Shield of Sparrows

Odessa.

The sound of my father’s voice startled me from a nightmare.

I’d been in the throne room, on my knees. Mae’s knife at my neck.

He’d ordered her to kill me. My punishment for returning to Roslo with no information about Allesaria. Beside me on the marble floor, blood seeping from their open throats, were Brielle and Jocelyn.

I shook the mental image away, blinking clear the fog of sleep as I took in my surroundings.

The early light of dawn colored the sky. I’d slept all night against the Guardian’s chest.

He’d stopped us atop a steep rise. He sat motionless behind me, his horse unmoving beneath.

There was a cliff beside us, its jagged rocks dropping to a raging river. The water crashed as it traveled, and for a moment, I closed my eyes and just let myself listen. I pretended that noise was ocean waves and I was on my cliffside in Roslo.

Something stirred in my chest as I took in the view. A sense of wonder. Peace.

It might not be my special place, but there was so much beauty here it was hard to comprehend it all.

On the other side of the river was an endless forest, thick and green. It filled the space between us and the looming indigo mountains with their pristine, snowcapped peaks. The colors were so vibrant, it was like stepping into a dream.

“When I was a boy, my mother brought me here for the first time. She made me sit beside her for an hour, even though all I wanted to do was chase around and hunt for berries. At the time, it felt like a punishment. Now, I see what she was trying to do. It was one of those lessons I couldn’t appreciate until I got older.”

He’d only mentioned his mother once before. What about his father? Did he have siblings?

It was an odd feeling to know this man yet know nothing about him.

I knew his expressions. I knew the way he moved. I knew how the air charged when he was angry and the realm blurred when he was close.

He was fiercely loyal to his people. He loved his kingdom. He was strong and unbreakable, but gentleness could emerge from that hard exterior. In the way he hugged Cathlin. How he acted with Evangeline. Even the affection he showed his horse.

But I didn’t know if his mother was alive. I didn’t know about his family or his education or his childhood home. I didn’t know if he’d been born with these powers, these gifts. Or if he’d been cursed by a spiteful god.

It bothered me, more than it should, that at best, I could only consider him an acquaintance.

The Guardian stared into the distance, his eyes a different shade of green. This was a new color. Not the vivid emerald I’d seen countless times when he was in a mood to tease me mercilessly. No, this was a deep shade of hunter.

The color of Turan forests.

“It’s beautiful.” The forest. Those eyes.

He dropped his gaze, meeting mine.

I was still cradled against him, having shifted in my sleep toward the arm he’d curled around my shoulders. I should move. Sit straight. Get off this horse and put some distance between us.noveldrama

But the truth I was terrified to admit, even to myself, was that I didn’t want to move.

Unless he tossed me out of this saddle, I was going nowhere.

His expression was open and unguarded. Utterly consuming. More magnificent than even this Turan scene. He searched my eyes the way I searched his. For answers. Salvation. Mercy.

There was a tether between us.

Gods save us when it snapped.

Why couldn’t I feel this way for the man who’d claimed me?

Our mouths were too close. All it would take was a shift and we’d collide. We’d crash into each other, and the shock waves would destroy us both.

I needed him to say something mean. To strike a nerve. To bruise my heart. I needed him to hurt me so thoroughly, I’d never forgive him.

“I hate you.”

It should have broken the moment. It should have pissed him off. But he stared at me like I was something to behold. Something to cherish.

Something to protect.

“Yes, you do,” he said. “Don’t forget.”

“Never.”

There was no such thing as forgetting a man like the Guardian. Not for me.

Still, once we reached Ellder, I would try.

“We must go.”

I nodded, sitting tall. Then I took one last look beyond the cliff. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

“You’re welcome, my queen.”

We didn’t speak for the rest of the long journey, not even as we ate dried fruit and nuts and meat, sharing water from a canteen.

The trail through the forest was thick. Rain from a recent storm clung to the branches, and whenever a limb skimmed my dress, water would soak into the material. Night was falling, and beneath the trees, it was becoming difficult to see the narrow path ahead. A howl rang out from somewhere in the woods, making me tense.

The Guardian didn’t so much as flinch.

By the time we reached the fortress, I was wet and cold. Part of me was glad to be here. To get off this horse. The other part wasn’t ready for this ride to be over.

Torches mounted on the fortress’s walls burned bright against the dark. The walls stood as tall as the surrounding trees, rising so high that no monster could scale their face. There were hundreds and hundreds of logs, each stripped of their bark to form a smooth barricade. It stretched so far I couldn’t see where either side ended in the darkness.

The Guardian stopped his horse outside the gates and fitted two fingers to his lips, letting out a piercing whistle, different from those I’d heard in Treow.

“Open the gates!” a man shouted from the ramparts above.

The hinges groaned as the men hauled the heavy wood open, swinging like double doors for us to ride inside. As soon as we were beyond the threshold, the soldiers closed us in.

The courtyard was alight with fires, burning hot in small basins.

Men dressed in grizzur leather, similar to the Guardian, all nodded and dipped their heads as we came to a stop. Whispers filled the air as he dismounted.

That’s the Guardian.

He’s here.

The Guardian. The Guardian. The Guardian.

Did he not come to Ellder often? The wide eyes and open stares answered my question.

A young boy ran up to him, taking the horse’s reins.

“See that he gets plenty of water and food,” the Guardian said. “He doesn’t like sharing a stall with other horses.”

“I’ll put him in his own, sir.”

“Good.” He clapped the boy on the shoulder, then came to my side, holding out a hand to help me down.

I tried to slide out of the saddle gracefully, but after yesterday’s fall and a day spent riding, my legs didn’t cooperate. I crashed into his chest as I tipped off the side.

He caught me at the waist and set me down, holding on for a moment until I was steady. Then, while he unlatched his saddlebags, I smoothed down my skirts and adjusted the strap on my satchel, busying my hands as the people around us continued to stare and whisper.

Who is she?

Do you know her?

Who’s that riding with the Guardian?

He flung his saddlebags over a shoulder, then clamped a hand over my wrist, pulling me along as he walked out of the courtyard and toward a road that seemed to split the town inside the walls in half.

Streets were organized much like Ashmore, in straight lines and orderly rows. Except there were holes down the center of every lane, holes as wide as my waist that looked to be as deep as I was tall.

“What are those?” I asked.

“For the migration. We put wooden spikes in each, crowding the streets so it’s difficult for a crux to land. Once they’re dug, workers will start on the spikes. They’ll be buried as deep as they are tall, just like the exterior walls.”

“Ah.” Another deterrent for the monsters. Another way the Turans protected themselves.

The buildings all had wooden roofs, but there were some with metal spikes that stuck up at all angles, likely other measures to protect against the crux. Golden light spilled from windows, but we moved so quickly I didn’t have a chance to see inside.

“You can explore tomorrow,” he said. “Think you can manage to stay within the fortress’s wall?”

I couldn’t make that promise. I didn’t want to lie.

So I stole Zavier’s tactic and stayed quiet.

The Guardian grumbled under his breath.

We passed three side streets before we finally turned off the main road.

He didn’t let go of my wrist as he marched us to a wide house with a square front. It was a simple building, and like the others we’d passed, its exterior was covered with rich, russet boards. Every window was dark, the house either empty or asleep. A walkway ran the length of the second floor.

The homes in Turah seemed to be built for function, not flash. The only thing extravagant about this one was the front door.

Inlaid into its wooden face was a carving of a wolf. The Turan emblem.

This was Zavier’s house.

The Guardian let go of my wrist as he led me to a staircase that curved around the building’s corner, leading up to the walkway.

I kept my hand on the railing as we climbed, my heart inching into my throat with every stair. Was Zavier up here? Were these his quarters? Was I being delivered to my husband’s bedroom?

The Guardian’s boots thudded along the walkway’s boards, the rhythm matching the beat of my pounding heart as he walked to the single door and turned the knob.

I stayed outside, hand still clutched to the railing as he went inside and lit a lantern, then another. Well, if Zavier was in there, the Guardian wouldn’t have simply barged in. So I pried my hand off the railing and walked through the door.

It looked to be a private suite. The sitting room had two brown leather chairs bracketing a fireplace. They sat atop a rug woven with bold colors, burgundy, chocolate, and pine green.

The Guardian was crouched beside the hearth, striking a flint box to get a fire going.

Beyond the sitting area, through an open doorway, a large bed sat covered in a thick, taupe quilt and plush pillows. And against the wall, lined in neat rows with the lids propped open, were my trunks. Most held my dresses. One had a glass jar of my hair dye on top.

When had he sent for those?

“I’m not going back to Treow, am I?”

“No.” The fire crackled to life, and he stood, brushing his palms clean.

My heart sank, missing that little treehouse already. “What about Brielle and Jocelyn?”

“They’ll stay at the encampment for now.”

Was that my punishment for Ashmore? That we’d be separated, like children who’d been caught causing trouble?

“Get some rest,” he said, walking past me for the door.

“Guardian.” I grabbed his wrist, my grip firm on the leather cuff that molded to his forearm.

His hand fisted, but he didn’t pull away. “What?”

“I…” I don’t know.

I wasn’t ready to be alone.

I wasn’t ready for him to leave.

Once he stepped out that door, I was going to have to let him go.

And I wasn’t ready.

His free hand touched my arm in the exact place where he’d grabbed me yesterday outside the tavern, and I winced. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t hurt me.” Yes, it was tender today. My entire body was sore. But there were no marks. No bruises from his grip.

“Maybe not.” The sadness in his green eyes cracked my heart. “But I could have.”

Was that why he’d gotten drunk last night? Because he’d lost control? Because I could have been a victim of his rage?

His gaze shifted to my nose like he was counting the freckles dusted across its bridge. His hand lifted to a curl at my temple, tracing the spiral with a fingertip. “You don’t have to hide who you are, Cross. Not here.”

Not in Turah.

Not with him.

The Guardian opened his mouth like he was about to say something. But then he must have changed his mind. He eased out of my grip and, before I could blink, disappeared into the night.

I gave myself a few moments to breathe, to close my eyes and savor the scent of him lingering in the air. It would be gone by morning.

And if I had to guess, so would he.

It was for the best. It was better this way. I repeated those lies over and over and over as I unpacked my trunks. As I settled into this new home.

As I emptied my jar of hair dye out the bedroom window.