Shield of Sparrows

When I descended my rope ladder the next morning, it wasn’t a lionwick or the Guardian waiting at the bottom—I’d worn my knives in case of either—it was Tillia.

“Good morning, Odessa.”noveldrama

“Good morning.”

“The Guardian asked that we train together today. If you’re up for it.”

“And if I say I’m not up for it?”

“He told me to tell you that your next session with him would be twice as long and twice as hard.”

My lip curled. “Jackass.”

She fought a smile. “He said you’d say that, too.”

“Then I guess he’s got me all figured out.” I sent a scowl to his quiet treehouse.

Was he up there? Sleeping late with whomever had shared his bed last night? Was he listening in on this very conversation?

“Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint the Guardian,” I said, mocking his name and hoping he could hear. “Lead the way.”

She set off down the path, her hands clasped together as we walked. She strolled, her pace easy as she tipped her face to the sky, her features relaxed as the sun kissed her cheeks good morning.

Shouldn’t she be nervous? Hadn’t the Guardian told her about the lionwick from last night? Maybe he’d gone ahead and killed it.

My fingers flexed at my sides, hands ready to pull my knives out in case of danger. But as we moved through Treow, every person we passed seemed calm. This was just another normal day.

“There was a lionwick here last night.” Unless I’d dreamed it. Had I dreamed it?

“There was,” Tillia said. “It’s been dealt with. No need to fret.”

“Oh.” Had the Guardian killed it after all? “It’s dead?”

“Not dead. We have snares. It was trapped and taken to the mountains this morning. They’re not overly common in this area, but when they do visit, they love to poke around at night. We’ve got the snares in case. But not to worry. In all my years visiting Treow, I’ve never heard of one getting into a treehouse. Unless one is aggressive, we usually just relocate them elsewhere.”

“Really?” I’d never heard of a monster being trapped before. Let loose. What if it came back and killed someone? Weren’t they worried?

“They’re a part of the chain. They keep the deer population in balance. Unless a beast is a threat, we avoid killing them if possible.”

In Quentis, the only way monsters were dealt with was death. I hadn’t considered how that impacted other species, other chains.

Like the Chain of Sevens.

“We’re all connected,” Tillia said. “Always seeking a balance.”

Was that why the gods had created the crux? To balance the human population? To keep our numbers in check. To remind us that we were insignificant. To keep us at the gods’ mercy.

Then what regulated the crux? Were there other monsters out there, bigger and larger? Or did they die from infection or disease?

“What if the lionwick comes back?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Then we’ll trap it again.”

“And if it won’t stay away? If it comes again and hurts someone?”

“You’re safe in your treehouse.” She put her hand on my arm. “I promise.”

I wanted to believe her. I really did. But so far, Turah had scared the hell out of me. It was going to take me a while to feel safe anywhere in this kingdom.

“What if a grizzur wanders into Treow? Would your traps hold?”

“No.” She shook her head. “There are some monsters that are killed upon sight. Grizzurs. And bariwolves.”

“What else?”

“Anything…feral.”

Feral? “Aren’t they all feral?”

These were monsters we were talking about, not household pets. Given the opportunity, that lionwick would have inhaled me skin and bones last night. They were uncontrollable, vicious, and deadly beasts with a taste for human flesh. Weren’t they?

The answer to my question was either a yes or no. But she gave neither and continued on, and we made the rest of our walk in silence.

She’d been taking lessons from Zavier on ignoring my questions. Blarg.

“Let’s start with your knives,” Tillia said when we reached the training area.

“All right.” I drew them and assumed my fighting stance. “Ready.”

An hour later, with sweat running in rivulets down my back, I realized I’d been woefully mistaken in thinking it would be easier to fight Tillia. I’d take a thousand training sessions with the Guardian over one with her.

After one round with my knives, she’d decided I wasn’t ready to train with weapons yet. Instead, we’d taken to sparring.

I’d read stories about torture that were kinder than this.

“One more,” she said, fists raised. “Push yourself.”

I wiped the spit and sweat from my lips, thirstier than I’d ever been in my life, and raised my hands.

She came at me with a quick jab to my nose and a punch to my chin that I managed to block with my left. When she went for my ribs, I lowered my elbow, just like she’d taught me, using it and my forearm to deflect the blow. When she swung again, I sidestepped to the right, keeping light on my toes with no weight on my heels.

“Faster,” she ordered.

I gulped down a breath as she let her fists fly once more, another jab followed by a body punch. Each time I blocked, we’d pivot and start the routine again, the speed increasing.

Round six was when my form fell apart. When my aching, tired muscles began to lag. When I was simply too slow.

Her knuckles slammed into my side yet again, pain exploding through my torso.

“Oof,” I hissed, dropping to a knee as I sucked in a breath.

This. Was. Awful. She was absolutely kicking my ass. And to add insult to injury, every training circle was full of other rangers. I could feel their stares. Hear them whisper when I let out a cry of pain.

“Better,” Tillia said, not even out of breath.

“Really?” I scoffed. “I don’t feel like I’m getting any better.”

“Your footwork is no longer atrocious. Your balance isn’t as weak. Your form is sloppy, but you’re improving.”

I wiped the sweat from my brow, forcing myself to my feet. “Thanks?”

Someone needed to teach these Turans how to give compliments. At this point, I’d settle for a pat on the back. Though I bet whoever was in the Guardian’s bed last night had probably earned hours of praise.

Whatever. Not my business. Not my problem. And if I could just stop thinking about him, that would be fantastic.

Tillia waved over a boy who carried a bucket of water from circle to circle.

He produced two wooden cups, filling both. He held out a cup for me, but when his gaze met mine, he paused, his eyes blowing wide. He looked to Tillia, pulling the drink back toward his chest as he eased away.

She took it from him, then nodded to the men training beside us. “Off you go.”

The boy didn’t need to be told twice.

“Sorry.” She handed over the cup. “We don’t often get visitors from other kingdoms in Treow.”

“It’s all right.” I shrugged, pretending the boy’s fear didn’t sting. “I know my eyes are…different.”

It wasn’t the first time the lack of a starburst in my irises would put a child on edge. It wouldn’t be the last.

“Different.” Tillia put her hand on my shoulder, giving me a soft smile. “But very beautiful.”

“Thank you.” I took another drink, then changed the subject. “Do you know if Zavier will be coming to Treow anytime soon?” It was time to focus my attention on my missing husband.

“I don’t. I’m sorry. The last I heard, he was traveling from Perris to Ellder.”

Traveling without a wife to slow him down. “Is he going to leave me here forever?”

She took a drink, draining her cup.

That meant yes.

I was the last of Zavier’s priorities. He’d offloaded me onto his people, stuck me at this encampment, and forgotten about me entirely.

Why? Why had he wanted me in the first place?

Did Tillia know the reason? Had Halston told her about their visit to Roslo?

At this point, did it even matter? I’d been claimed. I’d fulfilled the treaty. Zavier was gone, as was the pressure to act like a dutiful wife. Maybe I should simply be grateful that I was on my own. It wasn’t anything new.

I’d always been on my own. The only person I could count on to take my side, to see me, was me.

“I think we’ve had enough for today,” Tillia said as I finished the last of my water. “Get some rest. We’ll meet again in the morning.”

I stifled a groan. “I can’t wait.”

“You’re an awful liar, Odessa.”

“So I’ve been told.” I collected my knives and walked away before she could change her mind. My tunic was glued to my skin, my hair soaked, and there was probably dye leaking down my temples.

With so much sweating, I was going through my dye too quickly, and soon, I’d need to ask the merchant if he could order a new jar. My plan had been to get more in Allesaria, but at this point, I doubted I’d be there before winter.

And I guess if I couldn’t get more dye, Zavier would eventually learn that—surprise!—his wife had red hair.

I made my way toward the commons to get some breakfast and stop at the library. Maybe my next set of books wouldn’t send me into a fit of rage and give me nightmares. Maybe a pony rider would come through today and I’d have a chance to ask a few questions.

Except before I could reach the dining hall, the thunder of hooves echoed through the forest.

The Guardian tore through the encampment, racing past me on his massive stallion without so much as a glance. His face was granite, and shades, he looked furious. His anger was so strong I could practically see it, like smoke trailing behind him as he rode away.

The hairs on my arms stood on end—that sinking feeling that something was wrong. I rushed toward the commons, seeing chaos through the trees. Mothers were collecting their children, grabbing hands or hefting them onto hips to carry away.

Every ranger in Turah was racing for the open square.

“Odessa, wait.” Tillia ran up from behind, taking my elbow and pulling me to a stop.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Well, that was a lie.

“I need you to stay here.” She urged me toward the closest tree, positioning me so I was mostly hidden from sight. “Please.”

“Okay.” Um, what the hell was going on? Panic surged as she walked away, her shoulders rigid and fists balled. I inched to the edge of the tree, pressing my body against the rough bark as I peered into the commons.

They came like a silent wave.

At least fifty armed men on horseback emerged from the forest, seeping into Treow like fog.

There’d been no warning whistles, yet the people in Treow had known to be scarce. How?

The men were soldiers, wearing metal arm and leg shields. Every man’s hair was cut short, their blank faces clean-shaven. And they all had the same emblem stamped on their gleaming silver breastplates.

A wolf’s head was set in the steel, its eyes bejeweled in green.

The soldiers all came to a stop at the commons, surrounding the Turan warriors and Tillia, who stood at its center.

A gap spread in their formation, making room for a man astride a stallion with a sleek gray coat. The animal was nearly as large as the Guardian’s mount.

The man wore a circlet, thicker and more intricate than the one Zavier kept across his brow. The silver band was woven into his dark-brown hair.

King Ramsey of Turah.

My father-in-law.

Was he the reason Tillia had told me to stay out of sight? Why? Did I need Zavier here to present me or something?

I shifted closer to the edge of the tree to get a better look.

The Turan rangers were glaring at Ramsey’s soldiers. The soldiers were glaring at the Turan rangers. Not a soul seemed to care what was happening outside of the commons. Not a gaze flickered in my direction.

Ramsey stopped beside Tillia, his horse lifting its tail to plop a pile of steaming shit in the same place where the kids had been playing minutes ago.

Tillia bowed her head, dropping to a knee.

“Rise.” Ramsey’s deep voice carried. It reminded me of my own father. Both were men who’d spent their lives infusing dominance into their every word.

She obeyed, taking his outstretched hand to kiss the signet ring on his middle finger.

I might not be able to see that ring, but I’d wager all of my father’s gold it was that same silver wolf the soldiers wore.

“I take it my son is not here,” Ramsey said. Even from thirty feet away, his voice was clear and crisp, laced with an undercurrent of superiority. He spoke above her head, projecting to the trees. Like maybe he thought Zavier was hiding, like me, behind a tree.

Tillia shook her head.

Was Zavier supposed to be here? Was he avoiding me and his father?

The king lived in Allesaria. If Zavier wouldn’t take me to the capital, would the king? There was only one way to find out.

With my heart crawling into my throat, I pushed off the tree and squared my shoulders. I was about to step past the trunk when a hand touched my shoulder.

I jumped, slapping a hand over my mouth to muffle a yelp.

Cathlin stood behind me, shaking her head. She’d snuck up on me without so much as crunching on a branch or scuffling pine needles.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

I might have ignored her if not for the seriousness in the woman’s chestnut eyes. So I nodded and slunk back against the tree.

She pressed into my side, both of us peering toward the soldiers.

The king was still talking to Tillia, quieter now so that only she could hear.

With every word, her shoulders seemed to curl deeper in on themselves.

“Go.” With the king’s command, the quiet vanished. Horses whinnied as their riders dismounted. Metal from armor and blades clanked as Ramsey’s men fanned out, spreading like a fire to every building. Every treehouse.

“What are they—”

“Shh.” Cathlin pressed a finger to her lips.

Questions later. Got it.

A crashing noise came from the commons. From the direction of the library.

Cathlin closed her eyes, like she couldn’t bear to watch whatever was happening.

When I stole another glance, I realized why.

Soldiers were throwing books from the doorway into a heaping pile. Another man came from a nearby treehouse, a stack of children’s books in one hand. They were tossed in the same heap before he turned on a heel, probably to search other treehouses for more.

“What are they doing?” I asked, voice low. “Why are they—” The sorrow in her gaze was all the explanation I needed. “They’re going to destroy them.”

Cathlin swallowed hard and nodded.

“Why?” They were just books.

Her jaw clenched as she said nothing.

A soldier produced a piece of flint rock and struck it against a knife, sending sparks to the pile. The fire was instant, and as it burned, the soldiers raiding treehouses kept adding their finds to the blaze, all while Ramsey watched on.

The bitter tang of smoke filled the air. When the flames were well and truly ablaze, when it was past the point of saving even one book, the king tugged on his stallion’s reins, and as quickly as they’d appeared, the soldiers were gone.

The fire burned, sparks shooting into the air.

Not a soul moved in the commons. Every ranger stood at the fire, watching until the flames began to die, ensuring it didn’t spread. Until all that remained of Cathlin’s library was a smoking pile of white ash.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

She squeezed my hand, brushing away a tear as it dripped down her cheek. Then she turned around and walked away.

I stepped out from behind the tree and headed toward the commons. Halston was with Tillia, his arm around her shoulders as they spoke, heads bent close.

Others emerged from the trees, wearing solemn faces.

Had those soldiers done anything but take books? Had anyone been hurt?

A few people stepped closer to the library’s charred remains, inspecting the glowing red-orange coals. But most simply seemed relieved that the king was gone. They retreated to their homes, probably to right the messes the soldiers had made.

My appetite for breakfast was gone, so I made my way back to my treehouse, dread heavy in my gut as I climbed the rope ladder.

The door was ajar.

I’d closed it when I left this morning.

My heart sank as I pushed it open, taking in the disarray. Clothes were strewn across the room. The armoire was empty, its contents scattered with those from my trunks. My bed was off its frame, the blankets tossed with gray dresses. The stench of my hair dye clung to the air from the broken jar in the corner.

The crown I’d left on the bedside table was gone.

As were the books I’d borrowed from the library.

Some strange man had put his hands on my underclothes.

The violation made my stomach roil, my skin crawl.

Those books had been on the corner of my neatly made bed. The soldier could have just taken them without trashing my room in the process. He could have simply stolen the crown.

The walls inched closer. The air tasted sour. I spun, leaving the mess for the balcony. Then I walked around to the back of the treehouse. To the limb that hung low and close to the roof.

Carefully, I braced myself against the wall and railing, hoisting myself up toward that limb.

And the satchel I had hidden on a bushy, evergreen bow.

Flipping open the bag, I made sure my journal, my coin, and my necklace were all safely tucked inside.

After Tillia had warned me to keep my journal out of sight, I’d heeded her advice. And I’d learned a long, long time ago not to hide things under my mattress. Mae always looked there first when she was searching for my diaries.

A low chuckle startled me as I climbed down to the balcony. I whirled, finding the Guardian outside his own treehouse, a grin on his face.

“Clever, my queen.”

Yes, it had been clever. A safe space for my secret things.

And now the bane of my existence knew I had something to hide.

Damn.