Shield of Sparrows

Margot’s growl filled my rooms. “Bring. Me. Blue.”

“I’m sorry, Majesty.” Brielle’s cheeks were flushed, sweat beading at her temples and coating her brown hair. Above her upturned nose, her honey-colored eyes were panicked as she darted into the closet for the fifth time to trade the three gray gowns in her arms for three other gray gowns.

For the past four hours, Brielle had been racing around the castle, obeying each of my stepmother’s sharp commands without fail. But finding a blue dress in my wardrobe? Impossible. We both knew that. Brielle was simply too sweet to stand up to Margot.

If Jocelyn were here, she would have told Margot from the beginning that I didn’t have a stitch of blue. Except Jocelyn had been sent to the apothecary to collect contraceptive tea for us to take on the journey.

Since we’d left the throne room, Margot had done exactly as Father had instructed. With Brielle and Jocelyn’s help, she’d prepared me for both a wedding and a cross-continental move.

I might not have a dress in the traditional wedding shade, but otherwise, they’d turned me into a bride.

All that pampering Mae had received this morning, they’d expedited for me this afternoon. A scalding hot bath had been drawn in my bathing chamber—I might not be able to justify my grandfather’s extravagant gold plating on the castle, but I certainly enjoyed the interior plumbing. My skin was exfoliated, oiled, and scented.

Greenery was woven into my hair. Brielle had pinned it into an elaborate tangle of thick braids and twists that draped down my spine. Jocelyn had powdered my cheeks with peach rouge and stained my lips pink. There was shimmer on my lids and kohl lining my lashes. Bracelets adorned both wrists, and golden floral cuffs trailed along the shells of my ears.

In my twenty-three years, I’d never looked more beautiful. More like a princess. Yet each time I caught my reflection in the mirror, the sinking dread of what was to come would hit so hard I had to turn away again.

“You’ll run out of this eventually.” Margot stuffed jars of hair dye into one of three trunks stacked against the wall. “You’ll need to find a market in Turah. Until then, wash your hair sparingly.”

Prince Zavier had bargained for a brunette wife, so a brunette I would remain.

Margot slammed the lid of the trunk closed so hard I jerked in my seat at the vanity. With it closed and latched, she stood, surveying the room for anything she’d missed.

But all that remained was the furniture. My jewelry had been wrapped and stowed along with my soaps and creams and skin tonics. She’d sent me with three purses of gold coins. Jocelyn had packed away my sketchbook and favorite pencils. Brielle had folded my favorite dresses and stored them away with my intimates and slippers.

Was it good or bad that everything I owned fit into three trunks? One steward could move them all to a carriage in less than an hour.

There were a handful of books I would have liked to have taken, but they were in the castle’s library, and when I’d asked to get them, Margot had told me there wasn’t time. There were libraries in Turah, right?

Brielle rushed out of the closet with my palest gray dress. “This is the closest thing she has to a blue.”

It wasn’t even close to blue. Certainly not the bold, vibrant colors that most brides wore on their wedding days. The dress was almost white.

The color we clothed the dead.noveldrama

The color we wore to funerals.

“Absolutely not,” Margot clipped.

“It’s perfect.” I stood from the bench, and before Margot could take it from Brielle’s hand, I snagged it and carried it behind the dressing screen.

“It’s not blue,” Margot said.

“It’s good enough.”

“We must have already packed your blue gowns.”

I scoffed as I unfastened the satin robe I’d been wearing since my bath. Did she really not know I only had gray dresses? Or was she practicing the argument she’d use when Father asked why I was wearing the color of death for the ceremony?

The skirt was full and billowed from my hips to my feet. The top was made of embroidered lace, adorned with gray and white beads. A deep V in the back exposed the length of my spine.

“This dress is perfect. Mae can stab me in the back without any fabric getting in her way,” I said.

“Odessa.” I couldn’t see her from behind the screen, but there probably was a frown on her face. “Let’s not be dramatic.”

A crash echoed beyond the nearest wall. It sounded like a vase being smashed against the floor.

I leaned past the screen and raised my eyebrows. “I’m dramatic?”

She was lecturing the wrong daughter.

Margot flicked her wrist. “Just get dressed.”

Another crash came from next door.

While I was being primped and packed, my sister was throwing a tantrum the likes of which I hadn’t seen since she was eight. Maybe when Mae finished trashing her room, she could move into mine.

It was empty now, devoid of anything me.

Clothed and ready, I stepped out from the screen, my gaze sweeping the space, stopping on the bed. The coverlet was wrinkled from where my belongings had been piled before being put into trunks. Would I get to sleep in this room again? Or would I be sharing Zavier’s bed tonight? I shuddered.

“Brielle, leave us,” Margot ordered.

“Yes, Majesty.” My lady’s maid curtsied and hastened to the door. She had her own packing to do if she was to accompany me to Turah.

Margot waited until the door clicked shut. “You’ll need to bed him.”

Shades. “Are we really having this conversation?”

I’d learned all about sex from a healer when I was thirteen. Whatever gaps she’d left in my education, the lady’s maids had filled in. I did not need Margot’s advice on how to sleep with my husband.

“Have you been with a man before? Banner or…”

When we’d gotten engaged, I’d wondered if Banner would want to have sex before the wedding. But Brielle had told me that he had a lover in the city. A woman he’d known for years.

Was he still sleeping with her? The idea of him with another had never bothered me. Maybe it would have after we had married, but that was no longer an issue, was it?

I’d never slept with Banner, but there’d been a boy once. When I was fifteen. A boy with freckled cheeks and an easy laugh. He’d worked in the stables.

Father must have found out that I’d been sneaking him into my rooms, because one day I’d gone to visit him at the stables and he’d left the city. How much had Father paid him to leave Roslo? Certainly not a chest of gold.

My value was going up. Good for me.

“Yes, I’ve been with a man before,” I told Margot. “Next topic.”

Did she drop it? Of course not. “Kings are powerful men. Powerful men often have…tastes.”

“Margot.” I cringed. “Please stop. I beg you.”

I was curious by nature, but not where my father’s tastes in the bedroom were concerned.

“There’s a reason everyone looks the other way about Mae’s escapades,” Margot said.

Because Mae was practicing her seduction skills? Eww.

“You must please Zavier,” she said. “The happier he is with you as his wife, the less he’ll suspect ulterior motives.”

Because a prince who was being fucked regularly became a fool? Possibly in Genesis or Ozarth or Laine or even Quentis. But I doubted Zavier was like other princes, not with his heritage.

Turah was nearly as much of a mystery as the Guardian.

Their rulers obeyed the Shield of Sparrows. They held up their obligations for trade and commerce, but only just. When it came to extending alliances, building relationships, and fostering unity, Turah might as well be a closed door.

Three generations ago, the crux had decimated the Turan capital city. Well, the former capital city. Before that migration, the Turan capital was Perris, a city on the coast. A mirror of Roslo across the Krisenth.

After that migration, rather than rebuilding his castle, the king had left it in ruins and moved his stronghold into the Turan mountains.

Allesaria.

To my knowledge, not a single foreign ruler had ever been invited to the Turan castle. It wasn’t on Calandran maps. Its description could not be found in any book.

With every passing year, the secrecy surrounding Allesaria compounded. Was there really a way to save our people from the crux? What was hidden in the Turan capital that Father wanted so badly? Did other kings know? Or just Father?

He certainly wasn’t the only king curious about Allesaria. People went in search of the city and never returned. Since no other king could force them to reveal its location, there was little to be done except let the Turans pull further and further away from diplomacy.

Until now.

Until the Sparrow.

There was a reason Mae had been trained so thoroughly since she was a child. She was to be the first foreign princess to enter Allesaria. She had the chance to tear down generations of mystery. To shine a light on a kingdom that seemed content to thrive in the dark.

And now that task had been given to me.

Zavier wasn’t going to make it easy, was he? He’d watched us all too closely, too carefully, in the throne room. Did he suspect Father was up to something? There had to be more to this bride prize than Zavier wanting to marry someone other than Mae.

Maybe he’d taken one look at me and known I wouldn’t be a threat.

Well, he’d be absolutely right.

Another crash echoed from Mae’s room. She’d been at it for over an hour. What was left to break?

“Is there really no way out of this?” No way for Mae to take my place and disappear to a faraway land with a prince?

“You heard the Voster.” Margot’s expression softened, showing a hint of sympathy. “I’ll tell your father you’re ready.”

Was I ready? Did it matter?

“Can I see Arthy before I go? I’d like to kiss him goodbye.”

Margot nodded. “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

She smoothed the blond hair away from her face and swept out of the room.

It was too quiet with her gone, too empty. I listened for any sound, but Mae’s room had gone silent, too.

If I didn’t get to return here tonight, then there were a couple more things to pack. I slipped into my closet, going to the farthest corner. After a check over my shoulder to make sure I was truly alone, I crouched to the floor.

I tugged on the board closest to the wall. It popped loose, revealing a small compartment I’d stumbled upon when I was ten.

Mae and I had been playing hide-and-seek that day. She hated hiding, always preferring to be the seeker, but if my hiding place was too difficult, she’d get angry.

My sister wasn’t only spoiled by Margot and Father. I’d spoiled Mae, too.

During our game that day, all those years ago, I’d tucked myself into this corner, hiding behind gray dresses as I waited for her to find me. The board had shifted beneath my foot, and I’d found this hiding spot.

I didn’t know who’d had this room before my birth, but maybe another princess had used these rooms when she’d lived in this castle. Maybe a long-forgotten grandmother. I liked to think someone who shared my blood had used this compartment. That she’d been the one to pry the board loose the first time and tuck her keepsakes inside.

That the necklace I’d found thirteen years ago had been worn around her neck.

I fished out the leather journal I’d bought at the market this spring.

The first page was a sketch of Margot I’d drawn after witnessing a fight she’d had with Father. Her mouth was turned down, her face weathered and her eyes brimming with tears. It was a drawing I’d never show her. It was too real. Too raw.

Margot didn’t like real or raw.

The second page was a drawing of Mae in the training center. Her mouth was stretched wide in a scream, her hands fisted at her sides. Sometimes I wondered if she screamed because there was so much piled on her shoulders.

Maybe she’d stop now that it had been loaded to mine.

Other than those couple of sketches, the pages were blank. I’d intended to fill them with drawings of Arthy or the castle or Banner or whatever else caught my eye. Instead, this book could keep my notes about Turah and the Guardian.

Beneath the book was my necklace. The delicate chain was coiled neatly. As I lifted it free, the pendant glinted in the light.

A wing of silver was inlaid in a circle of gold. Except it wasn’t gold. The hue was red and orange and as bright as the harvest moon.

It was a symbol I’d never seen before. I’d scoured books in the library. I’d drawn it out and taken it to the docks to see if anyone recognized the design.

But after all these years, it remained a mystery.

I replaced the board, concealing the compartment, then stood, careful not to step on my gown’s skirts. The journal was tucked into the last unopened trunk. The necklace I fitted into my dress, into the fabric that cupped my breast.

Until I reached Turah, until I felt safe enough to leave the necklace behind, it would stay with me.

The moment the pendant rested against my skin, it warmed. The metal seemed to absorb my body’s heat faster than gold or silver. Or maybe it radiated that warmth on its own. It was as much an enigma as the symbol.

I was just walking out of the closet when the door to my rooms opened and Mae walked inside.

“All finished destroying your rooms?” I asked.

“So I broke a few things.” She lifted a shoulder. “How would you feel if you’d spent your entire youth preparing and hoping for something only to have it ripped out of your grasp?”

“Angry.”

She wasn’t alone in that emotion. I was angry, too. But did I wreck my rooms?

“I want to be queen,” she said.

“And I don’t. But neither of us has a choice.”

Mae took in my face, my dress, my hair. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Will you miss me? I’ll miss you.”

“Yes.” I crossed the space between us, and even though I was the shorter, weaker sister, I hauled her into my arms.

She squirmed. My sister wasn’t great at giving hugs, but I hugged her anyway. For every hug that I’d been denied, I always tried to give Mae two.

The same was true with Arthalayus. Every morning, I went to the nursery to hug my little brother.

I held Mae closer, tighter, until she finally sagged against my frame and hugged me back. She might be taller, stronger, prettier, but I was still her sister, and though it usually took coaxing, she indulged my hugs.

“You could still be a queen. Father will plan another marriage.” To another prince in another kingdom.

Mae huffed a laugh. “He’ll make me marry Banner.”

It was possible. If there wasn’t a prince available, a general was the next best match. And it would ensure Banner’s loyalty to our family for years to come.

Arthy was only three. There were many years left in Father’s reign, but as he got older, he needed loyal soldiers.

Margot had struggled to conceive after Mae was born. She’d had three stillborn babies in that time. But finally, before Father had found himself a new wife to give him a male heir, Margot had given birth to Arthalayus.

I wouldn’t be here to watch him grow into a young man. I wouldn’t know him, would I?

“You need to hug Arthy after I’m gone,” I told her. “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

She was horrible with promises, but maybe this was one she’d keep.

We held each other for a few more heartbeats before she wiggled free. “Don’t plan to return until you have the information Father wants.”

Sister time was over. Back to business. “I won’t.”

“They will never trust you. Don’t be fooled by any kindness.”

“Kindness is bad. Got it.”

She sighed. “You’re going to make an awful spy.”

“On that, we can agree.” I laughed. “Any other advice?”

“Don’t die.” Mae touched the hair at my temple. “You must be ruthless, Dess.”

Ruthless. We both knew that was her specialty, not mine. “I love you, Mae.”

“I love you, too.”

Before I could give her another hug, the door opened and Father strode inside, Margot trailing close behind.

Mae’s demeanor shifted instantly. All softness vanished. She clasped her hands behind her back, shoulders pinned, looking more like one of the guards than a princess. Like Banner.

If Father did arrange their engagement, they might actually make a decent pair.

Father’s caramel eyes assessed me from head to toe. His nostrils flared as he glanced over his shoulder to Margot. “You couldn’t find her a blue dress?”

Margot’s gaze dropped to the floor.

Father retrieved a glass vial and small knife from his coat pocket.

Without needing his instruction, I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and held out my hand. Gods. There was no going back, was there? Not after this.

Father took a firm hold of my fingers and dragged the knife across my skin.

Pain lanced through my palm, spreading up my arm. Tears swam in my eyes, but I blinked them away as Father tilted my hand and filled the vial with my blood, topping it with a cork. Then he wrapped a linen cloth around the wound. Three loops and a hard knot by my knuckles, like I was a soldier being bandaged on the battlefield.

I stole one last look at the view beyond my bedroom windows as the blood seeped through and speckled the cloth.

The ocean waves glittered beneath the clear blue sky. The sun cast Roslo in hues of yellow and orange as it dipped closer to the horizon.

Before it set tonight, I’d be a man’s wife.

I should have stayed in the water earlier. I should have let the currents sweep me into the depths of the Marixmore and let the monsters of those ocean waters claim my flesh.

I should have kept swimming.