Shield of Sparrows (Shield of Sparrows, #1)

by Devney Perry

Mae’s dress for tonight had been designed with layers of aquamarine and celeste. Margot would likely be in her signature blue. My dress, like all of my dresses, would be gray. Someday, when I didn’t have Margot dictating my wardrobe or Father’s scrutiny at every meal, I wanted to wear red. Or green. Or black. Or yellow. Any color but gray.

I raced for the cliff. My drab, gray dress streamed behind me as I ran, faster and faster, arms pumping, legs pushing. I didn’t think. I didn’t falter. 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. As companions to share in this realm. The Mother and Father had been proud of their beautiful creations. They’d showered them with praise and glory. But that pride enraged the gods’ children, and in a fit of jealousy, the new gods—the Six—made animals of their own. 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. And there was no monster more feared than the crux.

The Voster were terrors far worse than any monster roaming the five kingdoms.

Why was it okay for Mae to fit in a little fun before this meeting with the Turans, but I was being chastised for a tiny ocean swim? The double standards around this castle were stifling.

Mostly, I think the red reminded her too much of my mother. I was too much of my mother.

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

Some believed he’d crawled out of a grave in Turah. That he was more ghost than mortal being. Some said he was Izzac incarnate. That the God of Death had grown tired of his throne and disguised himself as a man to torment humankind for amusement. And others were certain he’d been gifted his powers by the old gods themselves. He was more myth than man, and stories about him had swept across the continent like wildfire.

I’d never seen the Turan prince before, but he must be Zavier Wolfe. The heir to the Turan throne. Mae’s soon-to-be husband.

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.

Five pairs of Turan eyes with green starbursts in their irises dragged over Margot and Mae while the Guardian’s silver gaze locked on me instead. It was as uncomfortable as the Voster magic.

The Turan in the center of the group wore a circlet across his forehead. The band wasn’t inlaid with jewels or gems. It was a twist of metal threads, woven together to form a line of silver. His brown hair was shorter than any of the others’, the soft waves pushed away from his face, the ends curling slightly at his nape. The sides of his crown disappeared beneath the strands at his ears. A small scar cut through one of his eyebrows. His eyes were the color of moss on a stormy day. The shade nearly swallowed the green starbursts in his irises. Prince Zavier was handsome. Stunning, really, with a robust masculinity. And he was bored. There wasn’t a hint of interest at meeting his future bride.

“Not her.”

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. When I was a child, I used to ask Father why I was different. After he’d ignored the question countless times, I’d stopped trying to understand. When Mae and I were girls, when the time had come for him to choose the Sparrow and he’d picked her instead of me, even though I was his eldest daughter, he hadn’t explained that, either. The Gold King owed no one an explanation.

I’d never slept with Banner, but there’d been a boy once. When I was fifteen. A boy with freckled cheeks and an easy laugh. He’d worked in the stables. Father must have found out that I’d been sneaking him into my rooms, because one day I’d gone to visit him at the stables and he’d left the city. How much had Father paid him to leave Roslo? Certainly not a chest of gold. My value was going up. Good for me.

The delicate chain was coiled neatly. As I lifted it free, the pendant glinted in the light. A wing of silver was inlaid in a circle of gold. Except it wasn’t gold. The hue was red and orange and as bright as the harvest moon. It was a symbol I’d never seen before. I’d scoured books in the library. I’d drawn it out and taken it to the docks to see if anyone recognized the design. But after all these years, it remained a mystery.

Father took a firm hold of my fingers and dragged the knife across my skin. Pain lanced through my palm, spreading up my arm. Tears swam in my eyes, but I blinked them away as Father tilted my hand and filled the vial with my blood, topping it with a cork.

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

“I’m certain that if my husband can endure days without his royal finery, I’ll manage just fine. No need to concern yourself with my well-being. In fact, maybe it would be best if you forgot about me completely. I’d rather not associate with a killer.”

“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.”

Of course. Silly me for thinking we were all in the dark. Nope, just me.

Why would he share his intentions with Mae but not me? Was it because she had a vicious streak? Because she was bold and cunning? Because she knew how to wield a sword and win in a fight? Regardless of the reason, he’d chosen her to be the Sparrow. He always chose her.

I might be the woman wearing the crown, but Jocelyn was the one with the riches, wasn’t she?

so I looked to my cliffside. I’d expected to find it empty, but a lone rider sat on his horse at the top. A man dressed in a teal uniform, riding a buckskin stallion. Banner. I lifted my arm in the air. He did the same. I watched him until he was only a speck on the coastline.

“Nice dress.” His gaze raked over my body in slow perusal, head to toe. “Didn’t want to try those clothes I left you this morning?”

“No.” I squared my shoulders, using my last shred of strength, and lifted my chin. “I will listen when it’s a matter of safety for myself. For other people. I will do my best to ‘stay the fuck out of the way.’ But I will not bend to your every whim. I will not humiliate myself because you deem me insignificant. If you wanted me to stay quiet, then you should have let that marroweel kill me. I am not one of your warriors to lead. I am not your wife to command. So no, we do not have an understanding.”

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

“Stop breaking into my room.”

“What’s that word you like so much?” He tapped his chin, pretending to think it over. “No.”

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

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

“Feel free to wander into mine, Princess.” He leaned in closer. “Zavier likes to share.”

“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, 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?”

In his book, he called my country a land for thieves and traitors. He said Roslo was nothing more than a cesspool of immorality. And he speculated that my father was a murderer. That the Gold King was behind more than one assassination attempt, including the death of the queen. My. Mother.

“Papa!” Um… What?

“I think we both know something about being alone.”

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe the door to your cage has always been unlocked, Sparrow? And all you had to do was push it open?”

She had no idea I was Zavier’s wife.

“You asked for my name,” he said. “You told me I had to earn it.” He nodded. “Ransom. My name is Ransom.”

I wanted to know how the man who’d murdered Banner’s brother over a woman could have been proclaimed the protector of Turah. There was more to what had happened with Banner’s brother, wasn’t there? A piece of the story I was missing.

“I killed him.” That, I already knew. “Why?” “Because he was the man who took those girls in Westor.”

And now I knew the reason he didn’t visit my bed. He’d been in Jocelyn’s instead.

“I have to let go.”

“Of what?”

“...

“You are not mine ...

“What if I was yours?”

“How? I signed my name in blood, remember?”