Shield of Sparrows

The Guardian’s sword cut through the space between us with a whoosh. That blade in his hand was a streak of silver, a bolt of lightning, wielded with only a roll of his wrist. “Ready?”

Was I ready to train with a man who could break my neck with a snap of his fingers or slice me in half with one flick of that sword?

No. Definitely not ready.

I want a sword.

What the fuck was I thinking? If I died in this makeshift training area today, it would be my own damn fault.

There was a circle in the grassy area between the fires and tents. A patch that had been trampled and flattened by boots. Probably from the warriors who’d trained in this ring yesterday.

But this morning, we were alone. It was a small mercy that no one was here to watch me trip over my own feet and fall on my ass. The only witness to my humiliation today would be the man delivering it.

The sun had broken above the indigo mountains just moments ago, tinting the plains beyond the camp’s fires in a medley of green and gold. Storm clouds banked on the horizon, the winds blowing them toward camp. This landscape was as bold as any painting, as picturesque a scene as I’d ever seen.

The evil glint in the Guardian’s hazel eyes said I wasn’t going to have the chance to enjoy the view.

“What am I doing here?” I muttered under my breath.

“This was your idea, remember?”

Ten paces away, and still, he’d heard me. He could probably hear a cricket chirping on the opposite end of the encampment. Or he was simply plucking thoughts straight out of my head.

He used the tip of his sword to point at my feet. “Get in your fighting stance.”

I adjusted my position, pivoting sideways with my left leg ahead of my right. Then I bent slightly at the knees, lifting the twin blades he’d handed me when I’d swept out of my tent earlier.

The weapons were longer than daggers, the blades about the length of my forearms, but shorter than the sword Tillia carried across her back. Why he thought it would be best to start with two knives instead of one sword was baffling, but after another sleepless night, I didn’t have the will to challenge his decision.

It was going to take all my fortitude just to survive this training session. We’d save the verbal sparring for another day.

The Guardian had been waiting, casually eating an apple, with both of these knives tucked under an arm when I’d stepped out of my tent.

The weapons had been entirely unappealing. But that apple? Mouthwatering. Yesterday’s meal hadn’t been enough, and shades, I was hungry.

Maybe I’d track down some fruit of my own whenever I left this training ring. That was, if I could still walk.

The Guardian came to a stop in the center of the circle. “You have no chance at outrunning an opponent, either monster or man. You’re too short and slow.”

“Thanks,” I deadpanned. “And I was certain I wouldn’t earn any compliments today.”

“Praise is for the bedroom, Cross. Not the training ring.”

The image of him in a darkened room, shirtless, whispering praise into my ear, popped into my head before I could stop it.

No. No, no, no. I refused to let my thoughts wander in that direction. The only man who’d be in my bedroom was my husband.

Maybe. Someday. Gods, my marriage was weird.

Focus, Odessa. I gripped my knives tighter. “Noted. Next?”

He dragged his free hand through his hair, shoving the brown locks off his forehead. It was…not attractive. Not. At. All.

The Guardian moved closer, snaring me with his hard, intimidating gaze.

It took everything in my power not to gulp and shy away.

“Any opponent will likely move in close. To go for the kill. Your task will be to find your enemy’s weak points. For most beasts, your only hope is to inflict a wound. Go for the throat. Slice a leg. Gouge an eye. Anything to slow it down so you can run and hide. If you’re fighting a man, go for the kill.” He used his free hand to take hold of the blade in my right, positioning the tip against his leather vest.

I was in yesterday’s clothes, leather pants and a tunic without embroidery.

He was in the same attire I’d seen him in the day we’d met in the throne room. That vest, studded with silver and brass, molded over his torso and the off-white tunic beneath. I’d thought the Turan vests were simply for style, but they were part of their armor, weren’t they?

My knives were sharp, but puncturing that leather would take all my might.

“Slide your knife past the ribs. Straight into the heart. Think you can do that?” he asked.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“It’s not a joke. There’s no point in you having these knives if you aren’t going to use them. Could you kill a man, Cross?”

My eyes lifted to his. “If I must.”

He leaned in closer, my knife pressing into that vest. The material resisted still, showing no weakness.

How hard would I have to push to reach his skin? What if I poured all my strength into one hard thrust? Would he stop me? Would I catch him off guard?

There was a dare in his eyes. He was baiting me to try.

Do it. Push.

My arm wouldn’t move.

Could I kill a man? This man? No. I wasn’t sure I could ever take a life, even his.

The corner of the Guardian’s mouth twitched, like he read that realization on my face.

He stepped away. “Let’s see how well you can block.”

And with that, the training began.

Thunder boomed overhead. In the hours we’d been training, storm clouds had settled over the camp, and moments ago, they’d opened, releasing a deluge of rain upon our heads.

I’d hoped it would cut our session short. Nope.

The Guardian, apparently, trained rain or shine.

The droplets mingled with the sweat on my face, and every time one slipped into my mouth, I tasted salt and blood.

My chest heaved, my heart pounding so hard I feared it would sputter and quit.

I bent forward, bracing on my knees as I did my best not to vomit.

This was hell. Izzac had brought me to his shade to torture me for all those murderous thoughts I’d had toward the Guardian.

“Tired already?” The asshole wasn’t even winded.

I squeezed my eyes shut, sucking in a breath through my nostrils, the oxygen making my lungs burn. Then I gritted my teeth and stood tall, letting the water cascade down my face as I resumed my fighting stance.

My pants were caked with mud. This tunic was slashed and ruined from the swipes of his sword, the fabric hanging in tatters along my sides. But I wasn’t stopping, not yet. “Again.”

His sword came down over my head as thunder cracked the sky.

I caught the blade this time, pinned it between my knives like he’d taught me to do earlier. Then, with my arms braced, wrists straining, legs burning, I fought to keep him from pushing his sword into my skull.

“Harder,” he barked, adding more pressure.

A cry tore from my mouth along with a blob of spittle as I flung his sword to the side. It might have been impressive, except the ground was slick and I was unsteady. My boot slipped, and I crashed to a knee.

The Guardian didn’t give me a chance to recover. He swiped for my neck, forcing me to my stomach to keep my head attached to my shoulders.

I rolled in the mud, frantically fumbling to get to my feet.

As soon as I was up, he swung at me again, this time aiming for my stomach, and I barely deflected the strike.

The metal of our weapons sang as they rebounded off one another.

“Faster,” he barked. “Keep your feet.”

I sucked in a breath before he came at me again, angling left, then right. My movements were sluggish, my hold on the knives faltering.

He knocked the blade from my left hand, sending it flying toward the edge of the training ring.

“Stop dropping your fucking knife,” he bellowed.

“I’m trying,” I screamed over the storm and my pounding pulse.

“Try harder,” he sneered, then walked to pick up my knife, thrusting the handle into my palm. “Again.”

I gritted my teeth, willing my body to stay strong, to endure this. Then I anchored my heels to the slick earth.

“Don’t fall,” he ordered.

Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall.

He lunged, another overhead strike, and rather than stand tall, I shuffled backward, tripping over my own godsdamn feet.

I fell right on my ass. Hell. This was hell.

The Guardian glowered down at me, his frustration as palpable as the rain. He pointed the sword at my face, and for a moment, I wondered if this was it. If he’d tested me, deemed me unworthy, and would rid Turah of a weak princess.

The blade’s tip was a whisper against my forehead as he used it to pick up a curl of my soaked hair.

The dye was washing out. I could practically feel the brown coating my cheeks. My shirt. It would mix with the mud, making me look as dirty as I felt.

“I said don’t fall.” He pulled back his sword, and the curl fell to stick to my face. “Ready to quit?”

I couldn’t quit, no matter how much I wanted to say yes. “Never.”

“Good.” He waved me to the center of the ring. “Your first instinct is to retreat. You must stand your ground. Move to the side. Create an opening to strike. But do not go backward. You’ll just land on your ass. Again.”

“Move to the side. Got it.” I pushed to my feet, taking one heartbeat to breathe. Then I pointed both knives toward his smug face. “Ready.”

He swung so fast I didn’t even realize the blade was close until I felt its wind against my cheek.

I shied away—backward, as always—rocking on my heels. But I didn’t fall.

“Damn it, Cross. Attack!” he yelled, slicing at me again.

Except I couldn’t attack, not when he was coming at me with murder in his eyes. My legs acted of their own accord, shuffling me away, away, away. Toward the edge of the ring. Toward the closest burning fire.

It blazed, despite the rain, the sparks reaching out to catch my clothes and hair.

“Move your feet,” the Guardian shouted as he advanced again.

With the fire at my back, I had no choice but to sidestep his strike.

“She learns,” he mocked. “Finally.”

My nostrils flared as he continued to push me around, toyed with me like I was a plaything to amuse him on a stormy day.

I stabbed at him, aiming nowhere and everywhere, only to have my knife slide off the thick leather cuff he wore over his left forearm.

“You’ll have to hit harder than that to pierce grizzur hide.”

That made me pause. “That cuff is grizzur hide? Is that why you kept the monster you killed?”

Not to keep its blood from attracting other predators, but so that its hide could be used for cuffs and those vests.

The hide was incredibly strong. Tough. Durable. And probably more comfortable than breastplates of metal.

“Stop asking questions, Cross. Fight, damn it. Attack.”

“I am fighting,” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. “I’m trying.”

“Not hard enough.” He bent, getting into my face. His eyes shifted to swirling silver, and the rest of the realm melted away. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Quentins are usually better at running away than fighting.”

“I’m not running away.”

“Then stop backing away. You want to be queen of Turah? Then you must not be afraid.”

“I don’t want to be queen of Turah.” The confession came so fast I flinched.

He scoffed. “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?”

Not a single blow he’d landed today hit harder. It was every insecurity pulled from the deepest parts of my heart and plopped on the mud for him to stomp with his boot.noveldrama

It was ruthless. Unforgivable.

The truth.

A wrath unlike anything I’d felt before burned beneath my skin. It was hot and vicious, and it vibrated through my entire being. My hands gripped my knives until my knuckles were white.

“Are you angry, Sparrow? Use that rage. Fucking. Fight.”

I hate you.

If he could read my mind, I wanted that at the front. I hate you.

A slow grin stretched across his mouth. “There’s my queen.”

“Stop calling me that,” I seethed.

“Make me.” He stepped back, raising his arms as the rain poured over his shoulders, onto the soaked fabric that was molded around his roped muscles.

He dropped his sword, sending it splattering to the mud. Then he pointed to my blades and crooked a finger.

If he wanted to fight unarmed? Fine. I still didn’t stand a chance, but I wanted his blood. I wanted his pain.

Before I could think about it too hard, I lunged, my knives aimed for his neck.

He’d told me to go after a monster’s throat, and there was only one monster here today.

The Guardian twisted to the side, a quick sidestep that took him out of my path. It forced me to change directions, once again following his lead. Once again on his leash.

But I chased him anyway, never slowing my steps as I let my arms swing wildly through the air, hoping that I’d earn a bit of luck and find purchase. I didn’t want much.

The shell of his ear. The tip of his nose. A finger or thumb.

Bloodlust surged through my veins like fire. My vision coated in red.

He dodged every strike, but I kept going, pouring out all of my anger at him, at Zavier, at my father for sending me to Turah.

I used that rage, infusing it into my arms and legs.

“Faster,” he yelled as I stabbed at his ribs, missing completely. “Move!”

A raw scream ripped through my throat, the rain swallowing the noise.

My arms flailed, my movements getting sloppy, but I kept going, kept pushing, harder and faster.

The space around us faded to a blur. All that remained were those silver eyes.

I wanted to carve them from his skull.

But no matter how fast I ran, how quickly I brought down my blades, he was always out of reach.

It was effortless for him, wasn’t it? I was about to collapse. The strength in my arms was waning. My legs were weak, my knees wobbling. I commanded them to push, but there was nothing left.

The Guardian had drained me to the core.

My vision was turning fuzzy, the rain getting into my eyes and stinging them with each blink. I collected the frayed ends of my control and made one final attack, whipping the knives in all directions in the hope I’d catch his flesh.

It was the quickest I’d ever moved. It wasn’t even close to enough. The knife’s tip whizzed past the Guardian’s neck, only a smidgen away from slicing into his throat. But that smidgen might as well have been a continent.

A miss was a miss.

The knife was moving so fast it tore itself out of my grip, flying to the edge of the training circle, where it landed with a muffled thump.

I dropped to my knees.

“Get up,” the Guardian commanded.

I closed my eyes, my shoulders sagging in defeat.

What was I doing here? In this training ring. In Turah. Why had Zavier married me?

A chill was soaking into my marrow, a cold that had nothing to do with the rain.

It was hopeless. I was hopeless. I was nothing but a toy. A doll. A trivial princess who had no business in this fray between kings. My father was likely making contingency plans for when I failed.

“Get. Up.” The Guardian planted his hands on his hips. “Now.”

“Enough.” A new voice rang through the air.

Zavier collected my discarded knife, joining us in the circle. He crouched before me, handing over the weapon.

All I could do was look at it. My arm, limp and exhausted, hung at my side.

Whatever he saw on my face made him frown before he stood. Then he crossed his arms over his chest as he spoke to the Guardian. “Enough.”

“She’s not done,” he said. “It’s enough when I say—”

“When I say it’s enough.” For the first time, Zavier sounded like a prince.

The Guardian’s nostrils flared. “Zavier.”

There was malice in that tone. A challenge.

But Zavier stood his ground, eyes hard as he stared at the Guardian. When he spoke, it was with a calm like I’d never heard before, quiet and soothing. Like a man taming a beast. “She’s had enough.”

The Guardian clenched his jaw, then, without another word, collected his sword and walked past the fires.

Into the storm.

Zavier dragged a hand over his face, wiping away the drops, then held out a hand. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” I shook my head, letting him help me to my feet. As much as I wanted to stand on my own, my legs were not going to cooperate.

“I came to tell you that I’m leaving. I have business to attend to in Perris.”

The former capital. A port city quite capable of accepting three ships to harbor. Yet we’d landed on that tiny beach. Why? I tucked that question away for another day. “All right. I take it I’m not going along?”

“It’s not safe.” Well, that sounded like a lie. Nowhere around here was safe. “You’ll travel with Tillia and the others.”

To Ellder. The fortress. “Okay.”

Abandoned by my husband to travel with a group of strange warriors through a foreign kingdom teeming with monsters that would love nothing more than to feast on my flesh. It could be worse, right? I wasn’t sure how exactly, but it could probably be worse.

“The next few days will be…strenuous. Try to get some rest tonight. You’ll leave—”

“Let me guess. At dawn?”

His eyes crinkled at the sides in an almost smile. “I’ll see you soon, Odessa.”

“Goodbye, Zavier.” I waited until he was gone before I made my way through the tents.

Most people were huddled inside their own, sheltering out of the cold. I covered a yawn as I trudged through my tent’s flaps.

A warm bath was waiting.

And an apple.

I didn’t let myself think about who had likely arranged for them both.