Shield of Sparrows

I hated Treow.

Yesterday’s training session had been child’s play compared to the torture I’d endured since dawn.

I was going to die. This was it. This was the end of my life. I’d perish beneath these trees, and the Turans would leave my remains for the crows to scavenge.

Bent over at the middle, hands braced on my knees, I sucked in a breath, desperate to fill my lungs. The bastard had just knocked the wind out of me for the second time since he’d roused me from sleep.

To be fair, the first time hadn’t exactly been his fault. I’d slipped on a rung of my rope ladder and fallen five feet to the forest floor, landing on my back. The son of a bitch could have caught me, but instead, he’d stood there to watch me fall.

This second time? Definitely his fault.

He’d elbowed me in the gut.

Or maybe I’d fallen into his elbow when I tripped? It didn’t matter. It was his sharp fucking elbow and, therefore, his fault.

I hated him.

I hated him for stealing my rope ladder again last night, trapping me in my treehouse. I hated him for smacking me in the face with a pillow this morning. I hated him for his pointy elbows.

I hated him.

The end.

Would he die from a fall off my treehouse balcony? Obviously he had survived the jump. But what if it was him landing on his back? Would his spine shatter? Would his neck snap? If I just pushed him over the railing the next time he invaded my privacy, would he die?

A girl could dream.

With my eyes squeezed shut, I sucked in a breath through my nostrils, slowly exhaling through my open mouth. I repeated it, over and over, until I was fairly certain I was going to live. Then I stood, expecting to find a smirking asshole staring back.

But the training area was empty.

He was gone.

“Hello?” I spun in a slow circle.

Empty. Nothing.

Where the hell did he go? Was this a trick? Was he staging a sneak attack as some sort of lesson?

He hadn’t even brought his sword this morning. He’d fought me entirely unarmed—except for the elbows—while I’d sliced and stabbed with my knives.

“Hey,” I called.

Silence. I groaned and cast my eyes to the sky, the dark slowly giving way to sunlight.

We’d been the only people in the training area so far. The other warriors were probably still in their beds.

“Guardian,” I snapped. I hated calling him Guardian. That couldn’t be his name. Who named their child Guardian?

Unless he didn’t have parents. Unless he’d been birthed from Izzac’s shade.

Each of the Six lived in a shade—a nether realm that served as their home. A place for souls to endure eternity. The purest of heart were given to Arabella, for the Goddess of Love’s shade was light. The bright white of the twin moons.

Heaven.

From there, the shades became darker and darker until they reached Izzac, the God of Death.

Hell.

Souls sent to Izzac were punished by the dark, never to see light again, as they were tormented, endlessly, by his monsters.

Was the Guardian one of those terrors? A harbinger of death.

At this point, it certainly wouldn’t shock me.

“Does this mean we’re done for the day?” I asked no one.

I spun around again, searching through the forest. A chill snaked down my shoulders when I realized I was truly alone. He’d left me alone.

He wouldn’t have done so if there were danger lurking, right? For his many, many faults, the Guardian didn’t seem to want me dead. That, or Zavier didn’t want me dead and the Guardian was following orders.

Well, if he wasn’t going to stick around, I sure wouldn’t.

“I’m leaving now.”

A bird chirped.

“Since you were in such a godsdamn hurry this morning, I didn’t get to make my bed.” I really, really hoped he could hear me.

Careful not to slice off my hair, I put my knives in their sheaths, crisscrossing them over my spine. Then I started through the forest, trying to find the path to my treehouse. It was going to take me a while to figure out how to navigate Treow. The trails were thin and winding, and some were no more than a trodden patch of grass.

After two wrong turns and a backtrack, I found my treehouse waiting. I hurried up to my room, quickly changing into a pair of clean pants and a fresh tunic, then descended the ladder—apparently, it only disappeared at night—and made my way toward the commons.

Alone. All by myself.

Free.

What had happened to Tillia following me around? Did I no longer require an escort or guard? Why did my ladder disappear at night but remain available for me to come and go during the day?

Was the Guardian worried that I’d try to escape? That I’d sneak out in the dark?

Well, if he was worried, he shouldn’t bother. Not only would I be going nowhere after sunset in a land crawling with monsters twice my size, but I was here to do my father’s bidding.

Turah was home until further notice.

For me, at least.

I hadn’t seen either Brielle or Jocelyn since we’d arrived in Treow. Yesterday, after training, I’d been too exhausted to seek them out. And I’d been too tired to return to the library. Tillia had brought dinner to my room, and after I’d inhaled the food, I’d crashed into a heap on my pillow until the Guardian had encroached on my privacy. Again.

I was on my way to the commons, hoping to find my lady’s maids in the dining hall, when a woman with warm brown skin and graying hair twisted into a severe knot met me on the trail.

She came to an abrupt stop to bow as I passed by. “Princess Odessa Wolfe.”

We were back to the formal name already?

“Good morning,” I said. “You can call me Odessa. Please.”

Her eyes narrowed as she frowned. Then, with a huff, she stomped away.

“O—kay,” I drawled. What was that about? I scrunched up my nose and continued on toward the commons, glancing back a few times until the woman was out of sight.

Was it not okay that I went by my first name? Zavier went by his.

“Don’t mind Mariette. She’s stern but fair.” A woman appeared at my side, emerging from the trees. She had a delicate, narrow nose with a few gentle lines at her eyes and mouth, like she laughed often. Her sleek white hair hung in panels over her shoulders, the ends nearly to her waist. “Mariette is the caretaker in Treow. And rather…traditional.”

“Traditional meaning she’ll want to use my formal name?”

“Or not drop your new surname.”

“Ah.” Asking her to call me Odessa was a slight against her royal family because I’d left off the Wolfe.

Well, tough. I didn’t want to be a Wolfe. It wasn’t my idea. In Treow, in Turah, until I was more comfortable on this land and with its people, I was simply Odessa.

“I’m Cathlin.” The woman held out her hand, and when our palms touched, she clasped mine with both of hers. It was a hug for my hand.

I missed hugs. I missed forcing them on Mae. I missed sharing them with Arthy.

“Odessa,” I said.

“Pleasure to meet you.” Her chestnut brown eyes sparkled, the green starbursts bright, as she smiled, walking with me toward the dining hall.

Cathlin wore a simple tan dress with long sleeves. It wasn’t all that different from the gray dresses still stowed in my trunks. I guess Brielle wouldn’t be the only person in Treow in a dress, since she refused to try the pants.

The dining hall was quiet, a few tables occupied, but I didn’t see either Jocelyn or Brielle.

“Aren’t you eating?” she asked when I stopped inside the door.

“I was hoping to join my lady’s maids. I haven’t seen them since we arrived. Maybe I’ll swing by the library while I wait.”

“It doesn’t open for another hour.”

“Oh.” Drat.

She reached a hand into one of her dress pockets to retrieve a set of keys. “Lucky for you, I happen to be the current librarian. Come on.”

Lucky. Strange how I’d considered myself lucky more times since leaving Quentis than I had in, well, years. If Daria, the Goddess of Luck, was on my side for the time being, I wasn’t going to question her reasons.

I would need her luck to find the road to Allesaria before winter. We’d left Quentis nearly three weeks ago. Time was not on my side. I picked up my pace.

“This library has been my passion project,” Cathlin said, matching my stride. “It’s not much, but it’s taking shape. With each of my visits to Treow, I add more books to the collection.”

So she didn’t live here, either? Did anyone call Treow home? Maybe Mariette, the caretaker. Or was she a nomad, only ever passing through, too?

The library’s door was at the end of the infirmary’s building. Even from the outside, it was obvious the space was only the size of a closet. Maybe that’s all it had been until Cathlin had commandeered it as her own.

“Where are you from originally?” I asked as she slid her key into the library’s brass doorknob and flipped its lock.

“I’ve lived all over Turah. I was born in Perris. And I’ve spent many years in Allesaria.” She pushed open the door, leading me inside.

My heart leaped so high I tripped over the threshold.

She was the only person, other than the Guardian, to have spoken the capital city’s name since I’d arrived in Turah. Maybe she’d answer some of my questions.

“Oh dear.” Cathlin grabbed my arm as I caught my balance. “Are you all right?”

“Fine. Sorry. I’m, er…clumsy.”

Her laugh was gentle. Practiced. Easy. “I’ve been known to have those moments myself.”

The scents of books and parchment and cloves filled my nose. I closed my eyes, breathing it in. The room was dim and without windows. Behind the first row of shelves, I couldn’t make out anything in the shadows.

Cathlin walked to the center of the room and pulled on a long cord hanging from the ceiling.

There was a similar cord in the treehouse, latched on a hook beside the door.

As she tugged, a row of curtains on the ceiling collapsed on themselves, bunching to one side and revealing a row of windows in the roof.

The library flooded with daylight, filling every corner of the building.

Skylights. The cloths on the ceiling were covering skylights. The moment I was back at my treehouse, I was opening mine.

“There.” Cathlin secured the cord out of the way, then clapped her hands together. “What can I help you find?”

A detailed map to Allesaria? “Oh, anything really. I love to read.”

“So do I.” She ran her fingers along the spines of a nearby shelf, her eyes softening as she touched the books. “Feel free to browse around, though I’ll warn you, this collection has been tailored for children. Treow doesn’t have a school, so I’ve tried to bring anything that might help parents who are teaching the little ones to read and write.”

“There’s no school.” It was more of a statement than a question as I replayed my tour with Tillia yesterday. She hadn’t mentioned a school.

“No.” Cathlin sighed. “Not out here. Not in the wilds.”

The wilds.

The wilds of Turah.

“It’s too hard to get good teachers to live out here,” she said. “It’s understandable. They’re less likely to be eaten by a bariwolf if they stick behind fortress or city walls. But that leaves parents with the burden of an education. Hence, my collection. But I do have a couple of rows for adults in the back.”

“Do you mind if I poke around?”

“Not at all. Help yourself.”

“Thank you.” I smiled, then shuffled past the front bookcase. There was just enough room between it and the wall to reach the second and third rows. Cathlin had crammed everything in as tightly as possible.

I passed rows of readers for children, some of which I recognized from my own days with a tutor. When I made it to the rows of books for adults, I had to stand on my toes to read titles on the highest shelf.

Most of the books were related to Turah, and since that seemed like a good place to start, I plucked a handful out of the stacks, forming a pile on my arm as I perused. I added a book of monsters, complete with colored sketches. And when I spotted a dozen books about the other kingdoms in Calandra, my hand instantly reached for the book with Quentis stamped into its leather spine.

I set it on my stack and opened the cover, reading the introduction.

Traitors. Liars. Thieves. I spent a year in Quentis and can say with absolute certainty, they are a despicable people.

I harrumphed, double-checking to make sure I’d grabbed a book about my kingdom. That intro sounded more like a book about Genesis or Ozarth.

a year in quentis by samuel hay

It should have gone back on the shelf. I should have dismissed this author’s opinions of my kingdom, my home, my people, immediately. Except before I could return it, I tucked it to the bottom of my stack, my curiosity winning out.

Was his opinion widely shared in Turah? If I wanted to keep my name, my heritage, would these people always scowl and sneer in my direction?

I kept searching for an atlas or a folded map, but there was nothing. My only hope was that the books I’d grabbed on Turan history might have a drawing in the interior. With my selections clutched to my chest, I returned to the front of the library, where Cathlin was waving a feather duster across a small desk.

“Finished?” she asked.noveldrama

“I am. Would you mind if I took all these?”

“Not at all.”

“Thank you.” I returned her smile, then stepped outside, hurrying across the encampment for my treehouse to put these by my bed.

I was about halfway there when Brielle’s voice carried through the trees.

“Highness.”

“Brielle.” I turned to find her rushing to catch up, a basket looped over one arm. I set my books on the ground and opened my arms for a short embrace. “Are you all right? Where are you staying? Are you with Jocelyn?”

“I’m fine,” she said, out of breath. “Jocelyn is, too. They separated us, though. She’s staying with one of the cooks who had a spare cot in her treehouse. I’m staying with the caretaker.”

“Mariette?”

She nodded. “Yes. She’s quiet. And I don’t think she likes me much. I’m staying in her daughter’s room, and I think I’ve become a constant reminder that her daughter is gone.”

“I’ll find you a new place.”

“No, it’s—”

“I insist. You’ll need to be closer to me as my lady’s maid anyway.” If this was all I could do for the time being to make her stay in Turah more comfortable, then I’d find a way to make it easier.

“Thank you.” Her shoulders sagged. “I’ve brought you breakfast. I waited for you in the dining hall, but when you didn’t come, I had them prepare a plate.”

“Oh.” I’d forgotten about food. How long had I been in the library? “Would you come with me to my treehouse?”

“Of course. I’ll help take this up. But then I’m expected in the laundry.”

Right. She was taking orders from Mariette now. It was no different than her taking orders from the castle’s seneschal. But here, it seemed like she should be under my authority.

Also something I’d be taking up with Zavier.

If Zavier ever showed his face in Treow.

In the meantime, I guess I’d have to ask Tillia. Or the Guardian as a last resort.

“Come.” I bent and picked up my books, settling them on one arm. Then, with my free arm, I took hers, and we walked together to my treehouse.

She showed me the pulley and lift I’d overlooked along with the skylights—I really needed to pay more attention to the nuances of these homes—and we both climbed the rope ladder to haul up our belongings.

“Can I bring you anything else?” she asked. “They showed me how to haul up the water for baths, but it takes two of us. We’ll be over later if you’d like.”

“That would be—” Wait. “Have you had a bath?”

“Yes.” She bent to sniff her armpit. “Why?”

“No reason.” I waved it off. “I just wanted to make sure you have had a chance to rest, too.”

“All rested.” She forced a smile and pointed to the stack of books I’d set on the bed. “Can I assume you’ll spend the rest of your day reading?”

“Yes.” This wasn’t the first time Brielle had found me with a stack of books. Granted, usually I was sneaking in a pile of sexy novels that I’d bought at the docks without Margot’s knowledge.

“I’ll bring you dinner.” Brielle swept up the laundry from the dirty-clothes basket, then set off down the rope ladder, leaving me to my books.

I started with those on Turah. Then I dove into the book on monsters.

And I saved Samuel Hay’s book on Quentis for last.

I should have burned it instead.

“Piece-of-shit filth,” I muttered, tearing off my tunic.

Night had fallen outside the treehouse. Brielle and Jocelyn had brought me dinner hours ago and drawn me a bath. My food was as cold as the water.

But I stripped to nothing and sank into the tub anyway in an attempt to cool my boiling blood.

“Fuck you, Samuel Hay.”

In his book, he called my country a land for thieves and traitors. He said Roslo was nothing more than a cesspool of immorality. And he speculated that my father was a murderer.

That the Gold King was behind more than one assassination attempt, including the death of the queen.

My. Mother.

Father wasn’t perfect. He’d never claimed to be without flaws. But I knew, down to my bones, to the very threads of my soul, that he hadn’t killed my mother.

It was no secret in Roslo that the day she died, he became a shell of his former self.

She’d been the love of his life.

Her ghost was Margot’s biggest insecurity. Mother’s memory was what drove Margot to demand perfection.

Yet we all knew, no matter how stoically Margot stood at his side, no matter how hard she tried, my father would always be in love with my mother.

The accusation that he’d killed her twisted so hard I wanted to scream. When my skin was covered in goose bumps, my arms shaking, and my teeth chattering from the cold water, I climbed out of the tub and dressed in a warm nightshirt. Then I burrowed beneath the covers, staring into the dark as that godsdamn book played on repeat in my mind.

If someone had told me at dawn there was a man in Turah I wanted to kill more than the Guardian, I would have called that person a liar.

But now?

I wanted to shove my knives through Samuel Hay’s throat. I’d rip out his lying tongue. I’d break every finger he’d used to write those hateful, untrue words.

“Fuck you, Samuel Hay.”

When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed of a grizzur. I watched as it tore the flesh from a faceless man’s body. The monster devoured, tearing limbs from sockets. A scream ripped through the night. It kept shredding, clawing. But the face on its victim changed to Brielle.

She screamed and screamed. Save me, Odessa. Save me.

The monster became a crux, fur transforming to feathers. Not the auburn of the male crux, but the black feathers of females. It cut Brielle’s body in two, swallowing entrails in a single gulp.

Then it fixed its beady eyes on me.

I woke in a sweat, my pulse pounding. I blinked and slapped a hand over my racing heart. “A nightmare.” Only a nightmare.

I closed my eyes, wishing the vision out of my mind. Except I could still hear Brielle’s scream. I could hear claws scratching against the earth. Against the trunk of my tree.

The noise came again, claws tearing into bark.

Not a sound from my head. A sound from outside.

I whipped the covers from my legs, the cold air instantly biting into my bare skin as I tiptoed to the door. On silent footsteps, I slipped outside and inched toward the balcony.

Aurinda and Aurrellia, the twin moons, were as bright as lanterns in the clear night sky. They lit up the forest, casting silver beams through branches.

I peered over the balcony’s edge, my stomach pressing deep against the rail. My heart climbed into my throat as I lifted onto my toes and looked down.

At a lionwick sharpening its five-inch claws on the trunk of my tree.

I leaped away from the railing on a gasp.

My rope ladder was gone, and for the first time, I was glad to be trapped up here.

Lionwicks roamed the countryside in Quentis. They were nocturnal, and when the sun went down, they wreaked havoc on livestock, slaughtering herds of cattle or sheep or pigs.

They resembled mountain lions, but instead of sleek blond fur, they had smooth, leathery coats that shone like spun gold. Their hides were used to make the most expensive coats, gloves, and hats. Only the most elite and wealthy would wear lionwick to parties at the castle.

Their teeth and claws were as black as obsidian from the Evon Ravine. But the lionwick’s spiked, barbed tail was its most noticeable feature. And deadliest weapon. Its tail was twice the length of its body and moved like a whip through the air.

They were wicked monsters, mean and vicious. They were fast and cunning. They’d hide in treetops and wait until—

My stomach dropped. Oh, shit.

Lionwicks were excellent climbers. I took another step away from the rail, my foot landing too loud.

“Shh.”

I whirled toward the whisper. Toward the man standing outside the treehouse beside mine.

The Guardian.

He pressed a finger to his lips. In his other hand, he carried his sword.

I nodded, swallowing the fear clawing at my throat.

He peered over the edge of his own balcony as I inched closer to mine.

Another night, another place, I’d be shut inside, hidden beneath the bed. But with the Guardian here, with the slayer of monsters as my guard, I risked another look over my balcony.

The lionwick must have gotten bored with my tree. It prowled to the next, its muzzle against the ground as it sniffed.

I pointed to the monster, mouthing, Kill it.

The Guardian shook his head. “You kill it.”

I gave him a flat look. Yeah, right.

He propped his sword against his door, then leaned forward, forearms to his own railing, seemingly content to watch that monster wander through Treow.

That’s it? He was letting it go?

I planted one hand on my hip and jabbed a finger at the lionwick.

He picked up on my silent are you going to do something about this or not? without issue. “No.”

I looked to the monster still prowling below. That tail flicked through the air in lazy, beautiful, deadly swirls.

“You’re going to let it live?” I whispered.

“For the moment. I’m busy tonight.”

I scoffed. “Doing what?”

He flashed me the smirk, then shoved off the rail, taking his sword as he disappeared inside his treehouse. With a click, he closed the door and shut me out.

I glared at the spot where he’d stood. Then I flicked the hair over my shoulder and turned for my own treehouse. I was almost inside when I heard his voice.

He was speaking to someone. He wasn’t alone.

Unease crept through my veins like that monster through Treow.

Who? It wasn’t my business who he spent his nights with. Who he invited into his bed. Especially considering I was married.

But the sinking feeling in my chest made it hard to breathe. It shouldn’t bother me. I didn’t care. Not. At. All.

If I practiced enough, someday, maybe I’d make a decent liar. I’d be like one of those Quentins in Samuel Hay’s book.

I walked inside, latching the door to make sure it was secure. Then I tugged on the cord to pull back the curtains on my ceiling, welcoming the moonbeams inside. The skylights were strong enough to keep out a lionwick, right? Gods, I hoped so.

Collapsing on the bed, I stared up at the stars, doing everything in my power not to think about authors or monsters.

Or the man next door.