Shield of Sparrows

A yawn stretched my mouth as I stood on the docks, staring at the sun cresting the horizon. Margot would be aghast that I hadn’t covered my mouth for that yawn, or the countless others since leaving the castle, but she wasn’t here.

No one was here except the guards who’d ridden behind my carriage this morning.

This was the first time I’d visited the docks at dawn, before the shops and merchants were open for business. Men and women bustled about, setting up their stores and readying for the day. The scents of fish and brine were not as strong as they would be by midday. The walkways were empty and larger than I’d realized, since they weren’t crowded with people.

“Pardon me, Highness.” A steward with stringy blond hair and a lanky build passed by, carrying one of my three identical trunks destined for one of three identical Turan ships.

Zavier and his warriors had yet to arrive, but the ships’ crews were busy preparing to set sail, loading the boxes of supplies along the docks.

Nerves churned in my stomach like the waves slapping against the piers. At least, I thought it was nerves. Maybe I was just hungry.

My wedding feast had been canceled, not that I’d been upset to miss a formal dinner. But any dinner would have been nice.

Instead, Father had taken me to his private study for spy lessons, and the meal had been forgotten entirely. So had sleep.

He’d kept me in his study all night, poring over maps and the information he’d gathered about Turah. He’d gone on and on and on about his theories of Allesaria’s location until an hour ago, when Margot had come to collect me to change out of my wedding gown and into a dress suitable for travel.

Father had gone off to find breakfast.

When I’d asked for a scone or pastry or a handful of crackers, Margot had told me I could eat on the boat. That must have been her way of saying I was Zavier’s problem now.

Hopefully one of the Turan crewmen was a cook. Or could point me in the direction of a snack.noveldrama

The steward nodded as he passed me again, hands empty, off to fetch trunk number two.

Where was everyone? Where were Father and Margot and Mae and Arthalayus? They were coming, right? They wouldn’t let me leave without a farewell, would they?

That I even had to wonder made my nose sting with the threat of tears.

It was the exhaustion. The hunger. I was on the brink of an emotional meltdown, and all I could hope for now was that I could have it alone.

My hand reached for the necklace I’d put on this morning during my carriage ride, pulling the pendant from the neckline of my plain, gray dress. I wrapped it in my hand, the metal warm against my skin, its weight a comfort.

Would I ever get to come back to Roslo? Would I see these docks again?

Would I see my family?

Maybe it was a good thing that Father hadn’t left me alone last night. He hadn’t given me the chance to let all of this sink in. To break down and cry.

Except I was alone now, staring at those ships, and there was no way to avoid the inevitable.

I was leaving Roslo today. I was leaving home.

The steward passed me again, this time with a quick nod, as he carted my trunk. Soon, he’d grab the third, and then it would be over. He’d drive the carriage back to the castle while I stood here alone.

I couldn’t stand here alone. I couldn’t stand here at all. Anxious energy made my legs and arms twitch, so I spun away from the ships and set off along the docks.

“Princess?” one of the guards called.

“I’m going for a walk,” I told him.

“But—”

“Alone.”

He gave me a slight bow. “Princess.”

Would he follow me? Absolutely. He was assigned to me but did not take my orders. But as long as he kept his distance, I didn’t care.

My slippers were quiet on the uneven boards beneath my feet, the wood creaking with my weight every few steps. The smell of cooked eggs and salted meat from a nearby building made my stomach growl.

A man toting a basket of fish did a double take as I walked by his open stall. His dark-brown eyes widened at my crown—an accessory Margot had insisted upon. He set the basket down so abruptly it tipped over as he rushed to bow. “H-Highness.”

“Good morning.” I walked over to help him right the basket, but as I bent for a silver fish, he waved me off.

“No, Princess. Please leave them. Your hands will smell.”

A princess with fishy hands. Gods forbid.

I left him to his work and continued walking, earning more startled glances the farther I meandered along the docks.

My favorite paperman’s shop was closed, the windows curtained to hide his printing press. Were there papermen in Turah? I hoped so. I loved reading the weekly periodicals.

Some papers were reserved for fictional stories. Others spun gossip from the city. And then there were those who reported on actual events, like crimes and celebrations.

There were enough papers in Roslo that a handful would arrive at the castle each day. The servants would pass them around like sweets. Margot had her own subscriptions. So did Mae. So did I.

Too bad I hadn’t thought to grab some to read on the voyage.

The papermen all had actual offices and buildings, but most of the merchants at the docks operated out of open stalls. At night, they’d cover them with canvas tarps. But those tarps had been tossed over the slanted roofs this morning, pushed aside to reveal tables and baskets and displays. From fish to fruit to herbs to jewelry to tonics to cloth, there wasn’t much a person couldn’t buy at the docks in Roslo.

These walkways were always busy, always crowded. Except today. People openly gawked as I passed by. Others ducked out of sight. Without the normal crush of customers, it was impossible to blend in. To hide amidst the masses.

Not with this damn crown on my head.

What if I tossed it in the ocean?

I laughed to myself, imagining Margot’s face. Oh, it was tempting. If it wouldn’t be an incredible waste of wealth, I’d pitch it today. But the gold and gems were worth enough to feed a family for a generation.

So it stayed on my head while I kept walking. Maybe I could take it apart, piece by piece, and leave jewels sprinkled across Turah.

“Seven.” A man’s voice caught my ear. “Have you ever seen seven marroweels?”

“Shades no. I’ve never seen one.” Another man laughed, both walking so quickly they didn’t seem to notice me listening.

The marroweels.

Here I was wandering aimlessly when I should have been seeking out the monsters.

The notion of seeing an actual marroweel gave me a burst of energy, and I changed paths, following the men. We veered away from the market and down a long dock bordered on one side by Quentin ships bobbing in the water, their teal sails tied and stowed.

A group of men were clustered at the end of the walkway. Beside them were the tall support beams where fishermen hung the largest catches from their fleets on massive iron hooks.

But instead of sturgeon and shark, today those hooks pierced a row of dead marroweels.

Seven marroweels. For the Chain of Sevens.

Up until yesterday, I’d never loathed a number. Oh, how things had changed.

“Seven,” I spat, walking closer to the monsters.

The marroweel scales were as blue as sapphires and tipped in turquoise. The fins along their backs were iridescent, like opals. The single bones that extended from their skulls were smooth and as white as snow. Their mouths were open wide in death to reveal five rows of razor-sharp teeth.

They were thicker than I’d imagined, twice the width of a man. And so long that even when they were skewered in the middle, their tails coiled on the dock’s boards like thick ropes.

“Wow,” I whispered.

It drew the attention of the man standing closest. He looked to me once, then again, eyes bulging as he noticed my crown. “P-Princess.”

One stammered word was all it took for the others to face me. Like the man with the basket, each fumbled a bow.

“Pardon, Highness.” A man wearing a weathered blue cap yanked it off his bald head as he shuffled past.

The others were soon to follow, retreating back toward the marketplace. Apparently, not even the allure of a marroweel was enough to keep them in my presence.

Was my crown really that scary? I’d never worn one to the docks before. I guess I could answer my own question this time.

Twenty feet away, attempting to blend in with the boats, my guard let out a visible exhale as the men passed by. Their leaving gave me a chance to step closer to the monsters.

Beneath their open mouths were seven pools of blood, the dried red so dark it was nearly black. It had dripped from their bodies into puddles. What blood hadn’t trickled through the slats in the dock’s planks, falling into the water below, was now hard and beginning to crust.

I dropped to a crouch beside the first marroweel, taking in its black eyes. Four in total, two in front, two on the sides. If there were other predators in the ocean deep, this beast would see them coming.

There was something sleek and delicate about the marroweel’s face. A monster both beautiful and deadly. Yet there was something sad in those lifeless eyes. Maybe that was me simply projecting my own heartache.

This monster had died so a prince could manipulate a king. So a man could force a woman into marriage.

To hell if my hands would smell like fish. I reached for a scale, its size similar to my thumbnail, and traced along the bright-blue surface to the turquoise tip. I gasped as a jolt of pain shot through my finger and jerked my hand away to see a bead of blood.

“Those scales are as sharp as their teeth.” A deep, rumbling voice came from over my shoulder.

I shot to my feet and spun. Behind me, the Guardian leaned against a wooden post. Where had he come from? How had I not heard him approach? I must have missed it while inspecting the marroweel. That, or he could disguise his footsteps when it suited him best. Maybe he could levitate like the High Priest. I made a mental note to watch out for it later—and to watch my back.

Besides the two of us, the dock was empty. He’d either dismissed my guard or chased him away.

“Morning, my queen.” The corner of the Guardian’s mouth turned up as I wiped the blood from my finger on the skirt of my dress.

He shoved off the post and walked closer. Too close. He towered over me, staring down with those ever-changing eyes. Today, they were a vibrant green, like emeralds. “Have you ever seen one before?”

“No.”

“Aren’t they beautiful?” He passed me, his strides long and unhurried as he walked from one marroweel to another to another. Down the entire line until he’d reached the last, the largest. His movements were too fluid, too graceful, to be entirely human.

He walked with the same effortlessness as the Voster.

Was he linked to the brotherhood? Was that the source of his power? Their magic?

Last night, during Father’s lessons in espionage, he’d spoken about the Guardian nearly as often as he had Allesaria. His desperation to find the source of this man’s powers was nearly as palpable as his need for information on the Turan capital.

The Guardian placed his hand on the monster’s side and stroked its scales.

I tensed, expecting him to withdraw a bloody palm, but his hand was unmarred as he pulled away to face me with that annoying smirk.

“Nice crown.”

I should have given it to that merchant with the fish.

“Thank you.” I plastered on a sweet smile.

“Is that what you’ve put in your trunks? Crowns and jewels?”

“My belongings are none of your business.” I crossed my arms over my chest, raising my chin as he walked my way, his boots a steady drum on the dock’s boards.

They matched the pounding rhythm of my heart as he stopped before me with that broad frame. He was so tall that my eyes were level with his heart, and to keep his gaze, I had to tilt up my face. As I did, his eyes shifted to the brightest of greens, like a Quentis meadow after a spring rain.

Those eyes were dazzling. Terrifying. A shiver rolled down my spine. This man was a murderer. He shouldn’t have such enchanting eyes.

My guard shouldn’t have left me alone.

“Our ships are not known for their royal finery. How ever will you survive the crossing?” he taunted.

I shrugged. “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.”

The way his eyes narrowed, that smirk faltering, he had to know I was talking about Banner’s brother.

The air around us changed. Charged. There was a buzzing against my skin, but it didn’t feel like Voster magic. It didn’t have the same crackling bite.

The Guardian’s power felt more like simmering rage. It pulsed off his frame in waves.

A smarter woman would probably have shied away. Taken that sensation as the warning it was to watch her mouth. But I was too tired and too hungry, and this man had crawled under my skin.

What was he going to do, kill his prince’s bride?

He wouldn’t kill me. Right?

The Guardian’s gaze dragged over my face, lingering so long I fought the urge to squirm. “You look tired. Long night? I hope you weren’t up late saying farewell to your fiancé.”

“Also none of your business.”

“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.”

My face flamed, my jaw dropping as I stepped away like I’d been struck. “You did not say that to me.”

He lifted a shoulder.

This. Asshole. “Who do you think you are?”

His answer was to lean in so close I caught his scent. It was masculine and spicy, like leather and citrus. It was an ocean breeze and fresh earth and heavy rain. It was as chaotic as his eye color.

They shifted again, his irises darkening to hazel. The green and gold and brown seemed to war with each other as they swirled, unable to settle into a single shade.

His hand snaked around my waist, spinning me so fast that I gasped. Then, with a shove against my spine, he urged me forward.

Or tried to urge me forward.

My toe caught on a deck board, and I lost my balance, staggering to the side and nearly crashing into a marroweel’s corpse.

Except the Guardian gripped my arm before I could collide with those pointed scales. He grabbed the exact place where Margot had held me yesterday. There were no bruises yet, but it was tender.

A whimper escaped my throat, and he released me instantly, taking a step away. I shook off the pain in my arm and straightened, leveling him with a glare. “What is it that you want? To embarrass me? To intimidate me?”

“Perhaps.”

Well, at least he was honest. I glanced over my shoulder to the marroweel. “Then I guess I’m trapped between two monsters.”

“You have no idea how accurate that statement is,” he muttered, stepping closer. “Your arm. Are you all right?”

“It’s fine.” I waved it off. “Just an injury from earlier.”

He frowned, looking like he wanted the details of that injury. But instead of asking, he reached for my hair, plucking the end of a loose curl off my shoulder.

It was only half pinned up today. Margot hadn’t wanted to bother with a braid.

The moment the lock was between his fingers, his nostrils flared, like he could smell the dye. With a sneer, he dropped it and wiped his fingers on his pants. He turned and walked away, snapping his fingers at me like I was a dog that needed to heel.

“Come along, Sparrow. You’re late.”

What if I pushed him overboard while we were at sea? Let the ocean do the killing for me.

I almost liked the idea of watching that son of a bitch drown.