my queen?” Yes. “Not in the slightest.

“Ransom.” He smirked. “Odessa.” “I don’t like holding hands.” “How do you know? You’ve never held mine.” I frowned and gave another last, futile pull. “You’re not going to let me go.” “No, I am not.”

So I let loose a sigh and let him hold my hand, because damn it, I liked it. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

“I have faith in the Voster.” Well, I did not. And I didn’t trust magic. Ransom might not want to consider the Voster, but I’d suffered through enough of their magic to know it wasn’t a blessing but a curse.

And the Voster, if I had to guess, would stand behind the Turans. Behind Ransom.

And behind them all, hanging back with Aurinda, came Ransom. His face was streaked with dirt and dark smudges, likely blood. There was a sword strapped across his back. His clothes were filthy, and his hair was in disarray. He was a mess. And so beautiful that my throat burned with the threat of tears.

“Did you know?” “I thought she was simply frightened. Like so many.” The High Priest cocked his head to the side, dark eyes locked on my face and hair. “Who is your mother, child?” “M-my mother?” Why was he asking about my mother?

“Is Cathlin your mother?” His eyebrows lifted. “No.”

“I can’t even believe I’m saying this out loud. It’s a monster. Mindless and ruled by bloodlust. But I can’t stop seeing its eye. Hearing those clicks. What if…” There was a sinking feeling in my stomach. The feeling that I was about to admit something I’d been pondering for hours. And if I was being honest with myself, something I’d feared for longer. “What if it’s me?” Ransom’s eyes dropped to the boards beneath his boots. He did that at times, looked to the ground when he was hiding something. If I had noticed that small tell weeks ago, it probably would have saved my heart a mountain of strife. “You think so, too, don’t you?” His silence was answer enough.

“I’ve never seen a monster, with or without Lyssa, attack fires before. Then there was Ashmore. Then the tarkin in Treow. Even Faze. He plays with Evie, but he is drawn to you.” It was more than me being his guardian. Even if I was the person who fed the little beast. Ransom’s eyes softened as he held up his hands. “Just a theory.” A theory in which he believed monsters were drawn to me. A theory I’d been dwelling on myself.

“You were suffocating in Quentis. You were fucking wasting away in that golden castle. I’m not trying to trap you here, Odessa. But I need you to live. I won’t…” He dragged a hand over his face. “I have never been more scared than when I saw you run for that boy.”

Do you really want to go back to Quentis? If you do, then say it. Tell me you want to leave, and I’ll take you back to Roslo myself.” He was giving me the choice. All I had to do was say yes. “No,” I whispered. His eyes drifted closed, his forehead dropping to mine. “Good. I have no desire to live in Quentis.” “Wh-what?” I leaned away. “You are mine.” His hands dove into my hair, fingers threading through my curls. “Even if we are kingdoms apart, you are mine. But I’d rather not be a kingdom apart.”

“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.”

I was his choice. Above all else.

“What have you done to me?” I leaned in, smiling against his mouth. “Stop asking questions, Ransom, and kiss your wife.” “Yes, my queen.” He grinned, then sealed his mouth over mine.

And he was mine.

And he survived by speaking to the crux.

I needed to go after Ransom. To chase him down and make sure he was all right. Except I was frozen in place, eyes glued to that book on the table. It had flipped over when Ransom had tossed it, showing the other side. There was an intricate etching on the cover. A winged emblem. The same emblem on the pendant I wore around my neck.

“I’m guessing you already knew all of that, but I wanted to say it out loud anyway.” He sighed, shaking his head before he let out a laugh. “You are a horrible spy.” “True.”

“It started with me. And I will end it, too, even with my last breath. I have to try.” Of course he did. Ransom wouldn’t be Ransom if he gave any other answer.

“You are not fucking dying, Ransom Wolfe.” “Hey.” He hauled me into his arms, holding me close as I fisted the back of his shirt. “Please don’t leave me,” I whispered. He kissed my hair, arms banding tight. “There has to be another way.” “I don’t have an army for this fight, Odessa.” No, he didn’t. But my father did.

“Run. Now, Cross.” Hot tears dripped to the dirt at my boots. “I love you.” “Yes, you do. Don’t forget.” “Never.” “Neither will I.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I will find you. Here, or in the shades.”

The circlet that normally kissed his brow was tucked away in my vest. He’d sacrificed enough for Turah. For me. If Zavier—Dray—lived, then it was time for his life to be his own. No more pretending.

There should have been a monster’s lifeless body in the courtyard. There should have been a winged beast with my sword in its chest. Instead, I’d pulled my sword from this woman’s body. A woman with red hair, the spiraling curls a mix of orange and strawberry and copper. Odessa’s hair. I unsheathed a knife from my belt and sheared off a lock. Then I tucked it into my vest beside Zavier’s circlet. My circlet. I stood, taking one last look at the woman. The crux.