Shield of Sparrows

The Guardian’s rage hung over the room like a thunderstorm. Any minute now, a lightning bolt would split the ceiling and strike me dead.

His gaze turned molten silver, and while I’d suspected that the colors shifted with his moods, I was damn sure of it now.

Silver was bad. Very, very bad.

I pressed myself against the door, palms flat on its surface, wishing I could dissolve through to the other side and escape.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He paced the space between the bed and the wall, his fists tight. His entire frame vibrated like he was on the verge of an explosion.

How far could I get if I made a run for it? My hand slid across the door, wrapping around the knob.

He stopped pacing, leveling me with a glare. “Don’t even think about leaving.”

My hand dropped to my side.

Did I apologize? Beg for forgiveness? Make up some ridiculous excuse as to how I’d gotten lost on my way to the commons and ended up in Ashmore?

How had he found me? How was he in my room?

Unless my hunch earlier was right. This was all a trap. He’d set the snare, and I’d taken the bait without a second thought.

Then what was that show outside the tavern? Him pretending not to know I was on the street while he’d flirted with that blonde? Just an act to crush my soul?

Well, it had worked.

I hadn’t escaped Treow.

The watchtower guards had let me leave.

They’d probably had a decent laugh at my pathetic attempt at a disguise.

“Fuck.” The Guardian raked a hand through his hair, the lighter strands at the top catching the light. “Do you have any idea how reckless this was?”

I held up my hands in surrender. “I’m sorry.”

Well, not really. But whenever Father was in a shit mood, an apology usually quelled his temper. Slightly.

“You’re sorry?” He took a step backward, like he didn’t trust himself to get too close. “Damn it, Cross. This is not Quentis. People die in Turah every day. Every. Fucking. Day. People who’ve spent their entire lives in this kingdom. People who are better equipped to deal with its dangers than a spoiled godsdamn princess.”

He yelled so loudly that everyone in the inn, everyone in Ashmore, had probably heard him call me spoiled.

“Then why did they let me go?” I pushed off the door, my own voice rising.

His nostrils flared. “I’ll find out when we return to Treow tomorrow.”

“Um…” I blinked. “So the watchtower guards didn’t know it was me?”

He scoffed. “Apparently not, if you’re standing here.”

Then my plan really had worked. I’d slipped away. I’d broken free. Pride swelled, and I dropped my chin to hide a smile.

“I leave you for four days, and you can’t stay put. You are, without a doubt, the biggest pain in my ass I’ve ever met.” His hand dove into his dark hair again, tugging at the roots. “Explain. What are you doing here?”

Spying.

I stayed quiet.

“Answer me,” he ordered.

“Uh, exploring my new kingdom?”

He stopped pacing. “Exploring your new kingdom.”

“Yes?”

They were supposed to be answers, but they came out with the lilt of a question.

He scoffed, dragging a hand over his face, then turned to the wall, staring at its paper.

Pink and plum roses threaded with green ivy. The seams were coming apart in a few places.

The silence that came next was tense and ugly and made me want to squirm. It went on and on and on, stretching so long that the light from outside began to fade, softening to an evening glow. He kept staring at that wallpaper, utterly unmoving other than the occasional blink.

It was torture, waiting for my punishment. Worse than his fury.

Finally, he faced me again. “We will leave tomorrow, and you will never do anything like this again, or the freedom you’ve been granted in Treow will vanish. Is that understood?”

Did he expect a Yes, sir?

In another life, that would have been my reply. It’s exactly what I would have told my father.

“No.” What the hell was I saying? This wasn’t just bold—it was rebellious. But I wasn’t taking it back. I stood tall, hiding my shaking hands behind my back, and said it again. “No, that is not understood.”

His glare turned homicidal. “No?”

“No.” I held that silver gaze, refusing to shrink.

Refusing to bend to his will.

“I didn’t ask to be married to a stranger and shipped across the continent. I didn’t ask to come to Turah. I didn’t ask to be jailed in a wilderness treehouse. Those were decisions made for me by the whims of men. So you can threaten to take away my freedom all you want, but I will fight you. Every step of the way. Until my last breath. And I will not go quietly into a cage.”

My chest heaved, my pulse pounding like I’d been running for hours.

I wanted to take it all back.

I wanted to say it all over again.

I wanted to swallow the words and forget them forever.

I wanted to scream it from the top of my lungs.

The Guardian only stared at me, his face unreadable.

That excruciating silence returned. It got so quiet I could hear footsteps in the hallway beyond the door, the murmur of voices.

It took everything I had to hold his metallic gaze. To stay upright and not sink to the floor as he stared and stared and stared.

“Why didn’t you ask?”

“Wh-what?” I stammered.

His voice was calm. Collected. The silver in his eyes began to melt away, the hazel taking its place. “Haven’t you been granted your every request? If you wanted to explore Ashmore, why didn’t you ask?”

I stared at him, jaw slack and mind whirling.

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe the door to your cage has always been unlocked, Sparrow? And all you had to do was push it open?”

Was that really true? Could I have simply asked?

A knock came from the hall, and I spun to answer so fast that I whacked my forehead with the door as I yanked it open.

“Hello.” I rubbed at the ache as I greeted a pretty young woman outside.

She carried a tray with both hands and peered past me to the brooding giant still occupying my room. “Your meal, miss.”

“Thank you.” I took the tray, trying to find a smile.

She was too busy staring at the Guardian to care. There was something like reverence and wonder on her face. The woman was clearly stunned to see a legend in the flesh.

I backed away, tray in hand, and kicked the door closed.noveldrama

Carrying my meal to the small table in the corner, I set it down and pulled out the chair, uncovering a bowl of stew. Then I dropped the napkin on my lap as the scents of herbs, roasted meat, and potatoes filled my nose.

I wasn’t hungry. Not anymore.

Did you ever stop to think that maybe the door to your cage has always been unlocked, Sparrow? And all you had to do was push it open?

Why did replaying that in my mind make me want to cry?

I wasn’t used to testing doors.

I’d learned a long time ago that they were always locked.

Scooping a heaping bite of stew onto my spoon, I shoved it in my mouth. It was too hot and burned my tongue, but did I spit it out?

Absolutely not. I chewed and winced and chewed some more so that I wouldn’t cry.

The Guardian grumbled something under his breath, but before I could make sense of it, he climbed out of the window, leaving me alone with my stew.

I yanked off my scarf, tossing it to the floor with my satchel.

There were still enough daylight hours left that I could wander around Ashmore. Now that I wasn’t hiding from the Guardian, I could seek out their library.

But I stayed in my room, finishing my stew and setting the tray in the hall. Then I unpacked my satchel, changing into a long tunic that draped to the tops of my thighs. It would be comfortable enough to sleep in tonight and thoroughly rumpled to travel in tomorrow.

With my boots off and gray dress folded on the table, I washed my face and climbed into bed, staring up at the ceiling.

After the Guardian left, I hadn’t bothered closing the window. Sounds from the street carried to my room. A man’s hearty laugh. A woman’s shout.

As tempting as it was to get dressed and join them, I stayed in my bed, hugging my pillow and feeling more alone than I had in years.

Why didn’t you ask?

Fair question. Why hadn’t I asked to leave Treow? Zavier had given me anything I’d requested without hesitation. Well, except for information. But anything material? He’d never denied my wishes. Though how would I have explained this trip? Certainly not with the truth.

Except this was my father’s errand. The Guardian could claim I wasn’t caged, but he wasn’t the only one who’d put me behind bars.

What would happen to Brielle and Jocelyn if I sent them home without information? Would Father punish them for my failures? Was that why he’d sent them with me in the first place? Knowing I’d worry more about them than myself?

If only he’d given me more information. Something substantial. What was in Allesaria that could stop the crux? If the Turans had a weapon, wouldn’t they have used it themselves?

Or what if Father hadn’t told me the truth? What if he’d played on my sympathies? What if he’d leveraged my curiosity about the migrations, knowing I’d do anything for our people? What if I was doing all of this out of blind faith?

My insides twisted, my body restless. I flopped onto my other side, wishing I could fall asleep and wake up a different person in the morning. But I couldn’t shut down my mind.

You must do this.

Father had pleaded with me to do this.

Treaties can be broken, Odessa. Remember that.

What if he was wrong? What if my actions caused a war between kingdoms?

I cupped my palms over my ears, wishing I could block out the noise in my head the same way I could muffle the sounds outside. I turned my face into my pillow, my eyes shut so tightly I saw black stars.

And then my pillow was gone, ripped out from under my face and off my bed.

I sat up in a flash, my jaw dropping as I watched the Guardian toss it onto the floor. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He sat on the edge of my bed and pulled off his boots. “You can either have the bed without the pillow. Or the floor with it. Your choice, Cross.”

I huffed. “You are not staying in my room. Get your own.”

He smirked. “And leave my queen unguarded? Never.”

Damn that smirk. Damn the way it made my heart trill.

The Guardian leaned closer, so close I could smell leather and wind and spice. “Unless, of course, you want me to sleep with you.”

My breath caught.

The mental image that filled my mind was so vivid it was like an imprint. His weight, pinning me to the mattress. His skin hot against mine. His voice in my ear, his fingers threaded into my hair.

“Get. Out. Now.” The image. The man. I kicked at him from beneath the covers.

He laughed as he dropped to the floor, lying on his back with my pillow beneath his head.

“I hate you,” I seethed.

“Yes, you do. Don’t forget.”

“Never.” I settled on my back, crossing my arms over my chest as I glared up at the ceiling. “How did you find me?”

“There’s only one inn in Ashmore. And your hair isn’t exactly subtle, Sparrow.”

Blarg. My scarf must not have hidden the red. Except that would mean…

I pushed up on my elbows. “You know this is my real hair?”

“That dye you wear is as pungent as a dead fish. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

Yes. No one else seemed to care. Unless he was the only one who could smell it. The odor faded after the dye was applied. But his heightened senses must have been able to pick it up when others couldn’t.

“Are you going to tell me why you came to Ashmore?” he asked.

Definitely not. I wasn’t admitting my guilt. “I’ll tell you that when you tell me your real name.”

He hummed. “Then I guess we’re at an impasse.”

“I guess so.” I sank onto the mattress, missing my pillow. “I hope my snoring keeps you awake all night.”

He chuckled. “Good night, my queen.”

The sound of his voice, haunting and beautiful, followed me into my dreams.