Shield of Sparrows

“Ransom,” I whispered, tracing the strong line of his nose. There was a slight bump at the bridge that rippled beneath my fingertip.

It was one of many features I’d discovered about my husband’s face over the past two weeks. His eyelashes were the purest of black and as soft as feathers. The apple of his throat fit perfectly beneath my lips. He liked to sleep with a window open, letting in the cool night air, and the only reason I didn’t freeze was because he kept me tucked close, wrapped in his warmth from dusk to dawn.

“Ransom.”

He hummed, eyes closed.

I kissed the underside of his jaw, his dark stubble rough against my mouth.

His hands skimmed up my naked back, finding the tendrils of my hair and twisting them between his fingers.

The dusting of hair across his chest tickled my nipples as he hauled me closer, pressing our bodies together, erasing any space.

Our legs were tangled beneath the sheets. I splayed one hand over his heart, and the other molded to the hard curve of his ass.

We’d spent countless hours entwined in my bed over the past two weeks. Most of those hours had been for me to rest. To heal. Ransom hadn’t strayed far, hardly leaving my side as we’d hidden from the world in my suite.

It had taken nearly the entire two weeks to convince him I wasn’t made of glass. That I needed to be kissed. Fucked. When I’d told him last night that I needed to be treated like I wasn’t broken, he’d finally relented, worshiping my body with his fingers and tongue and cock.

It was the first night since the incident that I’d slept without a nightmare.

My body ached in all the right places, and I craved more.

Ransom groaned as I kissed the corded column of his neck. His arousal was hard between us, my core throbbing as he rocked it against my clit.

With a quick spin, I was on my back and pinned beneath him.

My legs wrapped around his hips as he fitted himself to my entrance and slid home. So deep I gasped.

“Gods.” My body melted and shaped to his, stretching around his length.

We moved together without hurry or haste. He thrust in and out, his lips and tongue and hands leaving no inch of my body untouched.

“Odessa,” he murmured in my ear, reaching between us to feel where we were connected.

I fluttered around him, my pulse quickening as he circled a finger around that bundle of nerves. My nails dug into his taut shoulders. “Ransom. More.”

He grazed my earlobe with his teeth. “Mine.”

“Yours,” I breathed, my limbs beginning to tremble.

Last night, we’d fucked hard. He’d push my body to new heights, taking me to the edge only to haul me back, dragging it out for hours until I begged him to come. Last night was all about pleasure. About a release.

But this lazy morning felt different. Important. It was about the feel of us joined together. The words neither of us were ready to say.

He drove inside, hitting the spot that made me gasp. It was as if the power from his body swept into mine, the strength, the resilience. He rolled his hips, bringing us together in long, languid strokes until I shattered.

He muffled my moans with his hand covering my mouth, burying his own in the thickness of my hair.

Beyond these walls, beyond that open window, the Turans thought I was married to Zavier.

Within them, I was Ransom’s.

We came together, clinging to each other until we were boneless, panting for breath.

He lifted to his elbows, taking most of his weight, and stared down at me with eyes that shone every shade of green.

Like every morning, the green didn’t last. His gaze drifted to my throat, and his eyes seemed to take on the mottled yellow of my neck, transforming to hazel.

A frown tugged down the corners of his mouth.

Even after the bruises faded, I doubted he’d ever look at my neck without a ghost of a frown on his lips.

I ran my hand through his hair, pushing hard at the strands until he met my gaze. “Not your fault.”

He gave me a sad smile before dipping to kiss my throat. “My fault.”

His sigh tickled my neck, and then Ransom rolled out of bed and walked naked to the window to close it.

I propped up on an elbow, taking a moment to study the perfect silhouette of his body as he crossed to the washroom and closed its door. Then I hauled myself out of bed, wrapping myself in a robe from the armoire before I took a seat at the vanity, pulling at the collar to expose my skin.

The bruises were fading fast. Thanks to the herb poultices, teas, and compresses from Healer Geezala, the coloring of my neck had shifted from black to purple to green and now yellow. Some marks were gone entirely. My eyes were no longer bloodshot, and the dark circles were gone.

The horrors of that day were fading with the bruises, but the weight of it all would linger. For years and years.

Ransom emerged, fastening a pair of pants around his waist. He came to the vanity, hands settling on my shoulders. A faraway look settled over his expression, like he wasn’t staring at me but into the past.

At his mother. At the bruises she’d worn after Ramsey’s attack.

“Ransom.” I put a hand over his. “Talk to me.”

He blinked, then slipped his hand free. “Do you want me to fill the tub?”

“Later.” I waited until he left the bedroom before I sighed and stood, going about my morning routine.

Once my hair was combed and braided, I dressed in a tunic and pants, then wrapped a scarf around my neck. When I walked out to the sitting room, Ransom was opening the front door to Zavier.

He came every morning to check on my recovery. To play the role of doting husband. To have hushed conversations with Ransom on the balcony while I attempted to eavesdrop.

Zavier strode inside, circlet shining across his brow. Only when the door was closed did he bow. “My prince. Princess.”

He’d become more and more formal over the past two weeks. The bows. The titles. Something was shifting, but every time I brought it up to Ransom, he’d wave it off. He’d distract me with a kiss or carry me to bed.

Maybe I should have insisted we talk, but the truth was, I’d craved the distraction, too.

For two weeks, all I’d wanted was Ransom. Some time to stop pretending and be together. Even if it meant hiding in this suite.

Even if it meant that Zavier was trapped in Ellder, sending Halston to lead the warriors on hunts in his stead, so that when Brielle came each morning to tidy my suite, she’d think he was the man who’d slept in my bed.

This was the game. The show we were all a part of now. The characters we were playing.

Maybe someday, we’d all stop pretending.

“Where’s Evie this morning?” I asked. She usually came with Zavier to play with Faze before her lessons.

“With Cathlin. They’re practicing her letters, so, as you can imagine, she’s grumpy. But Tillia promised to take her to the training area later today so she can practice with her bow.”

Evie would likely be the best shot in Ellder by the time she was ten. The bow and quiver of arrows Zavier had given her were her prized possessions.

“And Luella?” I asked.

Zavier shook his head, sharing a look with Ransom.

The morning after my attack, Luella had left Ellder. Without a word to Ransom or Zavier. But she’d left a note for Evie, promising to return soon.

I had no idea where she’d gone, and if Ransom knew, he wasn’t sharing. With me, at least. He seemed as interested in discussing his mother as he was in the man I’d killed or the fact that he’d had Lyssa.

Ransom jerked his chin for Zavier to follow him to the balcony, and before I could protest, they were gone.

“Damn.” I plopped on a seat, picking up the book that Cathlin had brought over yesterday.

She’d taken up tutoring Evie, and she’d made sure that while I was healing, I had plenty to read.

I opened to the first page, but as I stared at the words, they blurred together. Concentration was futile with the questions beginning to stir, demanding attention. I’d spent two weeks ignoring the realm. Letting myself grieve. Postponing conversations overdue.

Two weeks was long enough.

Faze wandered over from the sitting room’s window, where he’d been napping. He let out a tiny rawr as he rubbed against my calf, then leaped to the chair’s arm, claws sinking into the already ruined fabric, before he settled onto my lap.

“Time to stop hiding, isn’t it?”

He nudged my hand with his head.

I’d take that as a yes.

On the balcony, Ransom and Zavier’s voices were low as they spoke, and whatever Zavier had come to report, it only made Ransom’s jaw clench.

I focused on the book, waiting for them to finish. It would be easier to get answers from Ransom after Zavier left.

The book was an encyclopedia of sorts. Its pages were filled with summaries and drawings of different leaves and roots. But unlike most of the books Cathlin had brought me, this seemed more akin to a journal than a printed book. The pages were handwritten, the drawings sketched and hand colored.

I flipped to the front, finding no author or artist listed, and the last twenty or so pages were all blank. They hadn’t been filled yet.

It was a record log. A diary, not unlike my own, but instead of drawings of monsters, this was about plants.

I skimmed through the pages, scanning drawings and notes. But I stopped in the center of the book.

Cave Ginger

I lifted it closer, eyes narrowed to read the inscription.

Native to Ozarth. Harvested in bogs. Outer skin gives off a rancid smell, but when peeled, pulp can be shaved and dried with sugar crystals (commonly sold as candy). Peel is typically discarded. When boiled and fermented, pulp can be used as pigment. When ingested, suggested good for healing. Alligasks shed their hides in bogs. Possibly absorbed into peel?

Testing: Limited Extensive

The drawing was of the outer shell, the plant more like a berry and a green so dark it was black.

My stomach knotted. I knew that color.

The drawing on the opposite page was of a bog. The snarky note below seemed like one I might have written.

Not a cave in sight. Who came up with this plant’s name?

Who wrote this book? I closed it, inspecting the front and back again. There wasn’t a name. Maybe I didn’t need one.

Instead, I found myself back in the dungeon from weeks ago. Eavesdropping on a different conversation.

They’re books, Lu. I’m giving that poor girl something to read. That’s all.

Luella had warned Cathlin that day. And the next time I’d gone to the dungeon, it had been empty.

But Cathlin had continued bringing me books. She’d kept feeding me from wherever she hid her stash. If I had to guess, I’d say without Luella’s knowledge.

Why?

Why? Why? Why?

I’d had a two-week break from asking why. The reprieve was over.

Closing the book, I set it aside and stroked Faze’s spine. The largest scales were now bigger than my thumbnail. They were stronger, too, growing harder and thicker every day. His fur was changing slowly, faint stripes appearing along his ribs.

How was I going to let him go? What if he was killed by another predator after we set him free? What if he got bitten and infected with Lyssa?

We had to find a cure. There had to be a source. Someone had created this atrocity. Who?

There was a niggling in the back of my mind. The beginning of a hunch. But I couldn’t make sense of it yet. It was a jumbled mess of pieces, and I wasn’t sure how to shuffle them into the correct order.

Was it right in front of me? Was it staring me in the face, and I’d been too preoccupied with Ransom and Turah and Father’s demands to find Allesaria to see what was obvious?

Every book I’d read, every story, every tale, seemed to wind together in my mind. I started pulling on strands, like errant curls, arranging them into rows. Weaving them into a braid.

Allesaria. Ozarth. Laine. Cave ginger. Alligasks. Korakin. Fenek.

Magic.noveldrama

Damn it, what was I missing? I squeezed my eyes shut, rubbing at my temples.

Ransom’s hand on my shoulder jolted me out of my thoughts. “Hey. Are you all right?”

No. No, I wasn’t all right. Not even a bit.

“Odessa.” He knelt in front of my chair, worry lines marring his forehead. “What is it?”

“We have to talk about the man I killed,” I said. I wasn’t sure why it seemed important, but it was another piece. Another fragment that was connected, somehow.

“No. I don’t want you reliving—”

“I’m not asking, Ransom.”

He frowned, twin lines forming between his eyebrows.

I lifted my finger and rubbed them away. “His skin was so hot it hurt to touch. His body was steaming. His blood wasn’t red, and there was foam on his lips. His eyes went white, and he looked relieved to finally die.”

Was that what Ransom had in store? Was that the torment the Voster High Priest was keeping away with his visits to see Ransom and siphon out the infection?

“He had Lyssa. I killed that man, and I deserve to know why he tried to kill me.”

Ransom’s jaw worked as he stayed quiet.

He wasn’t going to answer me, was he? He was going to keep me here, trapped away where he thought I’d be safe, and not tell me a fucking thing.

I opened my mouth, about to unleash a fury only known in Izzac’s shade of hell, when Ransom looked to Zavier.

“Tell her,” Ransom said.

Zavier frowned but did as commanded. “Yes, he had Lyssa. And no, we’ve never noticed an infected monster’s body being hot like that before. We’ve seen the milky eyes and foam but not the heat. We think it affects humans differently than it does beasts. In the end.”

In the end. Meaning before they die. “Why would he come after me?”

“I don’t know.” Zavier rubbed a hand over his jaw. “There’s not much to learn. I’m sorry.”

Right. I’d killed him, and there were only so many answers they could glean from his corpse.

“What kind of monster infected him? Could you tell from his bite scar?”

Zavier hesitated. “He had no bite scar.”

“But he had Lyssa. How is that possible?” The answer was another piece, wasn’t it? Another thread to untangle and pull and weave with the others. Another part of the big picture I was missing.

“There were fresh injection marks on his arm.” Zavier extended his own, pointing to the soft skin on the inside of his elbow. “Here.”

Healers used the hollow bones from small birds to create needles to inject their medicines.

Or poisons.

“So whoever created Lyssa isn’t only infecting monsters.” Not anymore.

Ransom could kill every monster in Turah. Every monster across the continent. But it would make no difference until the person responsible for this was gone.

“Why would—”

I couldn’t finish my question. I didn’t need to. The answer was kneeling before me.

Why would someone infect humans with Lyssa?

Because of the Guardian.

Because here was a person who was nearly impossible to kill, by man or monster. “Whoever gave that man Lyssa knows you have it. They’re trying to give it to others. To recreate you.”

Ransom nodded.

“When did you figure this out?”

“Not until after your attack,” he said. He’d known and kept it from me for two weeks.

“You should have told me.”

His eyes softened and dropped to my throat. “Can you understand why I didn’t?”

“Yes.” I exhaled. Because I’d needed two weeks to heal. “The man I killed. Where was he from?”

Ransom’s nostrils flared. “Allesaria.”

Damn. It all came back to that hidden city. To a city that held the wealth of Turan knowledge. To a city barred to outsiders. To a city bound by blood oaths and magic.

To the city of the Voster.

Allesaria. Ozarth. Laine. Cave ginger. Alligasks. Korakin. Fenek.

Magic.

The threads were untangling. The pieces were coming together, forming a fuzzy picture. An idea.

“I need…” More. I needed more pieces. So I shoved to my feet, Faze growling as he fell toward the floor, twisting to land on his paws.

“What?” Ransom stood at my side, his hand on my elbow.

I was already moving to the door, flinging it open.

Ransom and Zavier’s boots pounded on the walkway and stairs behind me, both following me to the first floor. To the room where Evie had her daily lessons.

“Odessa?” Cathlin’s eyes went wide when she saw me race inside.

“I need to talk to you.”

Evie looked between all of us, sensing the tension and gripping the edge of the table. “Papa?”

Zavier walked past me, picking up his daughter. “Let’s go for a walk.”

She wrapped herself around him as he carried her away.

Ransom’s hand came to the small of my back. “Odessa, what is going—”

“I have a hunch,” I told Cathlin. “And I think you’re the reason I have that hunch.”

She gulped as she rose to her feet. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Cathlin.” My eyes were pleading. “How long have you known the king is giving his soldiers Lyssa?”

Ransom’s entire body went rigid, his hand on my back fisting my tunic. But he stayed quiet, giving Cathlin a moment as she closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging.

Part of me knew he’d suspected this. But the other part knew he didn’t want to believe that of his father. That he was so sure there was nothing to fear in Allesaria. That the High Priest wouldn’t keep something like this from him.

But this suspicion, this hunch, meant giving up that last bit of faith he’d held in his father.

And the mountain of trust he’d given the Voster.

“This is his militia,” I said. “The reason soldiers leave home and are never heard from again. He’s trying to replicate the Guardian. To create men with powers that might stand a chance against the crux. But it’s not working. Lyssa is killing them instead.”

The silence that followed was so heavy it crushed the air from my lungs.

“Cathlin,” Ransom growled. “Say something.”

My heart raced. Why wasn’t Cathlin agreeing with me or telling me I was dead wrong? Why point me in the right direction but not say anything—

My eyes widened, another piece of the puzzle falling into place.

“She can’t. She took a blood oath.” I reached for his hand, linking our fingers. “So she’s been feeding me information instead. Books and journals. Ideas and tales. So that I might put it together and be the one to tell you the truth, since she’s sworn to secrecy.”

Cathlin looked to the floor as she nodded, her shoulders dropping so low that when she crossed her arms, it was like she had to rest them on her lap or they’d fall to the floor.

“Who?” Ransom demanded. “Who forced you to keep this secret?”

The heavy silence made my skin itch. Why wasn’t Cathlin telling us? Who had made her take this oath of secrecy? It couldn’t be King Ramsey. She wouldn’t be working with him. Then who?

But before I could ask, there was a scratching at the door, and then the heavy wood swung open.

All eyes turned as one to stare as Luella walked inside.

She wore a scarf over her dark hair and around her neck. A coat, thick and lined with fur, covered her body. When she saw us, she froze, eyes blowing wide. Her cheeks were flushed, a sheen of sweat across her forehead, like she’d rushed here from wherever she’d been hiding.

And in her hand, a jar packed full of berries.

Berries with a shell of green. A green so dark it was black. The same color as Lyssa.

Cave ginger.

I had no proof it was an ingredient in this horrid infection. Nothing but the scent and color and a hunch. But at some point, a coincidence is not a coincidence. And a hunch might be the truth.

Why would Luella have a jar of cave ginger? Unless…

The clues weren’t meant to lead me to Ramsey. He wasn’t the person with the answers.

My gaze swung to Cathlin’s, but she wasn’t looking at me. She was staring at Luella, her cheeks flushed with guilt.

The pieces, the seeds Cathlin had planted, the threads she’d woven, pulled taut. The feminine handwriting in the book upstairs about extensive testing of cave ginger. The only lesson that Evie loved being science with Luella.

“It’s you,” I whispered, my stomach twisting as I turned to face Luella again.

She knew the “how” about Lyssa. How it had started.

I slid my hand into Ransom’s, holding fast as those twin lines knitted between his eyebrows again.

“What do you mean?” he asked, looking to me, then Luella. “You’re working with Father?”

No, she wouldn’t partner with Ramsey. Not after everything he’d done. But she was a part of this, somehow. I felt it in my bones.

Luella was a mother, first and foremost. She could be living on the other side of the continent, apart with Evie. But she hadn’t wanted to leave Ransom. She’d do anything for him, to keep him safe.

Gods. My head was spinning. I reached out to hold on to Ransom with both hands. “I think the person with a story to tell is your mother.”