Shield of Sparrows

The marroweel that had nearly eaten me yesterday hung from the Cutter’s mast on a thick chain. The monster’s milky eyes greeted me as I stepped onto the deck along with the stench of rotting fish.

Maybe I should have stayed in bed. Maybe, if I had lain there long enough, I would have eventually fallen asleep.

I’d spent last night staring at the dark ceiling, listening to Brielle whimper through a nightmare while Jocelyn tossed and turned. Listening to hammers pounding on the hull as the crew repaired the damage to the ship.

Every time I’d closed my eyes, I’d been in the ocean again. I’d felt the monster’s body touch my leg. Felt its breath on my feet and heard its scream in my ears.

A thousand years could pass, and I’d never forget that sound.

Brielle refused to leave our room until we reached Turah. Jocelyn would go to the galley, but she refused to step on deck. Maybe they had the right idea.

But fear wasn’t going to keep me trapped below. It wasn’t my life that had ended yesterday. If the Cutter had survived the attack, had kept sailing, then I would keep sailing, too.

So I set off across the deck, shoulders squared, and approached the beast.

The smell was overpowering. I gagged before breathing through my mouth instead of my nose.

Blood dripped from the marroweel’s nostrils into a bucket. That bucket was nearly filled to the top, and the steady dribble meant someone had probably been emptying it often.

I gagged again.

The scent was a hundred times worse than the dye I’d worked into my hair this morning to replace what the ocean had washed away in yesterday’s ordeal. With any luck, no one would remember that my hair had been more red than brown for those few minutes I’d been arguing with the Guardian. I didn’t have the energy to defend my hair routine now or ever.

“Hungry?” An apple slice on a dagger’s blade was thrust in my face.

“No.” I pushed the Guardian’s hand away, my stomach turning.

He popped that slice into his mouth, the fruit crunching as he chewed. His eyes were hazel today. Maybe that was their normal shade.

I preferred the vivid, bold colors. It made it easier to remember that he wasn’t a normal man.

“Don’t tell me you get sick at the sight of just a little blood?” he asked.

“I’d hardly consider a bucket’s worth ‘just a little blood.’”

He cut off another piece of the apple, then threw the core overboard. With it gone, he tucked his dagger into a scabbard strapped against his ribs. Then he swept the bucket from the floor, carrying it to the ship’s edge to pour out.

I’d expected a stream of crimson, but the liquid wasn’t red. It was a shade of the darkest green that reminded me of the Voster’s eyes.

A shiver crept down my spine.

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

Fresh droplets fell from the monster’s snout, splattering on the deck’s boards, a few leaping out toward my slippers.

I jumped backward a step before those splatters stained the hem of my dress. After yesterday’s swim, my boots, pants, and tunic needed a thorough wash. They’d been hung to dry, but they were all stiff with salt. So I was back to gray gowns and flat slippers for now. But not for long.

The Turan clothes had saved my life yesterday. Maybe that was giving a pair of pants and a tunic too much credit, but I’d spent enough time swimming in a gown to know that kicking was considerably harder with skirts around your ankles.

The Guardian set the empty bucket beneath the monster.

“That blood isn’t red.”

“Very observant, Cross.”

I frowned. “The blood of the female marroweels Zavier killed and left in Roslo was red. Why does this one bleed green? Why are its eyes white, not black? Is it a male or something? A different type of monster?”

The Guardian stared at the monster, crossing his arms over his chest. “It is a male.”

That explained why it was so much larger. It was nearly double the size of the females. The bone protruding from its skull was twice as tall. And its features weren’t as sleek. Its face was angular, the nose broader.

The females were terrifying. The males? Bone-chilling.

There was no reason I should be alive today.

“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?”

“My guess? It was focused on the ship. With the commotion, it didn’t even realize you were in the water until it touched you with its tail.”

“I don’t think I’m that lucky. Daria has never been a goddess on my side.”

“Then be grateful she was yesterday.”

Thank you, Daria. “You’re a fast swimmer,” I said.

“Are you going to keep stating the obvious today? Because I do have other obligations.”

I rolled my eyes. Smart-ass. “Why didn’t you jump into the water to rescue me? Wouldn’t that have been faster?”

A night spent replaying every moment, and that was what seemed to bother me the most. Why he’d chosen to throw that harpoon, to stay on the ship, rather than swim to get me.

Either he wouldn’t have risked his own life to save mine.

Or he’d been trying to accomplish multiple tasks at once. Save me. Kill the monster.

His eyebrows lifted. “Shall I consult with you first the next time you’re nearly devoured by a marroweel to make sure the way in which you are spared from its jaws is acceptable?”

“I didn’t mean—” I shook my head. I was too tired and too frazzled to articulate my thoughts, so I wasn’t even going to try. “Sorry. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. Thank you, again, for saving my life.”

He frowned but gave me a single nod.

“Why keep its body? Why not dump it overboard and save us all the stench?”

“Those scales are valuable. We’ll dispose of it once they’re harvested.”

“Oh.” I glanced toward the ocean. “Should I be worried about another marroweel attack?”

“It’s unlikely. Though there are other beasts to fear on the Krisenth besides marroweels.”

“Like you?” The retort came off my tongue automatically. A reflex.

It was one of those impulsive, snide remarks that would have enraged Father or Margot. It was one of those thoughts I’d normally keep to myself.

But where the Guardian was concerned, I couldn’t seem to stifle the snippy comments. What popped into my head came out of my mouth.

He stared at the monster, and if my question had offended him, he didn’t let it show. “Not all monsters are born from the gods, my queen. Some of us were made.”

Us. Then he considered himself a monster, too. Who was his maker?

This was the time to ask. The time to prod for information to hoard for my father. But I didn’t feel like prying for the Guardian’s secrets today. So I glanced around the deck, searching for a different Turan.

My husband.

“Where is Zavier?”

“The Cleaver.”

“Is that where he stays?” It hadn’t really occurred to me to ask before today. I’d assumed his quarters were somewhere on the Cutter, but considering that he hadn’t been here yesterday during the attack, that our paths hadn’t crossed often since we’d set sail, it made sense that he’d chosen to spend his time on a different boat.

Away from his wife.

“Curious about Zavier’s whereabouts, Sparrow? Why don’t you ask him where he sleeps?”

I’d walked right into that reply.

“Maybe I’m hoping he just shows me someday.” I batted my eyelashes and gave him my sweetest smile.

A throat cleared from over my shoulder. The Guardian’s smirk meant it could only be one person.

I turned and found Zavier waiting.

“My room shares a wall with yours,” he said. “My rangers stay on the Cleaver. I was training with them yesterday when the marroweel attacked.”

“Ah.” I faced the monster again, hoping that if I stared straight ahead, neither man would see that my face was on fire.

The Guardian let out a quiet chuckle.

My lip curled. I’d never met anyone who seemed to thrive on humiliating me quite so much.

Zavier passed by, moving closer to the marroweel, inspecting its carcass.

The tail tapered to twin iridescent fins with ruffled edges. Like the females, the male had sapphire-blue scales tipped with turquoise. Even without the sleek features of the females, this monster was breathtaking in its beauty. And flawless except for a series of scales missing from its spine.

The U-shaped gap in its armor was gray and bubbled like a scar. Did marroweels fight with each other? Had another monster tried to take a bite out of this male? Maybe two of them had fought over territory in the Krisenth.

Did that mean there was another male lurking below, waiting to strike?

I shivered, wrapping my arms around my waist.

“Don’t worry, my queen. We’ll keep you safe,” the Guardian said. “Especially if you stay. On. The. Fucking. Ship.”

I believed him. I believed Zavier and his men would keep me safe. But what if I was tired of being kept? What if I didn’t want to rely on a man to be my rescuer?

If I truly wanted to be in control of my destiny, then I couldn’t wait for someone else to save me from danger. The only person who was always going to fight for me was me.

Too bad I didn’t know how to fight.

“I want a sword,” I blurted.

The Guardian, predictable as ever, let out a dry laugh. “Would you know what to do with a sword?”

Besides dream about burying it into his gut? No, not really.

“I’ve had training with our weapons master.” It was nothing like the training Mae had received, probably because he’d given up on me years ago, but training was training. There had to be some lessons that had lingered, right?

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Zavier said.

Ouch. What a vote of confidence from my husband. It might have stung less had I not heard the exact same excuse from the weapons master in Roslo.

It was the reason he’d ended my training. He’d told Father that he was worried I’d hurt myself or someone else—Mae. Really, he’d just wanted to dump me in favor of a better, easier student—again, Mae.

Well, I was done with excuses.

“I’ll be fine.” I planted my hands on my hips. “And I insist. You warned me Turah is dangerous. The least you can do is arm me against that danger.”

Zavier’s mouth pursed in a thin line.

There wasn’t much I could do if he said no. Stomping my foot and pouting were more Mae’s style than my own. But I held his green gaze, willing him to give me a chance. To believe in me more than most people had in the past.

Say yes. Please.

He stared at me, his expression unreadable.

Damn. He was definitely going to say no.

The hilt of a sword appeared in front of my face.

The Guardian held it by the blade, his fingers pinching on the smooth metal to avoid the sharpened edges. “Take it.”

Wait. He was giving me his sword?

“Um, okay.” The slice on my palm from the wedding fiasco was still wrapped, the scabs ripped open by the rope yesterday, so I gripped the sword’s handle past my bandage. The indentations in the handle were too large for my hand, but I did my best to fit my fingers into the worn grooves.

The moment the Guardian let go of the blade, the weapon dropped, the tip sinking into the wooden deck. Oops.

“Lift it up,” he ordered.

I fisted it with both hands and raised it into the air, making it as high as my waist.

“Heavy?” the Guardian asked.

“You know it is.” I shot him a glare, using all of my strength to keep it from dropping again. “Now what?”

“Now, you hold it.” He hooked a finger under the tip, lifting it until it was poised at his neck. “Right here.”

Ah. So this was some sort of a test. “That’s it?”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “For now.”

I gritted my teeth, holding the sword as time slowed to a crawl. The sword was heavier, sturdier, than any weapon I’d ever seen or touched. Granted, I didn’t spend a lot of time with swords. Was it supposed to be this massive? Wouldn’t it be easier to use if it wasn’t so heavy? Apparently not. The Guardian probably swung this thing like it was a feather.

He stared at me, those hazel eyes narrowed down the length of the blade.

His throat was right there. Right at the tip of the weapon. If I lunged, if I made one quick move, I could send it through his windpipe.

Was that the test? That I didn’t try to kill him?

My heart was racing, the muscles in my arms beginning to burn. My palms were getting sweaty.

Hold it. Just hold it. I channeled all of my energy into this sword.

“Getting tired, Sparrow?” the Guardian asked.

“No,” I lied.

“I’m hearing that word a lot from you lately.”

“Get used to it.” Sweat beaded at my temples. My arms started to shake.

“You can stop, Odessa,” Zavier said.

I shook my head. “I can hold it.”

“You’ll drop it on your toe.”

“I’m fine.”

Gods. I was going to drop this sword on my toe.

Just a little longer. I could do this. Keep this sword at the Guardian’s throat for ten more seconds.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

My arms were trembling so hard that the blade wobbled.

Seven. Six. Five.

I was going to drop it. Fuck. I was going to fail this ridiculous test.

Four. Three. Two.

The Guardian moved so fast I never saw him shift until it was too late. One moment, the sword was aimed at his throat. The next, he’d hit the blade, forcing it out of my hands and into the air, toppling end over end until the hilt crashed into his waiting grip.

Then the blade was aimed at another throat.

Mine.

I gulped as the cold metal touched the underside of my chin.

“Your former fiancé must not have a big sword.” The Guardian’s eyes flashed emerald green, the innuendo dripping from his tone.

I frowned and took a step backward, away from the blade. Then I faced Zavier. “Well?”

He looked to the Guardian so they could have another of their unspoken conversations.

Zavier sighed and nodded. “Fine. We’ll get you a sword.”

Hopefully it was one that I could actually swing.

“Thank you.” I walked away before he could change his mind, hiding my smile as I crossed the deck.

Yes. My arms felt like limp seaweed, but I’d made my point. I’d passed that test and stood up for myself.

Maybe I should have done that a long, long time ago. Maybe Father would have trusted me if I’d shown more of a backbone. If I’d told him no.

That, or he would have made my life miserable.

I started down the stairs to go below, to tell Brielle and Jocelyn that I’d earned a sword today, but stopped three steps down.noveldrama

There was nothing to do in my room. The reason I hadn’t crossed paths with Zavier was because I’d been hiding.

Sure, it smelled like dead fish on deck, but if I stood at the bow, I’d have the marroweel at my back. So I turned and was climbing toward the door when a deep voice made me freeze.

“It’s spreading.” Zavier’s voice was quiet.

“I know,” the Guardian murmured.

What was spreading? The marroweels? Did that mean the Chain of Sevens wasn’t going to keep them from the Krisenth? That Father’s ships would still be in danger?

“Arming her is probably a bad idea.” Her. Me.

“Probably,” the Guardian said.

I inched back, sure they’d turn and find me eavesdropping. A good princess would have hastened below before she could get caught. But I wasn’t a good princess.

“You realize she’s going to try to kill you,” Zavier told him.

My heart dropped, plunking down the staircase.

Did they know Father had asked me to kill him? Or was that just a guess? It didn’t matter. Their suspicions were correct. Which meant the closest I’d likely ever get to killing the Guardian had been moments ago with his own sword at his throat.

“Do you really think arming her is smart?” Zavier asked.

The Guardian laughed. “I’ve had worse ideas.”

As they walked up the stairs to the quarterdeck, moving to the stern, I slunk down the stairs.

And spent the rest of the day with Brielle and Jocelyn, hiding in our room.