Shield of Sparrows, page 11
“Turans are loyal to Turans.” There was a warning in his tone.
Wait. This was a test, wasn’t it?
From the moment I’d signed the Shield of Sparrows, I was considered Turan.
He’d speak in front of his own people, those loyal to his crown, but not in front of outsiders. Zavier hadn’t spoken in front of Brielle or Jocelyn yesterday. I doubted he ever would. They were Quentins.
But me?
He’d drawn a line in the sand, and this secret was his way of forcing me to choose a side.
I hadn’t told Brielle or Jocelyn that he’d spoken to me. Mostly because they’d been so sick last night. But there was also a part of me that liked knowing something that others did not. I was so often the last person to hear gossip. To catch rumors.
Strange how in the past few days, I’d gained more secrets than I had in the past few years combined. My father’s. And now Zavier’s.
It wasn’t a gift of unbridled trust. I’d probably never earn that from either man. But I’d keep this secret.
For now.
“Why did you choose me?”
Like before, he didn’t answer.
If he thought I’d stop asking, he was very, very wrong.
“Do you desire me?” The question slipped past my lips before I could stop it.
He cleared his throat, and I could practically see his mind racing for the gentle answer. “You’re a beautiful woman.”
That meant no.
“So does that mean we won’t…” I couldn’t even finish the question.
Which was probably good, because Zavier’s response was to walk away.
“Ugh.” I sagged against the railing, my entire body flaming with embarrassment. Maybe I should throw myself overboard to cool off. That, or take lessons from my husband.
And keep my damn mouth shut.
Eleven
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.”
“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.
