Shield of Sparrows

My rope ladder was back.

When I’d stepped outside a few minutes ago to wave down anyone who might get me out of this tree, I’d expected to find the ladder still pooled on the ground. But someone had reattached it to my balcony, either this morning or last night.

Last night, after my bath and dinner, I’d crawled into bed and passed out. I’d awoken to the sound of birds chirping beyond the treehouse windows. If not for my hunger pangs, I’d probably still be asleep. Strange how I felt even more tired today. My head was in a fog. My body sluggish.

I was going to hunt down breakfast, then crawl back in that bed for a week.

Testing the top rung of the ladder with a foot, making sure it was secure, I climbed down as clumsily as I’d climbed up yesterday.

How did they attach these ladders? Did someone scale the tree? Did they use rods and hooks to lift the ropes into place?

I made a mental note to ask Tillia about the mechanics as I hopped off the last rung to the ground, brushing my hands on the clean pair of charcoal pants I’d donned with my fresh tunic—this one the palest of blues and embroidered with navy and white stars.

I’d found all-new clothing in the armoire. There’d been another pair of boots, too. Whoever Zavier had tasked with keeping me clothed with Turan pieces was doing a fine job.

My drab gray dresses were still in my trunks. When I’d opened the lid to one last night, I’d also found my crown.

Zavier hadn’t tossed it into the Krisenth. He’d given it back. I doubt I’d ever wear it again, but it was a piece of home.

The cut on my palm was healing, a scar beginning to form, but I’d wrapped it in a fresh bandage. My hair was shampooed, combed, and freshly dyed. My arms were too tired to bother with a braid, so I’d left the curls loose and wild. By midday, they’d be double the size, but hopefully by then, they’d be buried in my pillows.

Unlike the filthy corpse I’d been last night, this morning, I actually looked human. After a meal, I might actually feel that way, too.

“Odessa.” Tillia walked through the trees, a smile on her beautiful face.

I waved. “Good morning.”

“Afternoon.”

Ah. “That explains why I’m so hungry.”

She laughed. “We all deserved some extra rest. Come, I’ll show you around, and we’ll get you something to eat.”

She led me along a different path than we’d taken yesterday. We wended through the trees, beneath more houses, to what I assumed was the heart of Treow. There were four sturdy log buildings positioned around an open square filled with tables and chairs.

“This is the commons.” She pointed to the tallest of the four buildings. “That is the dining hall, where all the cooking is done and meals are served.”

“Do we pay for them?” Like the vendors who’d sell bowls of rice and roasted vegetables and fish on the docks.

“Treow is run more like an encampment than a village. Most of the people who stay here are just passing through. Some stay longer than others, like Halston and me. But most are soldiers and their families traveling between fortresses. So, the king provides for our meals and such.”

“Ah.” Similar to the military outposts in Quentis.

Father made sure his soldiers had shelter and food in exchange for their service.

“This closest building is the mercantile,” she said. “They keep limited quantities of the necessities on hand, but if there’s anything you need, just ask the clerk. Ashmore is the closest town. We rode past it on the way here. They bring shipments over once or twice a week. If their merchants don’t have what you need, they can request it from Perris or Ellder.”

“Not Allesaria?”

Her smile dimmed as she shook her head. “No.”

Just…no.

Okay. Why was it that every time I brought up Allesaria, the mood would change?

“Across from the mercantile is the laundry,” she continued. “There are cleaning supplies inside, but your lady’s maids will be attending to your treehouse every day. Just leave out whatever you’d like to be washed.”

“All right.” I nodded to the last of the buildings. “And that one?”

“The infirmary and library.”

A library. This strange military outpost had a library? “I like libraries.”

Especially when they came with history books and maps. Not that I was expecting to be handed a map, but it was worth a try. Maybe there was some bit of information to glean and tuck away in my journal.

Tillia took my elbow to steer me to the dining hall. “Food first. Then books.”

The interior of the hall was clean and tidy. It smelled like sage and garlic and herbs. Tillia led me through a line to dish my plate with beans and squash and meat. Then she sat with me at a long, empty table while I shoveled food into my mouth, not caring at all that I wasn’t eating like a princess.

Margot would have thrown a fit.

I smiled to myself and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand even though there was a napkin on my lap.

With my food finished and dishes sent to the kitchens to wash, we returned outside.

“Tillia.” Halston’s voice carried across the commons as he strode toward his wife.

“One moment.” She gave me an easy smile, then walked over to meet him.

There was a group of kids in the square between buildings, chasing each other around in the grass.

“Got you!” A boy with a cloud of black hair laughed after tagging one of his friends, then racing in the opposite direction.

They were all smiles as they ran in sloppy circles, playing and giggling. Everyone except a young girl who stood apart from the others.

She was tucked against the back corner of the mercantile, watching me with her head tilted to the side, her eyebrows knitted together.

Her hair was silky brown and hung in loose, wispy waves over her shoulders. Her skin was as pale as starlight. And her doe eyes were gray with a starburst of cerulean blue, like the ocean I used to see outside my bedroom window.

The starburst of those born in Ozarth.

She was the most adorable child I’d ever seen. Even cuter than Arthy.

How was my brother today? I was already starting to forget what his giggle sounded like.

The children all seemed to realize I was standing close at the same moment. The laughter stopped. The smiles faded. One boy even gave me a sneer. Then they were gone, running away like I’d ruined their favorite playtime spot.

Wow. Okay, so I wouldn’t expect a warm welcome from the kids.

“Sorry.” Tillia returned, standing in front of me and blocking my view of the girl. “Ready to see the library?”

“Yes.”

When she stepped out of the way, the girl had disappeared. There one moment. Gone the next. So fast, the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

I had the feeling I was still being watched, but she’d vanished.noveldrama

Weird. I shook off the feeling, about to follow Tillia to the library, when the sound of hooves came from beyond the commons.

Tillia stilled, listening for a moment. “That’s probably a pony rider. We’ll go meet him in the clearing.”

“Um, what’s a pony rider?”

She grabbed my hand, pulling me in the opposite direction. “You’ll see.”

We changed directions, our pace quickening until we made it to the fence. The horses were grazing inside. I spotted my Freya, munching on grass and seemingly content not to be trekking across Turah.

“There were more horses than this yesterday,” I said.

“Most of the traveling party set off to Ellder this morning.”

Right. The change of plan had been for me. To stick me in that treehouse cage.

A lanky boy in his teens rushed out of the stables, and the lone rider came to a stop beside the building. The animal was out of breath, its coat foamy with sweat. The rider swung out of his saddle looking equally as winded, like they’d been sprinting across the plains.

The boy handed him a cup of water, and the rider drank it in a few hearty gulps, drops trickling off the sides of his chin. His face was tan and coated in sweat and dirt. His brown eyes were shielded by a hat with a wide brim. It was the same style of hat most of the farmers wore in Quentis. One large enough to block out both sun and rain.

The rider pulled off his hat, his dirty blond hair flattened from where it had been sitting, and wiped his brow with an arm. Then he donned the hat once more before unclasping a saddlebag and retrieving a bound stack of envelopes.

“Good ride?” Tillia asked as we approached.

He touched the brim of his hat as he dipped his chin. “It was fast. But no issues.”

“Glad to hear it.” She took the letters. “Will you stay and rest?”

“I’ve got to press on,” he said.

The boy who’d brought him water nodded. “I’ll get you a fresh pony and a quick meal.”

“Appreciated.” The rider smiled, then began to unfasten his saddle.

Tillia waved, then turned to walk away.

“That’s it?” I asked.

She shrugged and held up the bundle of letters. “The pony riders don’t linger. Once they’ve dropped off the post, they’ll continue on to the next town and the next. They go as far and fast as they can during daylight hours.”

So this network of riders basically controlled communication across the kingdom.

Quentis was small enough that we didn’t have a need for such jobs. The post was carried on wagons that looped through the kingdom on regular routes, delivering every day or two. If I wrote a letter to a friend in Kolmberg, the city on the opposite end of Quentis from Roslo, it would arrive within two days’ time.

At least that was my assumption. I didn’t have a friend in Kolmberg to write.

“How many riders are there?”

“In Turah? Hundreds. It’s a hard job but it pays well. Usually, it’s young men who want to earn a living before settling down. But it’s dangerous. They spend a considerable amount of time alone in the wilderness. It takes time to cross the country. These letters were probably written weeks ago.”

“And they deliver the post across the entire country this way?”

Tillia nodded. “Every city. Every town. Every village. Even the encampments like Treow.”

I hummed, a spark of hope lighting in my chest.

Would it be possible to get information on Allesaria from a pony rider? They had to know the way in and out of the city to deliver the post.

Except even as the thought crossed my mind, I turned to see the rider swapping his saddle from one horse to the next. If they didn’t stay longer than a few minutes, it wasn’t going to be easy to corner one for information. To earn that trust.

I’d have to keep watch for the next pony rider. Until then…

“To the library?” I asked Tillia.

“Sure.”

We rounded the dining hall, about to cross to the library, but a large, annoying shadow fell over my shoulder.

I refused to change paths. I kept walking, eyes forward.

“Tillia.” The Guardian walked so close that I caught a hint of his scent. Wind and leather and earth and masculine spice.

He’d left that scent in my treehouse last night. I wasn’t letting myself think about how it had mingled so perfectly with the perfumes of my bathwater.

“You can deal with the post,” he said. “Cross and I have business.”

“What business?” My own damn curiosity won out, and I turned to glare up at his profile.

His smirk was waiting. “Training. Your idea, remember?”

“You certainly won’t let me forget,” I muttered.

I want a sword.

Never, ever would I regret a sentence more.

“You can quit,” he said.

“I’m not quitting.”

“Good for you,” Tillia said.

She gave the Guardian a short nod, then left with the envelopes while I walked with him away from the commons. His strides were so long I had to jog every few of my own to keep up.

“Would you slow down?”

He ignored me.

“Jackass.”

He walked faster.

By the time we reached the training area, I was out of breath.

“Your stamina is shit,” he said.

My stamina was not shit. Swimming had always kept me in shape. But after traveling across the continent, eating too little, and being sleep deprived…

Today, my stamina was shit.

“Thank you.” I mocked a curtsy. “You’re too kind, sir. Really.”

“Always with the sass. Let’s see if that attitude holds over the next few hours.”

My stomach dropped.

A few hours? I’d be dead in half that time if this session was anything like the last.

Like all things in Treow, the training area was situated beneath the trees. Their trunks served as boundaries for various stations. Two women were shooting crossbows at different targets. A couple of men were practicing with swords. A teenage boy with braids like Halston’s was standing with a bow, arrow flying into a bale of hay.

The Guardian walked to the base of a tree where my knives were waiting.

“You could have asked me to get these. Not intrude on my private space,” I said.

“And you should make your own bed every morning. Not leave it for your lady’s maids. They’ll be expected to contribute more in Treow than simply serving you, Highness.”

He made me seem like a spoiled princess. Maybe I was. I hadn’t made my bed because I’d planned to return to it. But I also didn’t make my bed. For Brielle and Jocelyn’s sake, I’d start.

“Fine.” I held out my hands for the knives. “Anything else before we begin?”

“Try not to fall on your ass.”

I tried. I gave it my all.

And failed miserably.

He’d trip me, I’d fall. He’d push me, I’d fall. He’d look at me sideways, I’d fall.

One night’s rest hadn’t been enough. I was still too tired, my movements too sluggish, and for nearly three hours, the Guardian showed me no mercy.

While others had come and gone, he’d kept pushing. And I’d kept falling.

My lungs were on fire. So were my legs and arms. My mouth tasted like blood, and it was a miracle I hadn’t vomited up my lunch.

“Give up?” he asked.

“Has it been three hours?”

“Not quite.”

Fuck. “Then no. I’m not giving up.”

He came at me with a series of jabs and strikes. I managed to deflect his sword with my knives, but on the retreat backward, I tripped over my own heels, crashing into the ground on my hip.

I pushed up on my arms, drawing in my knees as I forced a few deep breaths. “Ouch.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Take a breather, Cross. You’re sloppy and slow.”

“Aw, thanks.” I feigned a smile.

He walked toward a tree and picked up two cups of water. I hadn’t noticed them before. Someone must have brought them over while we’d been training.

The moment he handed me a drink, I guzzled it empty.

He quirked an eyebrow, his own cup raised to his lips.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He took a sip. A polite, normal sip by a person who wasn’t dying of thirst.

What kind of training did a man like the Guardian do each day? What strained the limits of his stamina? Killing monsters? Murdering foreigners?

“Is this the type of training all of your rangers go through?” I asked, hoping a few questions would buy me a longer break.

“Not just rangers. Most Turans know how to wield a weapon. Timbermen typically train with an ax. Others, swords and knives. Children learn basic skills either from their parents or in primary school.”

“Ah.” It wasn’t entirely different in Quentis. People in the countryside all learned how to fight in case a wayward monster wandered onto their farm. Though I suspected the training in Turah was doubly as demanding and strenuous. “Did you learn as a child?”

He nodded. “I did.”

“I bet you were the stoic, serious type as a boy, weren’t you? The kid who always made sure everyone else was following the rules. Always came with an extra knife in case someone forgot theirs. The tutors’ favorite student.” Like Mae.

The Guardian scoffed. “Not exactly.”

“Then what were you like?” I held my breath, hoping he’d answer just this one last question. Now that I had the image of a dark-haired boy in mind, I wanted to know if I’d pictured him right.

“I was a terror. My mother prayed to Ama daily that I wouldn’t break my neck. I never walked when I could run. I never took the stairs if I could jump out a window. I snuck out of lessons to ride my horse. And the last thing I minded was the rules.”

That mental image of him as a boy shifted and morphed. It wasn’t what I’d originally expected, but this version fit, too. A wild, fearless boy with holes in the knees of his pants and a carefree smile.

What had changed him into this man before me? What or who had turned him into the Guardian?

His eyes stayed locked on mine as he took another drink. They were hazel today, a mix of moss and caramel and chocolate. But I noticed a few flecks of emerald green. A few striations of molten silver.

Was that how the color shift worked? It wasn’t so much that they changed altogether, the colors were already there, chasing away the others depending on his mood.

My attention shifted to the leather cuff on his arm. There were carvings in the grizzur leather. Symbols and patterns. Notches and swirls. What did they mean? Were they significant?

Tillia wore cuffs on her forearms, too, but I hadn’t noticed any carvings.

“What do those engravings mean?” I asked, pointing to the cuff.

He rotated his forearm as he stared at them. “They are for the lives I’ve taken. So I’ll never forget.”

That he was a monster? A murderer? Which mark was for Banner’s brother?

“Does every warrior in Turah do that?”

“Some,” he answered, tossing the remaining water from his cup.

“What other traditions do you have?” I asked, hoping to prolong this break. I wasn’t ready to start again.

“That enough stalling, Cross?” A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “You’ll learn our traditions. In time. You’ll find that they are simple, my queen. But our loyalty to our country, to our people, runs to the bone.”

His voice was smooth. Deep and rich. But there was no mistaking the threat.

If—when—I betrayed his people, that sword of his would find its way through my lying throat.

Maybe I wouldn’t even blame him.