Shield of Sparrows

The Cutter. The Cannon. The Cleaver.

Apparently, when naming ships, the Turans stuck to weaponry.

And they were oh-so-proud of those names.

CUTTER was inlaid into the dining table in my room. Each chair had a brass plate with the name. And it was painted in swirly, beige script on the wood above the rear windows.

Were they afraid that if it wasn’t etched into the bed’s headboard, someone would forget where they were sleeping?

Placards aside, at least this ship was relatively comfortable. I was still adjusting to the constant rocking motion, but I hadn’t gotten sick. Unlike both Brielle and Jocelyn, who’d spent most of the night clutching bowls to their chests.

I’d been alternating between their beds, applying cool compresses to their foreheads and covering them with blankets when they got the chills. After both had finally fallen asleep a few hours ago, I’d crashed hard, planning to sleep today away. But there were no curtains over the windows that ran along the back of the ship. Nothing to block out the ocean blue reflecting the sunrise gold.

It was too bright to sleep. And this room too stuffy.

They’d crammed a lot into such a small space. A table to take meals. My trunks against the wall beside Brielle’s and Jocelyn’s. And three beds. Mine on one side of the room with theirs on the opposite, a narrow walkway splitting the room in half.

Jocelyn hadn’t fully unpacked my trunks. She’d only taken out a few dresses to hang on the row of hooks beside the door. I’d planned to wear a simple gray dress today—like all days.

Except there was a folded pile of clothes on the floor, right inside the door.

The locked door.

At some point while I’d been asleep, someone, on my husband’s errand, had broken into my room to bring me clothing. To bring me boots. To bring me pants.

I didn’t wear pants. Ever.

My last name, my home, my crown, and my family were gone, but damn it, I wasn’t going to lose my clothes, too. I was a woman who liked dresses, even if they were gray.

Those pants could rot.

So I went to a hook, retrieved my least wrinkled dress, and pulled it on with a pair of my most comfortable slippers. 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. Not a bad weight. Not a burden. It was like something was gently securing me to the floor. Easing my shoulders away from my ears. Like I’d found a new center to keep me steady on this rocking ship.

I faced the narrow mirror hanging on the back of the door. The woman who stared back was tired. Still hungry—I’d picked at last night’s dinner, afraid if I ate too much I’d get sick. But still, that woman was me.

The drab gray dress, the brown hair, the scuffed slippers, and the warm necklace. My wardrobe might be dull and boring, but it was a sliver of normalcy in this sea of uncertainty.

I tucked the pendant beneath the neckline of my gown, settling it over my sternum.

Since Zavier seemed to hold no interest in my body or consummating this marriage, it would be perfectly safe between my breasts.

I walked toward the pile of clothes and boots and swept them into a corner.

If the Turans really wanted me to wear pants, they could knock before entering my room.

Brielle and Jocelyn were both sound asleep, mouths slack and arms curled around the bowls I’d emptied out the window more than once in the night.

I smoothed the front of my dress, steeled my spine, and unlocked my door. Then I climbed the stairs that led to the ship’s deck.

A blast of ocean wind lifted the ends of my hair, tangling the curls. They’d be a mess to comb later, but what else did I have to do? If tonight was anything like the last, I’d spend the hours after dinner was delivered to my room counting waves. That, and listening to Brielle and Jocelyn retch and groan.

I’d have time to brush my hair.

The deck was clean and uncluttered. The boxes and crates strewn across the space yesterday had all been stowed, our supplies secure below.

One man mopped the floorboards while others were busy with the rigging. No one looked in my direction. No one seemed to care that I’d emerged from my quarters.

I was as invisible to the Turans as I’d been at home. Good. That would make spying easier.

The Cannon and the Cleaver sailed beside the Cutter, not so close that they’d risk colliding, but not so far that a loud shout couldn’t be heard from one to the next. Together, the three formed a line of wooden hulls and massive sails. A line of red cutting through a sea of blue.

I walked to the ship’s portside wall, staring into the distance. There was nothing but water and sky and the puff of white clouds.

It should have been lonely. Isolating. But I’d spent too many years on my cliffside in Roslo, imagining what was beyond Quentis’s shores, to feel anything but a thrill.

This was not an adventure of my choosing, but it was still an adventure.

I closed my eyes, feeling the salt water spray on my face. I tilted my head to the sky, the warmth of the sun on my cheeks, and I filled my lungs with the wind.

My adventure.

Was I happy with this situation? No. But if nothing else, maybe I could find joy in this journey.

“The crew just swabbed. Try not to hurl on the deck, my queen.”

He really needed to stop calling me that.

My lip curled at that familiar deep voice. 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.

Zavier wasn’t nearly as condescending.

Did the Guardian’s powers include sensing moods? Had he felt that I was almost enjoying myself, so he’d come to ruin my happy moment?

“Don’t you have anyone else to pester?” I asked as he came to stand at my side.

“No.” And there came the smirk.

It was more arrogant than ever.

Did that arrogance come from killing? Had he deemed himself untouchable?

He stood too close, so I inched away. It only made that smirk widen.

Gods, I wanted to slap him. Probably not a great idea, considering he was a murderer of innocent men, but the urge was overwhelming.

The men in my life didn’t smirk. Father scowled. Banner would never lower himself to anything so unrefined. And the guards at the castle had been trained to keep neutral expressions.

The Guardian smirked like he’d invented the gesture. Only half of his mouth turned up into what some might consider a crooked grin, and it could have been a smile if not for the way his eyes narrowed. The man oozed scorn and superiority.

His gaze was that emerald green again and full of suspicion. He stared at me like he knew a secret. A secret he’d taunt me with mercilessly.

“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?”

“You came into my room?” My knuckles turned white as my grip tightened on the ship’s rail. There’d be crescents in the wood from my fingernails before this conversation was finished. “The door was locked.”

“Was it? My mistake.”

Bastard. I tapped my nose, then leaned in, sniffing at his vest. “I thought I’d smelled something foul in the air when I woke up. Must have been you.”

That smirk stretched into an actual smile with straight, white teeth. “You snore, Cross.”

Cross. Not Wolfe.

He probably meant it as an insult. That I hadn’t earned the Turan royal name yet. But I didn’t want to be a Wolfe, so if this prick wanted to call me Cross, I wasn’t going to object.

“I do not snore.”

I definitely snored.

It happened whenever I was overtired, like I had been last night. There were times when I snored so loudly, I’d wake myself up.

Not that I’d ever admit it to him.

The Guardian chuckled as he turned to face the Cleaver sailing at our side.

What did I hate more? The smirk? Or how easily he could laugh at my expense? It was a tie.

Before I could excuse myself to go below, he planted his hands on the rail beside mine and, in one fluid swing, leaped overboard.

My jaw dropped as he plummeted into the water, disappearing beneath its waves.

I scanned the deck, expecting to find shocked faces from anyone else, but the men kept on working like this was normal. Like someone didn’t need to throw him a rope before we left him behind.

The sails were full, and we were moving quickly. He couldn’t swim that fast, could he?

I peered over the edge, searching the water. How long could he hold his breath? Where was he?

Yes, if he drowned that would save me a lot of trouble. And yes, I’d fantasized about tossing him overboard myself. But if he did die, it would be rather…anticlimactic. And really unsatisfying.

“There.” An arm appeared in my periphery, outstretched toward the Cleaver. Zavier took the place where the Guardian had been standing and pointed to the other ship’s hull.

To where a man who’d leaped off this boat only moments ago was already climbing up a rope and onto the other.

No mortal man could swim that fast.

“What is he?” I whispered.

Zavier dropped his arm, eyes still locked on the Guardian. He didn’t answer my question. “Good morning, Odessa.”

“Good morning,” I said, glancing between the prince and the Cleaver.

Were the rangers on that ship? The Voster? As long as the High Priest or Brother Dime weren’t on the Cutter, did it matter? I was just glad they were far enough away that I couldn’t feel their magic.

Zavier held out a hand, motioning me toward the quarterdeck, up the stairs to the stern where we’d stood last night. Where we could talk alone.

“Did you rest?” he asked as we settled against the railing, eyes trained to where we’d been, not where we were going.

I shrugged. “A little.”

He hummed, staring in the direction of Quentis. There was a layer of stubble on his face that contoured the hard lines of his jaw. There was a sword strapped to his back. Knives at his belt. The warrior prince.

There were dark circles under his eyes, like he’d been awake all night.

Had he stayed up in case of marroweels? Was he armed to defend us in case a monster attacked?

“Have you ever made the Krisenth Crossing?” he asked, leaning his forearms on the railing to stare out over the sea.

“I’ve never been on a ship.”noveldrama

Father had taken a trip to Ozarth once and had agreed to bring me along, but then I’d gotten sick with a cough and he’d left me behind with our healers.

“This passage is not for the weak. How’s your stomach?”

“Not weak.”

“Good.”

“My lady’s maids, on the other hand, are struggling.”

“Warn them that it will only get worse. I made the crossing once with a man from Genesis. He’d never been on a ship before and spent the entire trip hurling out a window.”

I doubted Brielle or Jocelyn would leave the room if that was the case. But I liked the swaying motion. It was part of why I’d slept, and snored, so soundly.

“Have you ever traveled beyond Quentis?” he asked.

“No. This is a first.”

My life had been spent in Roslo with the occasional visit to other Quentin towns.

Quentis was the smallest and southernmost kingdom in Calandra. It was bordered on three sides by the Marixmore Ocean. On the fourth, our eastern border with Genesis, was a chasm. The Evon Ravine.

The ravine cut so deeply into the earth, it was almost black at the bottom. It was too wide to bridge, so travelers wound along a switchback down the cliffs, dropping lower and lower to the ravine’s floor, then climbing out in the same way up the other side.

Such a treacherous route wasn’t well traveled. And the monsters that lurked in the Evon’s depths were more terrifying than those that swam the Marixmore.

The Krisenth Crossing might be dangerous, but it was the safest way for anyone to journey from Quentis to another kingdom. It was why our trade routes had been established by sea. Even for our neighbor, Genesis, travelers sailed along the coast. Because Turah was the largest and northernmost kingdom, the most feasible route was this crossing.

“How long will it take to reach Turah?” I asked.

“Eight to nine days, depending on the weather. We’ve got provisions for two weeks in case of an emergency.”

“Is that why you brought three ships, not one? In case of an emergency?” I looked to the Cleaver, then the Cannon. Three ships felt unnecessary. Unless maybe it wasn’t enough. “How many ships did you leave Turah with?”

“Six.”

My jaw dropped. Half hadn’t made the crossing. “Marroweels?”

“And a storm,” he said.

“Gods.” I signed the Eight.

“Are you frightened?”

“Yes.” I was too tired to deliver a decent lie.

“Good,” he murmured. “You should be. So am I.”

Not something I would have expected from a prince. Maybe in our honesty, we could find common ground. “It should be safer now that you killed those marroweels, right?”

“When it comes to monsters, safety is an illusion. The High Priest believes the females have chosen the Krisenth to lay their eggs. Why, no one knows. With seven dead, it should reduce their population. Make their attacks less frequent.”

Maybe there really was something to the Chain of Sevens beyond the havoc it had wreaked on my life.

“So, yes,” he said. “It is safer now than it was.”

Well, that didn’t make me feel safe in the slightest. “How did you kill them when they attacked?”

“The ships are armed with harpoons and spears.”

And he’d killed all seven marroweels with those weapons to claim me as his prize.

“It’s unlikely we’ll be attacked,” he said. “We have more to fear from a storm.”

Unless the seven monsters were a fraction of the number in the Krisenth. What if there were seven more? A hundred more?

A chill snaked down my spine, making me shiver.

“We baited them, Odessa,” he said. “At most, a sailor will see one marroweel in the span of ten years on this journey. Finding seven was intentional.”

Right. Baited per my father’s request. Baited seven so he could claim his bride prize.

“Why me?” I blurted. “Why did you want to marry me?”

If we were going to be tied together, I wanted an answer.

Except Zavier stayed quiet, leaning his elbows against the railing, his tall, strong body bent in half. His gaze affixed to the horizon.

“You’re really going to ignore me, huh?”

The corners of his mouth turned up.

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. The last thing I needed was to fall for my husband and let down my guard.

“I must warn you, Turah is not like Quentis,” he said.

“Because the women wear pants?”

The joke earned me another handsome half smile. “Clothing choices aside, Turah is rugged and vast. We’ve got a long way to travel once we reach its shores.”

To Allesaria.

I schooled my expression, hoping he couldn’t sense the quickening of my pulse. Wouldn’t it be convenient if he simply told me all about the capital city? I’d gladly stand here and listen.

“Quentis has never sent a Sparrow to Turah. Not in three hundred years. It’s been the other way around, but in the past nine marriages, never this way.”

The arrangements depended on the heirs each generation produced. Their ages. Their genders. Their kingdoms. Our parents didn’t care much about love or preference. If a prince was in love with another, he’d still be forced to marry a princess and produce an heir. If a princess was ten years older than the prince, they’d marry as long as she could still bear a child.

As long as enough generations had passed between the mixing of bloodlines to ensure the health of future kings and Sparrows, not much else mattered.

My father came from a long line of male heirs. As far as I knew, Father had never considered me as the Sparrow. Maybe in the years before Mae was born, but as far back as I could remember, it had always been her. He had always believed she could be a queen. Why not me?

I guess it didn’t matter now.

By the gods’ design, this was my fate.

“The last Sparrow to come to Turah was from Laine,” he said. “That was over a hundred years ago. She came and didn’t stay long.”

Um…what? “She left?”

We could leave? I guess there hadn’t been anything in the treaty requiring me to stay. I was to produce an heir. If I was barren, well…to my knowledge, no Sparrow had ever been barren. Maybe that was part of the treaty’s magic. I also wasn’t allowed to kill Zavier.

But maybe, once my duties were done, I could simply leave.

“Getting ideas?” Zavier arched an eyebrow.

“Maybe,” I admitted with a laugh.

He grinned—not a smile, but it had the makings of one. It was as dangerous as it was attractive.

“Yes, she left,” he said. “After her daughter, my grandmother’s grandmother, was born. She returned to Laine. Though not without paying a price.”

Her child. She would have had to leave her child in Turah. How harsh was their kingdom that a mother would abandon her own daughter?

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

“To set your expectations. Turah is not Quentis.”

“If you wanted the strongest wife possible, you should have chosen Mae.”

He stared forward, his mossy green eyes hard and unreadable.

“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.”

“Ah.” Smart. Something to remember as I attempted to spy.

It wasn’t going to be easy to learn about them, about Allesaria, was it? They’d secluded themselves from the other kingdoms for a reason. Was it simply distrust? Had they been betrayed at some point in past generations?

“Why did you trust me with your secret?” It made no sense that he’d deceive Father but reveal himself to me, especially so soon. I wasn’t fool enough to believe he actually trusted his new bride.

“Turans are loyal to Turans.” There was a warning in his tone.

Wait. This was a test, wasn’t it?

From the moment I’d signed the Shield of Sparrows, I was considered Turan.

He’d speak in front of his own people, those loyal to his crown, but not in front of outsiders. Zavier hadn’t spoken in front of Brielle or Jocelyn yesterday. I doubted he ever would. They were Quentins.

But me?

He’d drawn a line in the sand, and this secret was his way of forcing me to choose a side.

I hadn’t told Brielle or Jocelyn that he’d spoken to me. Mostly because they’d been so sick last night. But there was also a part of me that liked knowing something that others did not. I was so often the last person to hear gossip. To catch rumors.

Strange how in the past few days, I’d gained more secrets than I had in the past few years combined. My father’s. And now Zavier’s.

It wasn’t a gift of unbridled trust. I’d probably never earn that from either man. But I’d keep this secret.

For now.

“Why did you choose me?”

Like before, he didn’t answer.

If he thought I’d stop asking, he was very, very wrong.

“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.”

That meant no.

“So does that mean we won’t…” I couldn’t even finish the question.

Which was probably good, because Zavier’s response was to walk away.

“Ugh.” I sagged against the railing, my entire body flaming with embarrassment. Maybe I should throw myself overboard to cool off. That, or take lessons from my husband.

And keep my damn mouth shut.