Shield of Sparrows

The silence in the throne room was as thick as billowing smoke, sucking the air from my lungs. The floor began to spin and tilt, my balance faltering.

Margot’s hand wrapped around my forearm, and for a moment, I was grateful for her steadying touch. But then her fingernails bit through the fabric of my dress so hard they almost punctured my skin.

Yet even as the pain zinged from wrist to elbow, I didn’t move. Couldn’t move.noveldrama

Her.

Me? Prince Zavier wanted to marry me?

No. Absolutely not. This wasn’t happening. I was hallucinating. The ocean water had gone to my head. That, or Ferious was playing one of his tricks. This seemed like something the God of Mischief would enjoy. Maybe it was the Voster. That priest who had yet to touch the floor had planted this nightmare in my mind.

This was not real. Could not be real.

I was engaged to Banner. Mae was marrying the Turan prince. Mae. Not me. Mae.

Margot squeezed tighter, her fingertips digging into my flesh. Thankfully, I didn’t bruise easily. Otherwise, there would be five round circles by morning.

But I didn’t try to shake her loose. I was too busy listening to the Guardian’s word screaming in my mind.

Her.

Her. Her. Her.

Me.

The silence built higher and higher and higher. The tension doubled. Tripled. The explosion was inevitable. And when the quiet finally cracked, the room erupted at once.

“There must be some mistake.” Margot spoke through gritted teeth. Every syllable was punctuated by her nails digging deeper into my arm.

“No.” Father’s voice was a boom, rattling the walls.

A growl, raw and ravenous, ripped from Mae’s throat.

Then came Banner’s declaration of the obvious. “She is my fiancée.”

And a laugh. Gravelly. Low. Dry and humorless.

I blinked, forcing my vision into focus, homing in on that laugh.

The Guardian. He was laughing. His silver eyes flashed white like lightning, and the smirk on his mouth stretched.

Jackass.

Margot gasped.

Father’s jaw clenched.

Damn. I guess I’d said that out loud. Well, he was a jackass for laughing.

I opened my mouth, not to apologize but to say it again, this time more clearly, but a slice of my father’s hand through the air brought back that crushing silence.

Every man in the throne room seemed to stand taller. One of the warriors lifted his hand, just slightly, like he was readying to wield the sword on his back.

“Prince Zavier,” Father said. “Mae is my daughter intended to be your bride. If you wish to forgo the planned festivities of the equinox, then we will arrange for your union tonight.”

My gaze bounced around the room, hopping from Turan to Voster to Father to Banner and back around again.

The prince was still bored. The Voster seemed comatose. Banner looked lethal. Father’s expression was too guarded to discern. Mae and Margot were livid. At. Me.

And the Guardian was still smirking.

I hated him instantly. Maybe I should have wished for Banner to cut his throat.

Shades, I needed to get out of this throne room. Immediately.

Father wouldn’t allow this, right? He’d tell the prince exactly what he thought of a bride prize—whatever the hell that was.

Except Father stayed quiet. His mouth pursed into a thin line as he kept his steady gaze on the Turans, waiting for their reply.

Did he even care that they were asking me to be used as payment for a debt? That they were asking to trade his daughter like that coffer of coin? Or was the anger simmering in his caramel eyes simply because his orders were being questioned?

I didn’t want the answer.

When I tore my eyes from Father, the Guardian’s gaze was waiting.

It wasn’t the same silver as it had been a moment ago. His eyes darkened, silver bleeding away to gray and brown and green. A hazel as hard as stone.

Gone was his laughter. His humor had given way to a cold, cruel malice.

My heart was beating so fast it hurt. The pulse pounding in my ears was deafening. But I didn’t look away from his changing irises. From that glare. I would not wither under that murderer’s stare.

Father had taught me a long time ago that only fools cowered.

I might not be his favorite daughter, but I tried not to be a fool. So I held the Guardian’s stare, my will as unbendable as Ozarth iron. Mae and I shared that stubborn streak.

The corner of the Guardian’s mouth turned up.

Yep, still a jackass. Glad I could be his source of amusement today. I curled my lip and shifted my attention, this time to Prince Zavier.

He was unreadable. No hint of emotion. No sign of interest or indifference. His was the most intimidating stare I’d ever seen in my life, more so than even Father’s.

A shiver rolled down my spine.

If the Guardian’s glare had been a test, the prince’s was a promise. I was going to be his wife.

The floor beneath my slippers tilted sideways again.

“She is not yours to have.” Fury crackled off Banner’s frame, his body practically vibrating. “She is mine.”

It might have been romantic. Except Banner wasn’t mad because another man was stealing the woman he loved. No, Banner was furious to be losing his link to the royal family.

I might not be the favored princess, but I was a princess. A gift for his service. A symbol of his status.

The Guardian met Banner’s sneer with one of his own. “She was yours. Now, she belongs to the prince. She’ll satisfy both the bride prize and the treaty. She’ll be our queen.”

Queen.

That was laughable. I hated wearing shoes and dresses and being trapped indoors. I loathed the monotony of lessons and lectures. I wasn’t meant to rule or lead. Politics were boring and regal parties overrated. I was not a queen.

The crown on my head began to itch.

“I will not stand for this,” Banner announced. “You are to wed Mae.”

Prince Zavier turned his chin and gave that impassive stare to my fiancé. A dare to defy royalty. A challenge to the oldest known treaty in Calandra.

Banner gulped.

Zavier dismissed him with a blink and faced Father.

“The prince will have who he desires.” It was as if the Guardian were inside Zavier’s mind, speaking the words the prince could not. “And he desires her.”

Her. There was that word again.

Oh, gods. I was going to be sick.

“The Shield of Sparrows treaty stipulates a daughter of the king’s choosing. As I am the only king in this room, the choice is mine.” Father pointed to Mae. “You will wed Mae. She is the Sparrow. And you will be given the gold we have promised for your assistance with the marroweels.”

These men were bartering for us like we were crops.

Mae preened, seemingly honored to be chattel. She stood taller, her shoulders pinned, as a smug smile stretched across her mouth.

My molars ground together, nearly cracking, but I managed to keep quiet. Nothing would come from my protest. No one in this room gave a damn about my opinion. My fate was not my own, and my future would be determined by these men.

Zavier sighed, like this argument was cutting into his afternoon nap time.

I hated him. All of them.

“King Cross is correct.” Father’s Voster emissary spoke with the same smooth voice as the priest. “The daughter to be offered through the Shield of Sparrows is of the king’s choosing.”

The air rushed from my lungs. Who would have thought a Voster would be my salvation?

“The treaty only requires a daughter be given to another kingdom each generation. Her father has the right to choose which daughter,” the priest continued. “Though there is still the matter of the bride prize for the marroweels.”

Father shook his head. “There is no bride prize. We will pay in gold.”

“He doesn’t want gold,” the Guardian said.

Right. Her. He wanted me. Why? I was not special.

The other priest, the Voster still hovering above the floor, raised a hand, and before he spoke, I knew I’d loathe every word from his mouth. “The prince has slain seven female creatures on your behalf, per your request, King Cross. If he demands a bride prize, it must be paid. And for that, the bride is of his choosing.”

“Six,” Father corrected. “There were only six marroweels.”

Six or seven. Who cared about some random number of monsters? So what if Zavier was good with a sword or crossbow or whatever he’d used to kill those beasts? Could we please get back to this bride-prize thing? Because I really wanted to know if I was or was not going to be married before dawn.

“Your informants were wrong, Majesty.” The Guardian’s cruel smile widened. “Seven female marroweels were slaughtered in the Krisenth Crossing. All by the prince himself. According to the Chain of Sevens, the prince can demand a bride prize.”

The Chain of what? I glanced at Margot, and the pit in my stomach doubled as the color drained from her face.

“The Chain of Sevens is nothing more than a children’s legend.” Banner scoffed. “It is not enforceable. So take your gold and leave. Come back when you’re ready to marry Mae and sign the Shield of Sparrows.”

“The Chain of Sevens is no legend,” the Guardian told Banner. “Your request to dispatch the marroweels should have been more specific.”

Specific about what, exactly?

“What are you talking about?” Everyone seemed surprised that I had a voice. “The Chain of Sevens? What is it?”

“Seven lives in a chain.” Father’s emissary spoke gently, like he was pulling a punch. “Long ago, before the five kingdoms, the lands and seas were overrun by monsters. To regain control, the ruling lords made a decree. Any warrior who risked their life against the beasts would be granted a prize of their choosing if they returned with the heads of seven slain females from the species. As with all treaties, the Chain of Sevens was sealed with our magic.”

Meaning death to any who violated its terms. If Father was indebted to the prince and refused to pay, the Voster’s magic would steal his life.

Was that why the Turans had brought this other priest along? To enforce the decree? Well, if he had the power to seal the agreement, couldn’t he overrule it, too?

“Why seven?” My voice wobbled. “Why is that number important? And why females?”

“To alter the chain of life,” the floating priest said. “Killing seven females will break the chain. Break it in enough places, and it holds no strength.”

It wouldn’t be easy to kill that many monsters and survive. So the ancient rulers had given them a boon for such feats? Those who prevailed would earn a prize.

Even a bride.

Banner was right. This sounded like a story in a children’s book.

“The Chain of Sevens is not real. It is nothing but a legend.” Father raised his chin. “The only bride Prince Zavier will be given is Mae to fulfill the Shield of Sparrows. I will not send Odessa in Mae’s place because of an archaic myth like the Chain of Sevens.”

The levitating Voster leveled Father with his stare. “What you call an archaic myth is old magic. And old magic is still magic, boy. It is quite real.” On the priest’s final word, an icy wind blew through the throne room. It whipped the skirts of my gown around my ankles and blew a lock of Margot’s hair into my face.

Then, like it had never blown in, the wind stopped. The hems of my dress fell in a whoosh across my slippers.

Margot straightened, her grip finally loosening from my arm.

The relief was short-lived. The Voster dropped to his feet, his soles finally resting on the floor. It must have grounded his magic, intensified it in some way. The prickling of my skin penetrated deeper, sharper as his magic permeated the room.

The wind was gone, but the cold remained, plummeting lower and lower. Crystals formed on the windows. Frost coated the floor. My shallow breaths were wisps of white. My teeth chattered.

Time slowed to a crawl, minutes passed in silent agony, and still the temperature did not rise. If he kept us here, if he trapped us in this room, we’d all freeze to death.

As if the Voster hadn’t made the threat clear enough, the temperature dropped again, turning so cold that the metallic tang of blood spread across my tongue. The taste of frozen lungs. My nostrils burned with every inhale.

Beside me, Margot began to tremble. Mae, for once, looked terrified. Even Father blanched.

The Turans stood as still as statues, seemingly unaffected. For a moment, I wondered if the Voster had spared them from his display, but frost was spreading over the prince’s circlet. Zavier and the Guardian shared a look, not of worry but of warning.

Father had gone too far by questioning the Voster’s magic.

“I sealed the Sevens with my own magic and the blood of ancient kings.” The Voster’s voice was as lethal as the shards of ice forming on the ceiling. “Mind what you call an archaic myth.”

Father bowed his head. It was the first time in my life I’d seen him bow to another. He didn’t even do that for his own Voster emissary. Granted, this priest was about to kill us all, so now was the time to show a little humility.

“I’m sorry, High Priest,” Father murmured.

High Priest? The High Priest? I was about done with surprises for today.

My mind was running out of places to keep all of this newfound information. This meeting was only supposed to be a formality. Had I known the High Priest of the Voster would be in attendance, I would have kept swimming.

According to that one book about the brotherhood, the Voster were long-lived but not immortal. Since the High Priest hadn’t been seen or heard from in decades, most believed he’d died.

No, he’d just been hiding out with the Turans. Was he Prince Zavier’s ambassador? Did he live in Turah?

“She is your daughter, yes?” the High Priest asked.

“Yes.” Father nodded.

“Then she will be the prince’s bride for both the Shield of Sparrows and Chain of Sevens.”

She. Her.

Me.