Shield of Sparrows

My room at the inn was as quiet as a tomb. Light from the twin moons streamed through the window. There were no clouds in the sky, nothing to obscure the beams. It was as if Ama and Oda knew that Ashmore needed a bright night.

My hair was still damp from the bath I took after the attack. I’d been so filthy that the maid had asked to hose me down outside before letting me climb in the bath. My clothes were disgusting, my tunic not even worth washing. She’d taken it to burn and lent me a too-large tunic to wear to bed.

Seventeen people were dead, including the blond woman who’d owned the tavern.

Sariah. Her name was Sariah.

She’d inherited the tavern from her parents, who’d died six months ago on a trip to Perris. They’d gone for supplies and never arrived, their bodies never found. Whatever monster had eaten them had consumed them entirely, skin and bones.

Now their daughter was buried in a fresh grave that I’d helped dig. There was no room left in Ashmore’s cemetery, so she’d been laid to rest beneath a nearby tree.

The infirmary was overflowing with injured survivors. The air reeked from the fires that burned the bariwolf corpses.

My body was clean. My face scrubbed. But I could still smell the stink of that rotten, green blood. I could still feel it coating my cheeks. And every time I closed my eyes, I saw a monster’s face.

So I stared at the ceiling, idly toying with my necklace, its weight and warmth a familiar comfort as I waited for dawn.

I assumed that would be when the Guardian would come to collect me. Unless he’d left Ashmore already. I hadn’t seen him since the tavern. Since he’d dared me to shoot him.

Where did we go from here? What happened next?

I’d been in Turah for over a month. There were moments when it felt like no time at all had passed since I’d met Zavier and the Guardian in the throne room. Then there were times like this, when it felt like a lifetime had passed since I’d sailed away from Quentis’s shores.

What now? What did fate have in store for me next?

I guessed I’d wait for someone to give me orders. I had no illusions that I’d be granted any semblance of freedom after this foolish, ridiculous trip.

My journey to Ashmore had been an epic mistake. If not for me, Sariah wouldn’t have opened the tavern door. She wouldn’t have risked her hiding spot.

Maybe the sixteen others might not have survived, but she would have lived. Her death wasn’t my fault, but I felt the responsibility for it anyway. I would for the rest of my life.

“I’m sorry, Sariah.” The guilt was so stifling I could barely breathe. The regret sat so heavily on my chest it pinned me to this bed. My entire body hurt from the fall off that balcony. Bruises would appear in a few days, on my ribs and hips and legs.

My arm.

But nothing hurt worse than my heart.

The door flew open.

I gasped as it slammed against the wall.

And then the Guardian staggered inside, swaying with every step. “Talking to the dead?”

His words were slurred, his movements listless.

“Are you drunk?”

He lifted a shoulder. Not a yes. Not a no.

His clothes were clean. His hair was wet. There was no sign of the injuries he’d had earlier. The gash on his arm had vanished. The cuts and scratches on his face were gone. He wasn’t clutching his side like he had been during the fight.

Was that another of his powers? The ability to heal an injury that would have laid low any mortal man?

He shuffled forward a few steps before dropping to the floor, landing hard with a grunt. “I didn’t think I’d find you here.”

“Where would I be?”

“On your way to Quentisssss.” He hissed the s, letting it stretch too long. “Scampering back to your precious kingdom.”

“You are drunk.” I flopped onto my back, crossing my arms over my chest. Except as my head sank into the pillow, the guilt returned.

He’d known Sariah. As far as I knew, he’d cared for her. I’d cost him someone special, and the guilt kept on building.

“Here.” I lifted off my pillow and tossed it to the floor.

“So generous, my queen.”

He shouldn’t call me that. I was not a queen.

Queens didn’t sneak out of encampments. Queens didn’t put others at risk. Queens helped people. They did not hurt them.

I was never supposed to be here. I was not the right person to be the Sparrow. I wasn’t brave enough, strong enough, for Turah. This was a place for a woman like Mae. Someone bold and fierce. Someone unbreakable.

“I’m sorry about Sariah. It’s my fault.”

The Guardian scoffed. “Did you shred her spine with your teeth? I didn’t realize you had such a vicious bite. I’ll have to be more careful.”

“You know what I mean. If I hadn’t gone into the tavern, she’d still be alive.”

He sat up, punched the pillow into a ball, then stuffed it beneath his head. “Every person in Ashmore knows the risks of staying. It’s their choice. It was Sariah’s. Don’t play the martyr, Cross. She would have hated that.”

“I’m still sorry.”

“So am I.” His breathing evened out, and when I lifted off the mattress to peer at the floor, his eyes were closed. But he wasn’t asleep, not yet. He crossed and uncrossed his legs, probably trying to get comfortable.

“Stop staring at me, Sparrow. Go to sleep.”

I curled onto my side, still too raw and ragged to risk closing my eyes. So I stared at the pretty wallpaper, my hands clasped together beneath my cheek. “Why do you call me Sparrow?”

Why didn’t he use my first name?

“Because you’re a bird.”

“What?” Meaning I was trying to fly away? Or that I was small?

I was certain that in his fuzzy brain, that answer made sense. Maybe I needed to stick with simpler questions tonight.

“Will we go to Allesaria before the migration?”

“No.”

It was what I’d expected. Just not what I wanted.

“There was something wrong with those bariwolves, wasn’t there? It’s the green blood.”

Those beasts had been sick.noveldrama

“Yes.”

My insides knotted. “What’s wrong with them?”

He was quiet for a long moment. Then he whispered, “Lyssa.”

“What is Lyssa? I’ve never heard of it before.”

Silence.

When I twisted to peer over the edge of my bed again, the Guardian was asleep.