Shield of Sparrows, page 17
Were they related? Cousins, maybe? Brothers?
“A grizzur,” he said. “This is their territory.”
Hence the fires. I shuddered.
Grizzurs were monsters I’d only read about in books. They were myths. Legends. In my world, they didn’t exist beyond the page.
Except I wasn’t in my world anymore, was I?
“Did you kill it?” I asked.
The look he gave me was the epitome of What the fuck do you think?
There were flecks and dots on his tunic. I hadn’t noticed them on the walk because he’d been behind me. But the speckles had to be blood.
There was even a smear on his wrist. A drop on the column of his throat.
“Was anyone hurt?”
He scoffed.
Of course, the great and powerful Guardian would never let harm befall his people. Silly me.
“Can I see it?” I asked. “The grizzur?”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “I’ve only ever read about them in books.”
“So curious, my queen.”
Yes, I was. “I want to know what I’m up against.”
With the monsters.
With him.
I wanted to see this beast he’d killed.
Without a word, he walked past me, his elbow grazing my own.
I followed as he marched along the camp, his strides so long that I had to run to keep up. My muscles screamed, but I was too curious—and too proud—to ask him to slow down.
By the time we reached the other side of the camp, I was out of breath. Sweat coated my brow. My heart pounded.
It came to a dead stop when I saw the grizzur.
Its bearlike frame lay prone on its belly. Its massive body was covered in coarse cinnamon fur. Along the spine, jutting through that thick, wiry hair, were spikes as long as my arm. They were as white as snow and as pointed as the Guardian’s sword. They angled in all directions, some curving to the sides, others aiming straight.
Was that how they survived the crux migrations? There’d be no picking up a grizzur from above, not with those spikes.
Its feet, tipped in claws, were as wide as my shoulders. On all fours, it had to stand at least six feet tall. If it rose up on its hind legs, ten.
The grizzur’s head was turned on its ear, enough to reveal the gash in its throat.
No, not a gash. A cut so deep that it left the monster’s head barely connected to its body. It hung only by a sliver of that heavy hide.
I choked. “You cut its head off?”
The Guardian shrugged. “Almost.”
“How?” Before he could answer, I held up a hand. “Actually. Never mind.”
My imagination could fill in the gaps.
Predator to predator, the grizzur had met its match.
The monster’s snout was longer than any bear’s, double the size. Its black nose was shiny and wet. Its mouth was open, revealing teeth that didn’t form neat rows. Instead, like the spikes on its back, they jutted at odd angles.
Could the grizzurs even close their mouths? Or did they just shred their victims and swallow jagged chunks?
There was a drag mark in the dirt that stretched from the body beyond the fires. Why would they bring it inside the camp? So its blood wouldn’t attract others?
Its black, glassy eyes were open and lifeless. As we walked closer to the head, they seemed to track my steps, even though it was dead.
A rivulet of dark-red blood trickled from its nostril, puddling beneath its open maw.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The sound made my insides twist.
Zavier had warned me on the Cutter that Turah wasn’t gentle or kind. That his kingdom would not spare me mercy. This land, these monsters, would do their best to break me into pieces, wouldn’t they?
To soak this earth with my blood.
“I want my sword.”
The Guardian sighed like he’d heard that request a hundred times over a hundred years. Not twice in the past few days.
“You agreed.”
“That I did.” He rubbed a hand over his bearded jaw. “You look dead on your feet, Sparrow. Rest. Tomorrow, we’ll train. Be ready at dawn.”
What was it with the Turans and dawn? Something always seemed to be happening at dawn. “Fine.”
“Don’t go past the fires.” He pointed a long finger at my nose.
Go into the wild where these monsters lived? “Not a chance.”
“Can you find your way back to your tent?”
Probably. Though it might take me an hour. “Yes.”
Then he was gone, leaving me alone with the grizzur.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I stared at the monster for another long moment, marveling at its size. It shouldn’t have been beautiful, not a beast so terrifying. Yet I couldn’t seem to tear my gaze away.
Not until I heard the sound of horses, of hooves beating against the earth, carrying over the pop of the fires.
Zavier and three of his warriors raced away from the camp. A minute later, another rider broke past the fires, racing to catch up.
The Guardian. His coal stallion flew across the plain, its rider as graceful in the saddle as the animal itself.
Where were they going?
A decent spy would find a horse and follow. But me? Not a decent spy. So I slunk away from the grizzur, making a slow retreat to my tent. I only got lost twice.
Brielle was gone by the time I returned, presumably to her own bed, and I curled up on mine.
When the next roar came, when it seemed to shake heaven and earth, I pulled the pillow over my head.
Pretending to sleep until dawn.
Seventeen
The Guardian’s sword cut through the space between us with a whoosh. That blade in his hand was a streak of silver, a bolt of lightning, wielded with only a roll of his wrist. “Ready?”
Was I ready to train with a man who could break my neck with a snap of his fingers or slice me in half with one flick of that sword?
No. Definitely not ready.
I want a sword.
What the fuck was I thinking? If I died in this makeshift training area today, it would be my own damn fault.
There was a circle in the grassy area between the fires and tents. A patch that had been trampled and flattened by boots. Probably from the warriors who’d trained in this ring yesterday.
But this morning, we were alone. It was a small mercy that no one was here to watch me trip over my own feet and fall on my ass. The only witness to my humiliation today would be the man delivering it.
The sun had broken above the indigo mountains just moments ago, tinting the plains beyond the camp’s fires in a medley of green and gold. Storm clouds banked on the horizon, the winds blowing them toward camp. This landscape was as bold as any painting, as picturesque a scene as I’d ever seen.
The evil glint in the Guardian’s hazel eyes said I wasn’t going to have the chance to enjoy the view.
“What am I doing here?” I muttered under my breath.
“This was your idea, remember?”
Ten paces away, and still, he’d heard me. He could probably hear a cricket chirping on the opposite end of the encampment. Or he was simply plucking thoughts straight out of my head.
He used the tip of his sword to point at my feet. “Get in your fighting stance.”
I adjusted my position, pivoting sideways with my left leg ahead of my right. Then I bent slightly at the knees, lifting the twin blades he’d handed me when I’d swept out of my tent earlier.
The weapons were longer than daggers, the blades about the length of my forearms, but shorter than the sword Tillia carried across her back. Why he thought it would be best to start with two knives instead of one sword was baffling, but after another sleepless night, I didn’t have the will to challenge his decision.
It was going to take all my fortitude just to survive this training session. We’d save the verbal sparring for another day.
The Guardian had been waiting, casually eating an apple, with both of these knives tucked under an arm when I’d stepped out of my tent.
The weapons had been entirely unappealing. But that apple? Mouthwatering. Yesterday’s meal hadn’t been enough, and shades, I was hungry.
Maybe I’d track down some fruit of my own whenever I left this training ring. That was, if I could still walk.
The Guardian came to a stop in the center of the circle. “You have no chance at outrunning an opponent, either monster or man. You’re too short and slow.”
“Thanks,” I deadpanned. “And I was certain I wouldn’t earn any compliments today.”
“Praise is for the bedroom, Cross. Not the training ring.”
The image of him in a darkened room, shirtless, whispering praise into my ear, popped into my head before I could stop it.
No. No, no, no. I refused to let my thoughts wander in that direction. The only man who’d be in my bedroom was my husband.
Maybe. Someday. Gods, my marriage was weird.
Focus, Odessa. I gripped my knives tighter. “Noted. Next?”
He dragged his free hand through his hair, shoving the brown locks off his forehead. It was…not attractive. Not. At. All.
The Guardian moved closer, snaring me with his hard, intimidating gaze.
It took everything in my power not to gulp and shy away.
“Any opponent will likely move in close. To go for the kill. Your task will be to find your enemy’s weak points. For most beasts, your only hope is to inflict a wound. Go for the throat. Slice a leg. Gouge an eye. Anything to slow it down so you can run and hide. If you’re fighting a man, go for the kill.” He used his free hand to take hold of the blade in my right, positioning the tip against his leather vest.
I was in yesterday’s clothes, leather pants and a tunic without embroidery.
He was in the same attire I’d seen him in the day we’d met in the throne room. That vest, studded with silver and brass, molded over his torso and the off-white tunic beneath. I’d thought the Turan vests were simply for style, but they were part of their armor, weren’t they?
My knives were sharp, but puncturing that leather would take all my might.
“Slide your knife past the ribs. Straight into the heart. Think you can do that?” he asked.
“Don’t tempt me.”
“It’s not a joke. There’s no point in you having these knives if you aren’t going to use them. Could you kill a man, Cross?”
My eyes lifted to his. “If I must.”
He leaned in closer, my knife pressing into that vest. The material resisted still, showing no weakness.
How hard would I have to push to reach his skin? What if I poured all my strength into one hard thrust? Would he stop me? Would I catch him off guard?
There was a dare in his eyes. He was baiting me to try.
Do it. Push.
My arm wouldn’t move.
Could I kill a man? This man? No. I wasn’t sure I could ever take a life, even his.
The corner of the Guardian’s mouth twitched, like he read that realization on my face.
He stepped away. “Let’s see how well you can block.”
And with that, the training began.
Thunder boomed overhead. In the hours we’d been training, storm clouds had settled over the camp, and moments ago, they’d opened, releasing a deluge of rain upon our heads.
I’d hoped it would cut our session short. Nope.
The Guardian, apparently, trained rain or shine.
The droplets mingled with the sweat on my face, and every time one slipped into my mouth, I tasted salt and blood.
My chest heaved, my heart pounding so hard I feared it would sputter and quit.
I bent forward, bracing on my knees as I did my best not to vomit.
This was hell. Izzac had brought me to his shade to torture me for all those murderous thoughts I’d had toward the Guardian.
“Tired already?” The asshole wasn’t even winded.
I squeezed my eyes shut, sucking in a breath through my nostrils, the oxygen making my lungs burn. Then I gritted my teeth and stood tall, letting the water cascade down my face as I resumed my fighting stance.
My pants were caked with mud. This tunic was slashed and ruined from the swipes of his sword, the fabric hanging in tatters along my sides. But I wasn’t stopping, not yet. “Again.”
His sword came down over my head as thunder cracked the sky.
I caught the blade this time, pinned it between my knives like he’d taught me to do earlier. Then, with my arms braced, wrists straining, legs burning, I fought to keep him from pushing his sword into my skull.
“Harder,” he barked, adding more pressure.
A cry tore from my mouth along with a blob of spittle as I flung his sword to the side. It might have been impressive, except the ground was slick and I was unsteady. My boot slipped, and I crashed to a knee.
The Guardian didn’t give me a chance to recover. He swiped for my neck, forcing me to my stomach to keep my head attached to my shoulders.
I rolled in the mud, frantically fumbling to get to my feet.
As soon as I was up, he swung at me again, this time aiming for my stomach, and I barely deflected the strike.
The metal of our weapons sang as they rebounded off one another.
“Faster,” he barked. “Keep your feet.”
I sucked in a breath before he came at me again, angling left, then right. My movements were sluggish, my hold on the knives faltering.
He knocked the blade from my left hand, sending it flying toward the edge of the training ring.
“Stop dropping your fucking knife,” he bellowed.
“I’m trying,” I screamed over the storm and my pounding pulse.
“Try harder,” he sneered, then walked to pick up my knife, thrusting the handle into my palm. “Again.”
I gritted my teeth, willing my body to stay strong, to endure this. Then I anchored my heels to the slick earth.
“Don’t fall,” he ordered.
Don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall.
He lunged, another overhead strike, and rather than stand tall, I shuffled backward, tripping over my own godsdamn feet.
I fell right on my ass. Hell. This was hell.
The Guardian glowered down at me, his frustration as palpable as the rain. He pointed the sword at my face, and for a moment, I wondered if this was it. If he’d tested me, deemed me unworthy, and would rid Turah of a weak princess.
The blade’s tip was a whisper against my forehead as he used it to pick up a curl of my soaked hair.
The dye was washing out. I could practically feel the brown coating my cheeks. My shirt. It would mix with the mud, making me look as dirty as I felt.
“I said don’t fall.” He pulled back his sword, and the curl fell to stick to my face. “Ready to quit?”
I couldn’t quit, no matter how much I wanted to say yes. “Never.”
“Good.” He waved me to the center of the ring. “Your first instinct is to retreat. You must stand your ground. Move to the side. Create an opening to strike. But do not go backward. You’ll just land on your ass. Again.”
“Move to the side. Got it.” I pushed to my feet, taking one heartbeat to breathe. Then I pointed both knives toward his smug face. “Ready.”
He swung so fast I didn’t even realize the blade was close until I felt its wind against my cheek.
I shied away—backward, as always—rocking on my heels. But I didn’t fall.
“Damn it, Cross. Attack!” he yelled, slicing at me again.
Except I couldn’t attack, not when he was coming at me with murder in his eyes. My legs acted of their own accord, shuffling me away, away, away. Toward the edge of the ring. Toward the closest burning fire.
It blazed, despite the rain, the sparks reaching out to catch my clothes and hair.
“Move your feet,” the Guardian shouted as he advanced again.
With the fire at my back, I had no choice but to sidestep his strike.
“She learns,” he mocked. “Finally.”
My nostrils flared as he continued to push me around, toyed with me like I was a plaything to amuse him on a stormy day.
I stabbed at him, aiming nowhere and everywhere, only to have my knife slide off the thick leather cuff he wore over his left forearm.
“You’ll have to hit harder than that to pierce grizzur hide.”
That made me pause. “That cuff is grizzur hide? Is that why you kept the monster you killed?”
Not to keep its blood from attracting other predators, but so that its hide could be used for cuffs and those vests.
The hide was incredibly strong. Tough. Durable. And probably more comfortable than breastplates of metal.
“Stop asking questions, Cross. Fight, damn it. Attack.”
“I am fighting,” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. “I’m trying.”
“Not hard enough.” He bent, getting into my face. His eyes shifted to swirling silver, and the rest of the realm melted away. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Quentins are usually better at running away than fighting.”
“I’m not running away.”
“Then stop backing away. You want to be queen of Turah? Then you must not be afraid.”
“I don’t want to be queen of Turah.” The confession came so fast I flinched.
He scoffed. “So, you’d rather rot in a golden castle, withering away to nothing while your family forgets your existence? You were nothing to them. Your father gave you away without so much as a blink. Your sister put on a show of bidding you goodbye, but I’ll wager she’s already in your fiancé’s bed. A man who also let you go without a fight. And don’t you have a little brother? Did they even let you say goodbye?”
