Shield of Sparrows

The sound of seabirds woke me from a dead sleep. I burrowed beneath my covers, hoping Margot wouldn’t berate me too much if I was late for breakfast.

Except my bed was swaying from side to side. The blankets over my body were not my blankets.

My eyes popped open as I lifted off the mattress and remembered that I was on a ship.

“Blarg.” I face-planted and groaned into my pillow.

The birds outside were like those that used to swoop by my bedroom window. Their chirps and caws were so familiar that for a blissful moment, I’d been in the castle.

I’d been home.

Through the open window, voices from the deck mingled with the whoosh of waves and caws of gulls.

This was the first morning aboard the Cutter that I’d woken to birds.

I sat up again, so fast I got dizzy.

Birds. Birds meant land.

I whipped the covers off my body, shaking the sleep fog from my head as I leaped out of bed and rushed toward the glass. A white bird soared past, its wings outstretched as it circled and disappeared from view.

“There are birds outside,” I said, hurrying to the closet for some clothes.

Brielle heaved a sigh as she pushed up from her bed. “It’s early.”

Jocelyn was still out cold.

“Get up. Get dressed.” I yanked out a gray dress. “I think we’re close to shore.”

“What?” She swung her legs over the bed and, like I’d done, raced for the window. “Jocelyn.”

Nothing. That woman slept like the dead.

I’d stripped out of my sleep shirt, about to pull the dress on over my underclothes, when something caught my attention from the corner of my eye.

A pile of clothes sitting beside the door.

The locked door.

“Did you put those there?” I pointed toward the folded stack, knowing that Brielle wouldn’t have done it, but I asked anyway.

“No.”

Would my room in Allesaria have a better lock? I walked over to collect the pile.

Another tunic, this one embroidered with green leaves along the sleeves. Another pair of leather pants, this time in dark brown. And a set of boots that hadn’t taken a swim in the ocean, made from the same strange, scale-textured black leather.

Apparently, seeing me in my gray dress two days ago hadn’t been to Zavier’s liking.

Since his test with the sword, since I’d overheard Zavier warning the Guardian, I hadn’t left this room, other than quick trips to the water closet down the hall. Neither had Brielle. Jocelyn had fetched our meals from the galley, bringing them to our table. While they’d napped or embroidered or vowed never to sail again, I’d sketched in my journal, drawing a picture of a marroweel. Another of this ship.

Gods, I was bored. My limbs were restless, so was my mind, and I was desperate for fresh air. To feel the sun shine on my face.

Maybe these clothes were an invitation for me to come out of hiding.

Maybe I’d accept.

So Zavier and the Guardian suspected I was going to try to kill him. Did it matter? No. Not really. Suspicion was not proof. And they would have been suspicious no matter what.

I’d still go to Allesaria and send word to my father about how to infiltrate the city. I’d still collect every tidbit about the Guardian’s powers to pass along. I’d do everything else on Father’s list.

But murder? I wasn’t sure I had it in me to be an assassin. Though that wouldn’t stop me from dreaming of ways to permanently wipe the smirk off the Guardian’s face.

“You’re not wearing those pants again, are you, Highness?” Brielle gave me a look of horror as I unfolded the tunic and pulled it over my head.

“If I had been in a gown the other day, I wouldn’t have been able to swim as fast. Besides, I like them.”

Her face soured. “You do? But they’re so…male.”

None of the men on the Cutter had embroidered tunics. Something she would have realized if she’d left this room. Not that I was going to force her out.

After days spent together, it was time we all had a break.

“I’m going to go above. Would you like to come?” I knew her answer before she gave it.

“Definitely not.” She lay back down, curling into her pillow.

How she or Jocelyn could sleep so much was beyond me, but neither had truly gotten over their queasy stomachs. Brielle had hardly eaten since we’d been on the Cutter. Eight days and there was a hollowness to her cheekbones.

Hopefully, once we reached land, they’d both feel better.

“Need me to bring you anything?” I asked.

“I should be asking you that question.” She closed her honey eyes and nodded off while I finished getting dressed.

With my hair braided in a thick, brown rope, I tugged on my boots on my way to the door, shutting it closed behind me. Then I climbed the stairs, a rush of nerves fluttering in my stomach when I reached the deck.

The dead marroweel was gone. Without its rotting corpse, the air smelled salty and fresh. The white gulls swept high overhead before diving into the water, some emerging with small silver fish in their beaks.noveldrama

I walked toward a man standing a few paces away. He was older with brown skin and a white mustache that was curled at its ends. The rope he was coiling was as thick as my forearm. “Excuse me. How far away are we from Turah?”

He stared at me for a long moment, his gaze narrowing on mine. That assessment was so familiar that for a second, it was like being back on the docks in Roslo. Greeting a shop owner only to have them taken aback by the lack of amber starbursts in my irises.

Sometimes, people would ask about my eyes. But mostly, it unsettled others enough that they simply looked away.

This man didn’t drop his gaze as his muscled arms still worked that rope. Finally, he jerked his chin toward the bow.

“Thank you?”

Would an actual, verbal answer have been too much? The only Turans on this boat who spoke to me were Zavier and the Guardian. Why was that? Had the crew been instructed to tell me nothing?

There was no point in asking this man, so I left him to his work, walking toward the bow.

Every member of the crew seemed to be on deck today, all preparing to reach shore.

I weaved past them, doing my best to stay out of the way. When I reached the front of the ship, I leaned my elbows against the railing and squinted into the distance.

Nothing. There was only water as far as I could see.

“You’ll see land soon enough, Sparrow. We’ll reach Turah before midday.” The Guardian stood behind me, leaning against the ship’s wall, ankles crossed.

He was like having a giant, burly shadow. Did this man have nothing else to do but pester me whenever I came up for air? Couldn’t I have a moment of peace?

“I see you got my delivery.”

“Stop breaking into my room.”

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

Midday. I only had to make it to midday. I wasn’t sure what would happen when we reached shore, but at the very least, we wouldn’t be trapped together on this damn ship.

He pushed off the wall and closed the distance between us, his strides deliberate, like a cat stalking a mouse. His emerald eyes were focused and sharp. His beard was thicker, reaching the point of unruly.

“You need a shave.” It was an absurd comment. His facial hair was absolutely none of my business, but as always, where he was concerned, whatever thought crossed my mind came out of my mouth.

“Do I, my queen?” He reached for the dagger strapped against his ribs, taking it out of its sheath. He tossed it up, a quick flip in the air before catching it by the blade. Then he held it out, handle first, for me to take.

Were his hands made of stone? How did those blades never cut through his skin?

I gripped the weapon as he lifted his chin, exposing the long column of his neck. A strange shiver rolled over my shoulders as I stared at his skin.

It was just a throat. Every person had one. So why was my heart beating so fast? What was so appealing about his throat? The corded muscle. That bulge in its center that bobbed when he swallowed. The spicy, masculine scent that seemed to wrap around me like a satin ribbon.

“Here’s your chance. Go ahead. Go for the throat.”

I gulped. Was he really telling me to try to kill him? Was this another test?

“Are you going to give me a shave or not?” he asked.

I forced my eyes away from his neck as a flush crept into my face. “I’m not your valet. Do it yourself.”

He dropped his chin, and our gazes clashed, his amused, mine annoyed. “We’ll start with small weapons. There are no swords on board that you’ll be able to wield, so we’ll start your training with that dagger.”

“Whoa.” I lifted my free hand, palm out. “What do you mean, ‘we’?”

“You asked to be armed in case of danger. We can give you a weapon, but it won’t do much good if you don’t know how to use it.”

“Wait. You are training me?” No. Absolutely not.

“Someone has to.”

Wasn’t there an older, slower ranger who wanted the job? I really didn’t need training from a renowned killer. Just a regular teacher would suffice.

“This was your idea,” he quipped. “Unless you’ve changed your mind. Am I interrupting your napping schedule? Should we reschedule for another time?”

Like he’d said, I should have gone for his throat. “No.” I plastered on my fakest smile. “Now would be lovely.”

“Lovely,” he mimicked. “First lesson, don’t let me take that knife.”

I nodded and gripped the handle tighter.

Don’t let him take the knife. Okay. Easy enough.

Except the glint in his green eyes made my stomach drop. Wait. What was I missing?

He advanced a half step.

I backed away, checking over my shoulder to make sure I didn’t get trapped in the ship’s pointed bow. The railing was close, so I moved to the side, holding the knife higher. My ankle wobbled a bit, the edge of my boot catching on a floorboard as the boat rocked with a wave.

The Guardian stared at me like I’d sprouted bat wings.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Something,” I hissed. “Stop looking at me like that. You told me not to let you take the knife. This is me doing that.”

“Maybe we should have started with something simpler. Like walking.”

I fought the urge to stick out my tongue. “I’m not used to wearing shoes with thick soles.”

“Should I send for your slippers?”

“No,” I gritted out, backing away again as he advanced, this time a full step.

His eyes narrowed, his features hardening. And when he moved again, it was a blur.

The knife flew out of my hand before I even registered the sting in my wrist. Then I was falling, landing on my ass with a hard thump.

Ow. “You tripped me? Really?”

“All I did was take back my knife. You tripped yourself.” The corners of his mouth quirked.

“If you laugh at me, I swear to Izzac I will find a way to stab you in the eye.” I’d never prayed to the God of Death before, but there was always a first.

The Guardian dropped to a crouch, the knife dangling from his fingertips. “It is unwise to threaten me.”

“Surprise, surprise. I’m not scared of you.”

Even after hearing rumors of the Guardian, after listening to Banner’s story about his brother, I wasn’t scared. Why was that? I’d attempt to dissect why later. For now, I wanted that knife back.

I growled, forcing myself up off the deck. Then I held out my hand, waiting as he stood. “I want to try again.”

“At this point, I think Zavier was right. Either you’ll hurt yourself, or someone is going to kill you with your own blade.”

It was entirely possible. But I snapped my fingers and opened my palm. “Again.”

He shook his head but handed over the dagger. “Don’t stand square to your opponent. Get into a fighting stance. Your weapons master must have at least taught you that.”

It sounded vaguely familiar.

I shifted slightly to the side, mirroring his feet with my left ahead of my right. “Okay. I’m ready.”

“Praise the gods,” he muttered.

When he lunged, I really was ready. I shuffled backward, careful to pick up my feet so I didn’t trip. “Ha!”

The gleam in his eyes made my stomach knot.

Shit. I was in so much trouble.

This time, he did trip me. One quick sweep of his front leg to mine, and my balance faltered. He took the knife straight from my grip as I dropped to my hands and knees.

Well, at least I hadn’t fallen on my ass. This was slightly less embarrassing.

I pushed to my feet and held out my hand for the knife.

Except before he could pass it over again, one of the crew called his name. “Guardian.”

He held up a finger. “That’s enough for today.”

“That’s it? You’re quitting already?”

“Walk around. Break in your boots.”

So we really were starting my training at walking. Wow. How pathetic did that make me?

I wasn’t going to think about the answer to that one.

“Fine. Guardian,” I drawled. “Is that really what everyone calls you? You must have a name.”

“I do.”

I waited. And waited. And waited. “Well, what is it?”

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping low. “Maybe I’ll tell you. If you earn it.”

There was always a test when it came to this man. “Earn it, like your trust?”

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

Yeah, well, get in line.

He walked away without another word. Before he could see just how much his parting comment hurt.

Was it me? Was there something I did, I said, that made people inherently not trust me?

I didn’t gossip. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d shared someone else’s secret. I did draw people sometimes without their knowledge. Maybe that was an invasion. Except very few saw my sketches.

After showing Father and Margot when I was younger and being met with scowls, I’d mostly kept my art to myself.

So what was so wrong with me that no one trusted me? Or was it really a lack of trust? Maybe the heart of the issue was faith.

No one believed in me. No one had trust that I was capable.

I couldn’t fight. I had more than my fair share of clumsy moments. I wasn’t cunning and sneaky like Mae. Had Father kept the whole truth about the crux and Allesaria from me because he feared I’d get caught and spill his secrets?

Well, he didn’t need to worry. I’d never tell the Guardian the truth. My priority was my father’s errand. To earn his trust. To prove to him I wasn’t his worthless wallflower of a daughter. And in doing so, I hoped I’d help him find a way to save our people.

It might seem like an impossible task, but damn it, I wasn’t giving up yet.

I looked at my boots, wiggling my toes. It was humiliating, walking laps around the deck, but I did it anyway, around and around.

Each time I made it to the stern, I paused to stare across the water. Somewhere in the distance was a golden city. My golden city.

Did Father worry about how I was faring on this journey? Did Margot stare at my empty seat at the breakfast table and wish I were there so she could scold me for running late? Had Mae already moved into my rooms? How was Arthy? He’d been learning his numbers when I left. How high could he count now? Was Banner still angry that his bride had been claimed by another?

A throat cleared behind me a moment before Zavier came to a stop at my side. His eyes were tired and his jaw covered in stubble. He needed a shave, too. And a long night’s sleep. “We’ll arrive in Turah soon.”

“All right.” I nodded. “Is the crew allowed to talk to me?”

“Yes.” His eyebrows knitted together. “Why?”

“They don’t.”

“Ah.”

Was that supposed to be an answer? Who cared if they ignored me? Why did that bother me so much? I’d likely never see this crew again.

Maybe the reason it bothered me was because they had good cause to be wary. Like Zavier had said, Turans were loyal to Turans.

No matter how I dressed, how I pretended, I was not a Turan.

But was I still a Quentin? Did anyone really claim me as theirs? Or was I like this boat, adrift between kingdoms?

“How did the training session go?” Zavier asked.

I shrugged. “Was it your idea for him to train me? Or his?”

“Mine. He is the best warrior in Turah.”

I stared up at him, taking in the straight line of his nose and the band of silver above his brow. Did he always wear it? It seemed nearly set into his skin, like he’d grown into that crown.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “You seem…sad.”

I shrugged. “Just homesick.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the truth, either.

“Zavier.”

We both turned as the mustached man I’d spoken to earlier approached. “You’re needed on the Cannon,” he said.

Zavier nodded, glancing off the port side to see the other ship sailing closer. Then, without a word, he followed the mustached man off the quarterdeck while I took one last look at the sea that stretched toward Roslo.

If I wasn’t homesick, did that mean everyone back home had moved on without me, too? Was Mae hugging Arthy like she’d promised? Did my brother even realize I was gone?

The answers would probably break my heart. So I abandoned the deck, leaving the men to make their final preparations while I went below to tell Brielle and Jocelyn it was time to pack.

Both girls came alive at the announcement.

Then, a few hours after midday, with anchors dropped and the crew preparing the rowboats that would ferry us to shore, I returned to the stern, staring across the open ocean one last time.

Did anyone miss me? Did I miss them?

Yes.

But not as much as I’d thought.

“Highness,” Jocelyn called from the base of the quarterdeck’s stairs. “It’s time.”

I turned my back to the life I’d once lived. I turned toward the future.

Toward Turah.

Zavier’s kingdom loomed beyond the ship, past shallow waters and sandy beaches.

I fell in line with Brielle and Jocelyn for the next rowboat, surveying the ship as we waited.

The Guardian stood at the bow of the Cutter, where we’d been earlier this morning. His arms were crossed and his jaw set. He seemed to be monitoring the rowboats, making sure they made it safely to shore.

Except his eyes didn’t track the boats. He was staring at the land itself, his expression hard and unblinking.

Like Turah was an enemy.

Or a battlefield.

A chill crept down my spine like ice-cold water snaking along my skin. For the first time since I’d set foot on the Cutter, I felt like I might be sick.

“Highness, would you like to go first?” Brielle asked, gesturing to where a crewman was waiting, his hand outstretched to help us down the ladder to the rowboat below.

“Go ahead,” I told her.

She nodded, stepping past me. When she was safely below, I sent Jocelyn next.

Maybe I wasn’t quite ready to leave the Cutter after all.

I was shuffling forward, nerves fluttering in my stomach, when I felt him at my side. “Any chance that this is where we’ll part ways?”

“Not yet.” The Guardian’s smile was wolfish. Menacing. And not attractive, not in the slightest. “Welcome to Turah, my queen.”