Shield of Sparrows

Brielle’s gasp filled our room. “Highness. What are you wearing?”

“Pants.”

Caramel leather pants. A belt, the same color, was wrapped at my waist. And my top was an ecru tunic. The slit at the collar was deep, dipping to my sternum, but with a string woven through both sides, I could lace it up. The long sleeves cuffed at my wrists, and the soft fabric was embroidered with flowers at the sides.

Flowers of every color. Red, pink, blue, purple, and green. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d worn anything with so much color.

I’d been staring at myself in the mirror for the last five minutes, hoping to find fault with these clothes.

But damn it.

I liked these pants.

Boredom was to blame for this. For the past four days, these clothes had lived in the corner, heaped in a pile. And for the past four days, that pile had taunted me.

Neither Brielle nor Jocelyn had overcome their seasickness, and rather than make them suffer, I’d told them to do as little as possible and rest. When they’d asked about that pile, I’d told them to ignore it. They’d had no problem overlooking the pants. Me?

I’d gotten bored, and bored meant curious.

Why did Turan women wear them? Were they uncomfortable?

I’d decided to find out. So while Brielle had gone to the kitchen to check on breakfast and Jocelyn had ducked out to bring us a fresh basin of water, I’d given in to temptation.

I’d planned to pull them on, dismiss them as inferior, then throw them out the window.

Except I couldn’t seem to take them off. The fabric was smooth and supple. The leather contoured the curves of my hips and hugged my thighs. The pants had enough structure that they’d hold their shape, yet enough give to make movement easy.

My boots were black and made of a hide I’d never felt before. The texture was almost like scales. The material was thicker than the pants, sturdy, but comfortable. The soles and thick heels gave me an added inch of height. I’d never be as tall as Brielle or Jocelyn, but I’d take every bit I could get.

The tunic was slightly too large—that, or I wasn’t used to a top that didn’t mold to my breasts and ribs. But its flowy fit gave me a full range of motion. It didn’t pinch when I raised my arms above my head.

It was strange not to be limited by clothing. It took a conscious effort not to lift my nonexistent skirts.

“They’re not horrible,” I told Brielle.

“But…pants are for men.”

Was that her way of telling me I looked like a boy? I did, sort of. The pants coupled with the boots were slightly masculine. But I hadn’t seen a single man on board the Cutter with flowers on his tunic.

Yes, pants were for men. In Quentis.

We were no longer in Quentis.

“I like them,” I admitted. “They’re comfortable. And they’re not gray.”

“If color is the issue here, I’m certain we can find you a gown in Turah. We don’t need to resort to this.”

I almost laughed at the horror in her expression. All I’d seen on her face for days was sadness and sickness. “Apparently, most women in Turah dress like the men.”

As if that was an excuse for my attire. I was a princess of Quentis. We did not wear pants.

Sometimes my own thoughts sounded a lot like Margot’s voice.

“So, you’ll wear them to fit in?” she asked.

“Would that be such a bad thing? Fitting in with the Turans?”

She sighed. “Probably not. Do I have to wear them?”

“No.”

Brielle wouldn’t be in Turah long enough to conform to their style.

“Good.” She walked to her bed, plopping down on its edge. Her face was pale and her eyes tired. The amber starbursts in her irises had dulled. “Breakfast will be ready in an hour. The galley is in disarray this morning. One of the cabinet latches broke and everything inside was tossed during last night’s storm.”

The Krisenth Crossing was not for the weak—Zavier’s warning had proved true. For the past two days, we’d suffered through constant storms and rough seas. Brielle and Jocelyn had spent most of that time in bed.

I’d sat by the windows until it had passed, staring into the darkness until a flash of lightning would illuminate the night.

The ocean had tossed and turned for hours, until finally the winds had calmed and a deluge of rain had tempered the waves.

Looking out the window this morning, it was as if we’d sailed into a new realm. The water glittered beneath the sun and a cloudless blue sky.

“I’m going up on deck,” I told Brielle. “You should come with me.”

I needed to get out of this room and breathe the fresh air. It would do her some good, too.

“Are you going dressed like that?” She looked me up and down.

“Is it really that bad?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

She gave me a tired smile. “It’s different. But you look beautiful no matter what you’re wearing. And your hair looks lovely this morning. I’m sorry I haven’t been much help.”noveldrama

“It’s all right.” I didn’t mind braiding my own hair.

When I was a little girl, I’d had a nanny. As I’d gotten older, a lady’s maid. But no matter who was supposed to be assisting me, there were always times when they’d get pulled away and I’d be left to fend for myself.

There’d be visiting guests who needed an extra attendant. A party that required all available servants to assist in preparations. Shortages in the laundry or kitchens.

That, or Mae would scare off her own lady’s maid and mine would be stolen by my sister.

Brielle had been with me the longest, nearly three years. But in total, she’d probably only helped me dress or fix my hair half of that time.

Sure, I could have thrown a fit. Demanded someone braid my hair. But fits and demands were Mae’s style, not mine.

“Come on.” I walked to the bed and held out a hand, helping her to her feet. “Let’s go up. It’s stuffy in here. Jocelyn will come find us.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but I dragged her toward the door, pulling her along until we reached the stairs. Then I let her go to climb to the deck.

Sunshine warmed my face, the clean, salty air filling my lungs. My head instantly cleared. Any tension in my shoulders vanished.

In another life, maybe I could have been a sailor. Before the storm hit, I’d spent most of my days on deck, leaving Brielle and Jocelyn to the room.

If I stood at the bow, staring into the ocean, I could pretend I was free. It was as close to my cliffside in Roslo as I’d ever found. The rest of the realm, the responsibilities, faded into the wind.

The crew still pretended I didn’t exist. They went about their work, ignoring me wherever I stood. But this morning, as we stepped on deck, all eyes swung in our direction. A man with a mop in his hand nearly dropped it when he saw us.

Brielle was gorgeous. I couldn’t blame them. They’d probably forgotten she was on board, since she’d been hiding below.

I turned, about to tell Brielle to ignore the stares, except I was alone. She was still on the stairs, one hand gripping the rail while the other hefted her skirts—taking stairs was so much faster in pants.

Which meant the men were all staring at me.

It was the pants, wasn’t it?

I was not the type who craved attention. In fact, I was content to skip it altogether.

There was a gray dress in my room screaming my name. Pants be damned. I’d deal with my skirts.

I spun, about to force Brielle backward, except before I could retreat below, a towering figure appeared at the corner of my eye.

“I figured those clothes would have been tossed overboard days ago, my queen.” The Guardian’s voice was deeper than usual. There was a husky edge, like he’d used it too much the previous night.

In the middle of last night’s storm, I’d heard men shouting. Had he been one of them? Or had he swum back to the Cutter after the storm had calmed?

I hadn’t seen him since he leaped overboard days ago.

Forcing a tight smile, I faced him, taking in the color of his eyes. Chilling, emerald green.

“Zavier said these clothes were typical for Turan women,” I said. “I thought it best I give them a try.”

“You’re not a Turan.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yes, but my husband is. He sent these to me, which you very well know, so I’ll wear them at his behest.”

“The dutiful wife, aren’t you, Sparrow? At least in title.”

He didn’t bother hiding his mocking tone. He knew, didn’t he? That Zavier hadn’t taken me to his bed? And rather than leave that topic alone, he threw it in my face. He made it seem that Zavier’s lack of desire for his wife was my fault.

Oh, how I despised this man. More and more with each encounter.

If I ever learned how to accurately fire a crossbow, this man would be my target. Except I had horrible aim. The weapons master had tried to teach me to use a crossbow when I was eleven, and I’d nearly sent a bolt through his foot.

Crossbow lessons had started and stopped in the same day.

“Highness?” Brielle reached the top stair, her breaths labored as she gripped my arm to find her balance.

The touch snapped me out of my thoughts, breaking me from delusions of murdering the Guardian. When had I gotten so vicious? I’d never once in my life fantasized about killing someone.

Was this how Mae was wired? With bloodlust lurking beneath the surface? Maybe my sister and I weren’t that different after all.

“Are you all right?” I asked her, ignoring the man watching our every move.

Didn’t he have somewhere else to be? I wasn’t keen on the idea of a known killer around Brielle. I was fairly certain my life was safe, but I didn’t trust the Guardian with her or Jocelyn.

“A bit lightheaded,” she said.

“Probably because you haven’t eaten much. We’ll only stay for a few—”

My sentence was cut short when Brielle crashed into my side, her arms wrapping around my body to keep from falling.

Not from a dizzy spell. Not from tripping on her skirts.

The entire ship rocked so hard that every person on deck lurched.

“What was that?” Brielle asked at the same time the Guardian bellowed, “Eel!”

Shouts filled the air as men abandoned their tasks, racing for the weapons stowed on the ship’s side walls.

“To the harpoons.” The Guardian’s voice boomed around us, louder than any man’s. Any human’s. It was more like an animal’s roar.

“Oh, gods.” Brielle trembled. “We’re going to die.”

“We’re not going to die.” I pushed her toward the staircase. “Get below. Now.”

Except before she could take the first step, the Guardian grabbed her arm and yanked her away from the stairwell.

“Do you really think the safest place to be when this ship sinks is below?” he growled. “Sit down. Hold tight. Stay the fuck out of the way.”

Brielle didn’t need to be told twice. She dashed across the floor, tucking herself into a corner beside the staircase that led to the quarterdeck.

“Go.” The Guardian’s eyes shifted from green to silver in a blink. Then he left me for the mast, climbing the ladder two steps at a time.

When he reached the platform halfway up the massive post, he stared at the water, like he could see beneath the surface to the monster lurking below.

“Cross!”

I jumped as he bellowed my name.

His back was to me. How did he know I hadn’t moved?

“What about Jocelyn?” Brielle asked. “Where is she?”

Shit. “I’ll get her.”

Except before I could run down the stairs, a stream of men filtered from below.

The cook, his face ruddy and sheened with sweat, carried a cleaver in each hand. The others were men I’d only seen in the evenings. The night crew. Some were fastening the buttons on their pants. Others were pulling on shirts.

They blew past me, running with sure feet toward the open chests of weapons. Each man took a barbed spear and carried it to the outer railing. A man unfastened a huge harpoon. The tip was barbed, but there was no rope or chain at the end like those fishermen used on my father’s ships.

That harpoon wasn’t for fishing. It was for slaughter.

There were enough men to circle the ship’s exterior.

Where was Zavier? He was the marroweel killer. Was he still asleep?

Well, if he was in bed, he was on his own. I needed to get Jocelyn.

Only when I reached the mouth of the staircase, she was already climbing.

“Hurry.” I waved her up, waiting as she hefted her own skirts higher. When she reached the top, I pushed her toward Brielle, letting her go first.

I was still on my feet when the ship jolted again. And then, all I could see were my own boots and blue sky as I flew backward, landing on my ass.

The marroweel. It must be trying to pound a hole into the hull with that bone on its skull.

“Starboard!” The Guardian pointed in the direction I was facing, and every man behind me ran forward, their spears poised above their shoulders, ready to throw.

I pushed up to my hands and knees, about to stand and sprint to a sobbing Brielle and a wide-eyed Jocelyn, when the monster attacked again.

Rather than strike the boat from below like it had before, its massive body came shooting out of the water, its scales dragging against the entire starboard side, launching us into the air.

The floor beneath me tilted skyward, my grip faltering as I fell to my stomach.

An ear-splitting screech ripped from the marroweel’s mouth as it shot up as high as the sails. Its teeth gleamed white as it screamed.

The men held fast to the chains and ropes that were anchored along the boat’s hull. Some managed to keep their footing enough to throw their spears. A few found purchase in the monster’s hide, but not enough to bring it down. Another, the beast snapped into splinters with its massive jaws.

But I didn’t have a rope or a chain. All I could do was slide, my hands frantically trying to get a grip on the smooth floor as I plummeted toward the port side of the ship.

Toward the water rushing my way.

My scream was lost in the noise and chaos. I twisted, looking over my shoulder just in time to see the railing come at my feet. It was only by Daria’s luck that I managed to plant both boots on that railing and stop myself from flying overboard.

Water sloshed onto the deck, soaking my pants and shirt before the Cutter rocked violently in the other direction, returning to level as the marroweel’s sleek body slithered into the depths, disappearing beneath the surface once more.

I was splayed on my stomach, wet and cold and terrified. But alive. I was still alive.

My heart was in my throat as I lifted to my knees.

Brielle was holding tight to a railing, tears streaming down her face as she mouthed prayers to the gods. Jocelyn had her arms around Brielle, either in comfort or as something to hold in case we rocked again.

The men with empty hands ran to replace their spears. Others unsheathed swords.

“Harpoon,” the Guardian yelled from his perch, hand outstretched.

A large man threw the weapon in the air, as if to send it through the Guardian’s chest.

But the Guardian caught it in his fist, spinning it into position at the exact moment the marroweel surged again.

Like before, the starboard side of the ship lifted into the air, catching me off-balance.

I should have been prepared. I should have expected the violent lurch of the ship. I should have listened to the Guardian when he told me to hold tight.

I should not even be on this godsforsaken ship.

And I wasn’t, not anymore.

My boots lost purchase, and my spine slammed into the railing before I toppled into the water with a splash.

The cold was a shock, stealing the breath in my chest. Then came the tug from the currents of the waves and the ship, both pulling me away. Pulling me deep.

Swim. I kicked my legs, hard, reaching for the surface with my fingertips. Five hard strokes and I was free, sucking in a breath before a wave crashed over my head. When I gasped another breath, a screech rang out, and the marroweel dove into the water, abandoning the ship.

My heart stopped beating.

I was in the ocean with a marroweel. This was how I would die.

“Gods, save me.”

“Swim!” The Guardian appeared at the railing, his focus on me as other men clustered around him, all armed for when the marroweel surfaced again.

I scanned the waves, searching for an iridescent fin or a flash of sapphire scales or razor teeth. But I was alone, and the ship was sailing away.

“Damn it, Cross.” The Guardian slammed his fists on the railing. “Swim!”

Swim. Good idea.

I kicked with all my might, finding a rhythm with the waves. My legs had never pumped so hard, my arms pulling at the water with all their strength.

Faster. I had to go faster. Every muscle in my body began to burn, to ache in protest, but I pushed past the pain and did everything in my power to stay with the ship.

But it was getting smaller and smaller. I wasn’t fast enough.

The sails began to crumple as the men let them down to slow the ship. Then they turned hard to the port side, banking like they were trying to come back and fetch me.

No matter how fast I swam, how quickly they changed course, it wouldn’t be enough.

I’d never outswim a marroweel. And if they were stuck in the water, they’d be at the monster’s mercy.

The strength, the speed, seeped from my muscles, the cold making it harder and harder to kick.

The Guardian stared at me, his focus unwavering, like he was willing me forward.

“Let’s go!” He slammed another fist on the rail, and for a moment, I wanted to scream back that I was trying. Except he wasn’t talking to me. He was yelling at the men.

A crewman appeared with a harpoon in one hand, its rope in the other.

The Guardian backed away until he was out of view. Then came the harpoon, flying through the air with the rope streaming behind it, a line of brown against the bright sky.

I gasped, certain it was going to sink into my flesh, when the pointed tip disappeared into the water beside my leg. The rope dragged along my arm, and I grabbed it with both hands, holding tight as it pulled me through the water.

My chest slammed into the waves, cresting their peaks, as the men on board hauled me faster and faster toward the Cutter.

I was going to make it. Twenty yards. Fifteen.

Something hard brushed against my leg. Something sharp.

“No.” Wet warmth spread between my thighs as my bladder loosened.

Never in my life had I felt this kind of fear. It was down there, below my body. I couldn’t see it, but it was coming. It would not let me reach that ship.

I was going to be eaten by the monsters I’d always found so fascinating. I’d never reach Turah. I’d never go home.

“Hold.” The Guardian’s command tore me from the dread. When I looked to the ship, his silver eyes were waiting. His harpoon was raised, his face eerily calm as he stared past the weapon’s point.

There was a spraying noise behind me, the same sound a ship made as its hull cut through the sea.

But it wasn’t a ship on my heels.

It was death.

If I was going to die, I didn’t want my last sight to be rows of teeth, so I stayed locked on the Guardian.

He might be a jackass, but at least he was handsome. There were worse things to behold at the end of a life than a nice face.

My own was wet, my tears joining the salty water.

Ten yards. I was so close. So, so close.

And too far away.

“Now.” On his command, the rope in my hands tugged hard, and I was yanked from the water so fast my stomach dropped. A scream tore from my throat.

But I wasn’t the only being screaming.

The marroweel flew out of the water, mouth wide as it stretched to devour me whole. The screech coming from its throat was so loud it rippled across my skin.

I closed my eyes, my hands raw and throbbing as they began to slip from the rope. My grip loosened, the strength of my fingers faltering. But instead of falling into the monster’s waiting jaws, I crashed on the Cutter’s deck.

My body crumpled as I toppled to the side.

“Don’t let it drop,” the Guardian shouted. “Haul it in.”

Haul it in? I cracked my eyes open, lifting up on an elbow.

Blue scales. Inches from my feet.

“Ah!” I scrambled away, slipping and sliding along the deck as my gaze raked over the monster, following spine to neck to head.

A head skewered with a harpoon.

“Highness.” Brielle and Jocelyn dropped to my side, both sobbing as they helped me to my knees.

Brielle wrapped her arms around my shoulders, crying into my soaked shirt. “I thought you were dead.”

“So did I,” I whispered, my breaths coming in ragged pants.

Beyond the men, beyond the dead monster at my feet, green sails appeared.

The Cleaver approached, gliding along the Cutter too fast to stop, but close enough that Zavier could leap from one ship to the other.

His face was hard, his expression unreadable as he took in the dead marroweel and the crew hauling its rear half from the water.

The Guardian had his hands on his hips, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths.

Zavier scanned the deck, finding me in the fray. His entire body sagged. Then he looked to the Guardian again and gave him a nod.

The Guardian nodded back.

“Zavier.” One of his warriors waved him over to where a man was lying on his back, blood seeping onto the deck. A shard of wood from the ruined starboard side of the ship was lodged in his thigh.

Zavier. They didn’t call him Prince or Highness.

The Guardian appeared, hauling me to my feet, and oh, he was pissed. “Leave us,” he barked to Brielle and Jocelyn.

Both women scrambled away, seeming to realize for the first time there was a dead monster on the deck. Jocelyn yelped, then raced for the stairs to go below.

The silver in his eyes swirled to melting metal. He bent into my face, leaning in so close our noses nearly touched. “When I give you an order, you obey.”

“I’m sorry.”

My apology only seemed to make him angrier. That buzzing I’d felt in Roslo, the simmering rage, boiled to the surface. “If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to hide, you hide. If I tell you to hop on one foot and pat your hair, then you. Fucking. Hop. Do we have an understanding?”

“No.”

The word surprised me as much as it did him. Maybe I’d ingested too much seawater? But I wasn’t going to blindly agree. I’d spent twenty-three years taking orders from men who thought they could dictate my every move. And I was done.

I wouldn’t—couldn’t—cower for this man. I refused to give him that control.

Not when I’d already lost so much.

He blinked, clearly having expected a different answer. “What did you say?”

“No.” I squared my shoulders, using my last shred of strength, and lifted my chin. “I will listen when it’s a matter of safety for myself. For other people. I will do my best to ‘stay the fuck out of the way.’ But I will not bend to your every whim. I will not humiliate myself because you deem me insignificant. If you wanted me to stay quiet, then you should have let that marroweel kill me. I am not one of your warriors to lead. I am not your wife to command. So no, we do not have an understanding.”

I didn’t need him to agree or reply. I had nothing else to say and no energy to argue, so I turned on my heel, my feet squelching inside my boots as I made my way to the stairs.

But before I disappeared below, I paused, twisting to speak over my shoulder. “Thank you for saving my life.”

Someday, if I had the chance, I’d repay that favor by taking his.