Shield of Sparrows

Jocelyn gripped my hand so hard my knuckles cracked. The bench seat on the rowboat was wide enough for three, but she was sitting so close she was practically on my lap. Brielle was seated on my other side, her back stiff as she watched the shoreline.

“If I never set foot on a boat again, I’ll die a happy woman,” Jocelyn said.

“Don’t say that. You need to sail home.”

Sadness filled her brown eyes.

“You’ll go home,” I said. “You promised your mother, remember?”

“Yeah.” She looked behind us, past the Cutter, the Cleaver, and the Cannon, all anchored in the deeper waters along the shoreline.

Zavier sat in the front of our rowboat, his posture rigid and his shoulders tense.

He hadn’t spoken a word as we loaded onto the rowboat to go to shore. He was back to the silent, brooding prince. Was that because my lady’s maids were around to hear?

Probably. I hadn’t told either of them that he could speak. I wasn’t going to fail that test of his confidence.

If he stayed quiet, so would I.

The man rowing had gold hoops in both of his ears. A winding tattoo decorated the side of his neck. He wore leather cuffs around his wrists and a red scarf around his head. His arms flexed with every plunge and pull of the oars into the water.

I had a feeling that he’d return to the Cutter once we were on shore.

Where would the ships go from here? There had to be a port for ships their size. Why hadn’t we gone to a city? Why drop us here, in the middle of nowhere?

The beach where we were headed was only a short stretch of smooth, gray sand. Rowboats from the Cleaver and the Cannon had already made land.

The four warriors who’d accompanied Zavier to our wedding were unloading, wading through the shallows to the beach. They had no trunks or cases. All they had were their clothes, weapons, and satchels strapped across their chests.

There were five trunks on shore. Mine. One for Brielle. Another for Jocelyn. Not even Zavier had much. Like his warriors, only a satchel.

Maybe they should have told us to pack light.

I scanned the beach, searching for the Guardian. After his ominous welcome to Turah, I’d lost him in my climb down to the rowboat. I’d expected him to follow, but when I’d looked up, he’d been gone.

Given his tendency to pop up like an itchy rash, I was certain he was lingering around somewhere.

“Do you think there’s a city nearby?” Brielle asked, her voice low.

Our tattooed rower scowled, annoyed that she’d break the silence with a perfectly reasonable question.

“I don’t know. I don’t see anything.”

If there was a town, it was camouflaged in the landscape. There was no sign of a road or trail through that forest.

Beyond the sand were reed grasses, their tips swaying in the breeze. And then came looming hills covered in dense pine trees and thick underbrush. A veil of mist cloaked the tallest peaks, and the air was cool, the wind sharp.

This beach looked lonely and out of place, like the gray rocks at both sides were slowly taking over, forcing it into the water to drown. It was so different from the Quentin beaches I wasn’t even sure it could be called a beach. There weren’t miles and miles of white, sun-kissed sand. It wasn’t warm and welcoming.

Though it was beautiful. Rugged. Intimidating. But beautiful.

As we reached the shallow waters, Zavier stood and jumped over the boat’s edge, his boots splashing with every step as he hauled us up on shore.

I didn’t wait for his hand and stepped over the side, my booted heels digging into the sand. It wasn’t soft and warm like the beaches in Quentis. It was stiff and unyielding, protesting against my heels with every step.

A stray tendril of hair caught the breeze and flew into my mouth, the taste of my dye bitter on my lips before I yanked it away.

Once Brielle and Jocelyn were on shore, Zavier motioned for us to follow him toward the grasses where the line of his stone-faced rangers waited.

“Our things?” I asked.

His gaze darted over my shoulder in silent answer.

Five men carried our trunks a few paces behind, following our tracks in the sand.

It was on that backward glance I spotted him.

The Guardian stood on the shore, just out of the ocean’s reach. His clothes were wet, his hair dripping on his shoulders. And he wasn’t alone.

He was speaking to the High Priest.

My breath caught in my throat.

I couldn’t feel the Voster magic. Was he too far away? Was that why I hadn’t felt him on the ships?

Oh, gods. Did this mean he’d be traveling with us to Allesaria? My insides knotted at the idea of his magic being constant and close. I wasn’t sure I could deal with its sting day after day.

The High Priest and the Guardian kept their heads together as they spoke. There was a familiarity between them I hadn’t noticed before. It was almost affectionate, like brothers.

Had the Voster given the Guardian his powers? Was that how he could swim so fast? Move so quickly?

It seemed too obvious. Too easy. But could it be that simple? Could they give their magic to humans?

The Voster were as secretive about their magic and their origins as they were about where they lived and how many priests made up the brotherhood. That book I’d read about them had been mostly speculation. Reports of witness accounts.

Father had asked me to discover the source of the Guardian’s abilities. Maybe instead of asking me, he should have consulted Brother Dime.

The Guardian nodded at whatever the priest said, then took a step back and pressed both hands over his heart, giving a slight bow.

The High Priest made the same gesture. Then he put one hand on the Guardian’s shoulder.

That touch would have sent me out of my skin, but the Guardian didn’t so much as flinch.

There was a familiar black case strapped to the High Priest’s back.

The Shield of Sparrows.

He kept that treaty with him. I’d never wondered where those documents were kept, but it made sense that the Voster would be responsible for their protection. What other treaties and accords did they control? Were there records of the Chain of Sevens stashed away for safekeeping?

What happened if those documents were lost?

Or destroyed?

Would the treaty be broken if there was nothing left? Was that Father’s plan—to break the Shield of Sparrows? To hunt down the brotherhood’s stores, then burn the treaties to nothing but ash?

The priest let the Guardian go, then walked down the sandy beach toward the rocks. He climbed them with deft ease in bare feet, his hand gripping the hem of his burgundy robes. Then he was swallowed up by the forest, disappearing from sight.

To where? Did the Voster live in Turah? Or was he on his way to Ozarth’s border? Maybe the High Priest called Allesaria home.

Except he seemed to be going in the opposite direction. If he was traveling to Allesaria, too, it wasn’t with us.

I faced forward, mind whirling with too many questions. The warriors ahead of Zavier broke from their line, each cutting a different path through the reed grass.

Brielle and Jocelyn stayed behind Zavier. And I came up behind them all, slowing only to take one final look at the place where the High Priest had vanished.

My problems had started the day I’d run into Brother Dime in the castle’s gallery. The day the High Priest had floated into my father’s throne room.

Dread pitted in my gut. This wasn’t the last I’d see of the High Priest, was it? There was no way for me to be certain, but I knew, in my bones, he wasn’t done ruining my life quite yet.

The Guardian began walking across the sand, dragging a hand through his wet hair and pushing it away from his face. His large hand pulled the water from his beard. His tunic, the same cream fabric as my own, was nearly transparent. It molded to the strength of his chest, to the contours of his rippled stomach.

A warmth spread through my belly, pooling lower. Oh, gods, no. I forced my eyes forward, clenching my fists and molars.

Yes, he was attractive, but I could not—would not—let a handsome face and body carved from stone distract me from my task. That man was a murderer. I refused to allow a spontaneous physical reaction to cloud my judgment.

I blocked out all thoughts of the Guardian, listening to the men behind me carrying our trunks.

“Thought Jack would be here,” one man said.

Another man grunted. “He joined Ramsey’s militia two months ago. Haven’t seen him since.”

Ramsey. As in King Ramsey Wolfe? Zavier’s father?

He had a militia? Why? Wasn’t his royal army enough?

Or was this militia an elite group of warriors, like Zavier’s rangers? Maybe those training to lead safeguards and shelters during the migration?

I hung back, ears strained for more, but the men must have noticed me eavesdropping because they didn’t speak another word.

The sound of a horse’s whinny had me standing on my toes, peering past Brielle’s head as we crested the slope. I paused at the top, taking in the horses and people crowded between us and the trees. There were five wagons, each hitched to a team. Two were brimming with chopped wood.

There were a few women milling around with the men, and their clothes were similar to mine. Leather pants and sturdy boots paired with loose tunics. Clothes that were plain yet practical. Most of the women had their hair braided, not entirely unlike mine.

Maybe I’d actually blend in with these people. There was no way for them to know I was the Sparrow, not having just arrived. There was a comfort in that invisibility. I’d spent most of my life avoiding notice. I’d never enjoyed an abundance of attention, and I certainly didn’t need it in Turah.

Except even dressed the same, too many eyes tracked my way as we approached the group. Too many people openly stared. Men tending to horses paused and studied my profile. Women’s gazes narrowed, not just on me, but on Brielle and Jocelyn, too. In their simple blue dresses, they stood apart.

We all stood apart.noveldrama

Zavier’s warriors, who’d already claimed saddled horses, must have made a quick announcement. News was spreading fast.

I was Zavier’s princess bride. The Sparrow.

So much for invisibility.

Zavier walked to the wagon, and we all stood at its side while our trunks were loaded into the back.

A gorgeous woman with bronze skin approached. Her black hair was braided at her temples, three tight rows with the rest free to curl around her shoulders. She had a sword sheathed across her back. “Zavier.”

He dipped his chin in acknowledgment, then motioned to me.

I guess that was as much introduction as he could give with Brielle and Jocelyn nearby.

The woman dropped into a small bow. “Princess Odessa Wolfe.”

Was that how they were going to address me? Absolutely not. “Call me Odessa. Please. ‘Princess’ and ‘Wolfe’ are unnecessary.”

She looked to Zavier, eyebrows raised. Her eyes were a rich, beautiful brown. With the Turan green starburst, they were the color of the forest beyond the beach.

Zavier nodded, giving her permission to drop the titles. And his name. Maybe he knew I’d just keep correcting her if she called me Princess Odessa Wolfe.

“Odessa,” the woman said. “My name is Tillia. Welcome.”

“Thank you.”

She had three empty satchels looped over her shoulder. She slipped them off, extending one to me and the others to Brielle and Jocelyn. “If there is anything important that you want to retrieve from your trunks before we set off, I’d keep it in these.”

“Wh-what?” Brielle stammered, taking hold of the brown leather strap. “Are our trunks not coming with us?”

“We’ll be leaving soon, traveling together. But the supplies often don’t keep pace. There’s a chance we’ll be separated. Best to keep what’s most important with you.”

“But—”

I put my hand on Brielle’s arm, silencing her protest. “Thank you, Tillia.”

“Odessa.” Her brown eyes softened before she turned and walked away.

Brielle and Jocelyn shared a panicked look, then hurried to their trunks, flipping open the lids to stuff items into their satchels.

I closed the gap to Zavier, lowering my voice. “Tillia has a sword. It looks to be just my size.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Then his gaze shifted to my trunks, a silent command to pack.

“Does everyone here know you can speak?” I asked quietly.

He nodded.

“Does everyone in Turah know you can speak?”

He shook his head.

So much for Turans being loyal to Turans. Though I suspected it was more than some political strategy. Zavier seemed like a quiet soul. A man who didn’t speak if there was nothing to say.

“So I shouldn’t have told Brielle.”

He bent, his voice barely a whisper as his mouth came to my ear. “You didn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you’re trying so hard to earn my trust.”

My heart sank. It was the truth. The pitiful, real truth.

I was so far out of my depths it was almost comical. They’d read me like an open book days ago, hadn’t they? They saw through every facade, every action.

What the hell was I doing here? I was no spy.

I turned, hiding a shaky breath under the guise of packing this satchel. The only thing I wanted from my trunks was my journal, but I packed a clean dress, too, just in case. Then I left the rest of my things, the books and slippers and jewels and jars, behind, following Zavier as he marched toward a pair of saddled horses.

His was a gorgeous bay stallion that stood tall and proud. It reminded me of Banner’s horse. An animal fit for a commander. A general.

Beside it was a blue roan mare, her grayish coat a pretty contrast to her black hair. She sniffed at me as I approached, then went back to grazing.

Brielle and Jocelyn were taken to join a group of warriors. Apparently, we wouldn’t be traveling together.

“Can you ride?” Zavier asked.

“Yes.” Not well, but I wouldn’t fall off. Probably. “I take it we’re not camping here.”

He handed me the roan’s reins.

That meant no. So I took a deep breath, put my foot in a stirrup, then swung into the saddle, giving myself a moment to find my balance on the horse’s back.

The clop of hooves was my only warning as the Guardian appeared at my side, riding a massive black stallion.

“Have you spent much time on a horse, Sparrow?” he asked.

“Can I ride? Yes. Do I often? No.”

“Pity.”

Meaning I’d be spending many, many hours on this horse.

What if I pushed him off his? Would he break his neck? Wouldn’t that be nice.

“We’re ready, Zavier,” the Guardian said.

Zavier nodded, and without fanfare or announcement, we left the clearing, my horse keeping pace behind his. He rode to the trees, a cue for everyone to do the same.

A minute later, five warriors galloped past, the Guardian in the lead.

My heart hammered, louder than the hooves, as we descended into the forest.

When I looked back, the ocean, the ships, were gone.

I’d spent my whole life living by the sea. The crash of waves had been in the background my entire life. The rustling of tree leaves wasn’t the same. It was too quiet, its rhythm too random.

It felt as if my heartbeat had changed. My ears were too empty.

The forest stretched before us like a different ocean, this one made of endless trunks and branches.

There was no trail, no path, but the warriors seemed to know the way.

I kept pace with Zavier, staying at his side, my gaze sweeping left to right and right to left.

Searching. For landmarks. For buildings. For anything to note in my journal. There might not be a clear path, but I was expected to find one anyway. And it was time to do what I’d vowed.

To earn my father’s trust. To do this duty for my kingdom. To save my people.

To find the road to Allesaria.