Shield of Sparrows, page 43
It hadn’t even bothered me to know that Banner, my fiancé, had kept a lover in Roslo. Yet this was bringing me to tears? Affairs were commonplace in my father’s court. Of course there’d be affairs from Turan royals, too.
But why did he have to pick Jocelyn? Why, of all the women in Turah, did he have to choose my lady’s maid as a lover?
I couldn’t even blame him.
Jocelyn was beautiful and smart. Witty and strong. Most men gave her a second glance.
The only thing that earned me a second look was the crown some Turan soldier had stolen from my treehouse in Treow.
It wasn’t that he’d chosen Jocelyn.
It was that he hadn’t chosen me.
Why was I never the first choice? Why was I always the consolation prize? With Father. With Margot. With my tutors. And now with Zavier.
What was wrong with me that I wasn’t enough?
Hot tears spilled down my cheeks, and I swiped them away, breathing through the sting in my nose.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been overlooked. It wouldn’t be the last. So when would it stop hurting? When would I stop expecting anything different?
“Damn it.” I wiped the next batch of tears, then pulled the last tangles of my braid free, letting my curls spill around my shoulders.
Where did we go from here? Was I supposed to pretend it hadn’t happened? Did they expect me to turn a blind eye?
If Zavier thought I’d invite him into my bed after this, he was fucking dreaming.
The door opened at my back. It was one of two men, and at the moment, I didn’t want to see either.
“Go away.”
“No.” Ransom shut the door with a click.
Of course it was him.
It had always been him.
Maybe that was the real problem. Maybe that was why I couldn’t stop the tears. Because all this time, all this guilt, and for what? Loyalty to a prince, a husband, who would never be loyal to me?
“Did you know?” I asked. It was a foolish question, but at this point, I simply wanted to understand how deep this betrayal cut.
“No. Zavier just told me.”
Well, that was something.
“Will you look at me?”
I didn’t turn. “Please, Ransom. Just go. I want to be alone.”
“You’re really that upset.”
“Yes. No.” I shook my head, my hands diving into my hair. “I don’t know. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong. I shouldn’t feel…”
The air shifted as he moved closer. The warmth and scents that were Ransom might as well have been strong arms wrapping around my shoulders. Moss and cedar. Wind and rain. It was heaven and hell.
“Feel what?” His voice was a low murmur.
“Relieved.”
It was relief.
These tears might have started because of Zavier and Jocelyn and my wounded pride. But they kept coming from relief.
I didn’t want Zavier to want me. And if he’d found a connection with someone else, that meant I could stop feeling guilty. I could stop loathing myself for falling for Ransom.
I’d spent weeks and weeks smothering the truth. Stifling the guilt. And now I didn’t have to anymore. Because Zavier had fucked up first.
Shades, what a mess.
“A wife shouldn’t feel relieved that her husband is sleeping with her lady’s maid.”
He touched the end of a curl, and a tingle shot down my spine. “Is that why you won’t look at me? Because you’re relieved?”
“No.” If I looked at him, everything I’d been keeping inside would come tumbling out. And once I said it, there was no taking it back.
“Look at me, Odessa.”
No one would ever say my name like Ransom. These feelings I’d had for ages wouldn’t stop, no matter how hard I tried to forget. And in the end, it didn’t matter that Zavier was with Jocelyn. It wouldn’t matter how many lovers he had in his bed.
He was a crown prince. A king.
And I was a silly princess who was expected to give him heirs and stand at his side.
The rules were different for women. I doubted Zavier would be willing to let me shatter my vows, even for the Guardian.
Ransom wasn’t mine. He wouldn’t be mine.
“I have to let go.”
“Of what?”
“You,” I whispered. “You are not mine to keep.”
He breathed, shifting so close his chest brushed against my back. “What if I was yours?”
“How? I signed my name in blood, remember?”
His exhale was so deep that it seemed to come all the way from his toes. A breath he’d been holding for months. “I saw you in Roslo. On the cliffside.”
My heart quit pumping. My lungs seized. Was this what he’d been trying to tell me all this time? Was this another secret I’d have to suffer?
He’d seen me that day, my wedding day, months ago. And he was only telling me now. Why?
“You went into the water with brown hair and emerged with red. And as you hurried into the castle, dripping wet, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Then you were there, in the throne room, your hair dyed again. And I saw in you what I see in myself.”
My hands trembled. My pulse raced so fast I was getting dizzy. Hope and dread began to battle in my chest. Hope for what he might say. Dread for the same. If it had taken him months to tell me this truth, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear it.
“I know a thing or two about pretending,” he said. “About leading a dual life and wearing a disguise.”
“Ransom.” My voice wobbled. “Don’t tell me something that will make me hate you.”
“You already hate me, remember?” His hands, warm and strong, settled on my shoulders. “I came to Quentis to sniff out the Gold King. Figure out why he’d hired my warriors to kill a handful of marroweels when I know for damn sure his own soldiers could have done the job. I came to set eyes on the daughter who’d become the Turan queen. But then I saw you, and everything changed.”
“What did you do?”
“I decided to set you free.”
I whirled, his hands falling off my shoulders as I stared up at him. “Free? You think I’m free? Married to Zavier? You think that claiming me as a bride prize rescued me? I’m wearing twice the shackles I was before. You didn’t set me free. You chained me to two kingdoms instead of one. To a man more interested in his wife’s lady’s maid than. His. Wife.”
His jaw clenched. “You are not chained to Zavier.”
“There’s a treaty somewhere on this continent that proves otherwise.”
Ransom growled. “Who did you exchange vows with, Odessa?”
“Zavier.” He’d stood at my side. He’d signed his name in blood. He’d vowed.
Except he hadn’t uttered a word. Not once.
The Guardian, Ransom, had volunteered to speak for his prince.
Oh, gods. The color drained from my face.
Zavier hadn’t spoken a word, not until we were aboard the Cutter. It hadn’t been his voice in the sanctuary, it had been Ransom’s.
“The blood. The vial.” Zavier had kept it tucked into his palm, obscuring the edges. Had he held it to the light, it wouldn’t have shone red.
It would have been the darkest of greens.
“But he signed the treaty,” I said, shaking my head.
He took my hand, opening my palm.
The scar from Father’s knife was nothing more than a pale pink line in my flesh. In the darkness, it wasn’t even visible.
He splayed my fingers, spreading my hand wide. Then he held out his own to show a cut healed long ago. All that remained was a faint white line.
Twin scars.
The scars of a Sparrow.
And her king.
“With my blood,” he said. “With my oath spoken.”
My knees began to wobble and weaken. I yanked my hand free of his hold. “You tricked us. It was a lie. It was all a lie. What about the Voster?”
“The High Priest knew I had my reasons.”
So he’d allowed Ransom to deceive us. All of us. “And what, exactly, are these reasons? That treaty has been in place for generations. It binds countries through royal marriages. You are not a prin—”
A prince.
“It’s you.” I swayed, my balance faltering as the truth crashed, shattering everything I’d known for months into pieces of jagged glass. “You are the crown prince. It was all a ruse.”
“Not all of it.” His eyes darkened, shifting to that forest green as he took my arms, keeping me on my feet. Pulling me close and into his chest. “You have always been my queen.”
My queen. How many times had he called me that? How many times had he referred to me as the Sparrow? Countless.
He was the crown prince. Ramsey’s son. There was a reason Tillia didn’t bow to Zavier. Didn’t call him by a title.
It wasn’t Zavier’s to claim.
And neither was I.
“Why?” My voice cracked.
“I told you.”
“To set me free?” I jerked myself out of his hold. “You forced me into a marriage. That’s not setting me free.”
The softness in his expression made my heart pinch. “I am not long for this realm, Odessa. And when I’m gone, you will be free. Your tie to me will be broken. Your life can be of your choosing.”
He was going to set me free with his death.
My heart split, a crack down the center that would be impossible to repair. Tears flooded my eyes, making his handsome face blurry. My chin quivered. “You lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“I hate you.” The lie came off my tongue, past my teeth, and for once, it sounded convincing.
“Yes, you do.” Ransom tucked a curl behind my ear. Then left me alone.
Forty-Five
When the knock came the next morning, I glared at the door, hoping it would make its way through the wood to whoever stood on the other side.
The only person I wanted to see was Evie, but it was too early for her to be awake. Besides, she didn’t know how to knock only once.
If it was Ransom, he could fuck off.
If it was Zavier, he could rot for participating in Ransom’s charade.
And if it was Jocelyn, well…
I hadn’t figured out what to say to her yet. Did she know Zavier’s real identity? Did she know he wasn’t my husband? Or did she believe we were married?
Either he’d confessed a truth to her he hadn’t trusted with me.
Or she’d fucked my husband.
They’d made me a fool. All of them. It was going to take more than one sleepless night for my wounded pride to heal.
I’d spent last night in this chair, staring into the darkness of my sitting room. Replaying every moment from the past two months. Running through a gauntlet of emotions. Anger. Humiliation. Sorrow. Relief. So much of that infuriating relief.
I’d expected—hoped—to greet dawn feeling numb and exhausted. To crawl into bed and sleep for the foreseeable future. Instead, I was nursing a festering rage. Shades, I was mad. Really. Fucking. Mad.
The knock came again, twice as loud as the last. “Highness?”
Jocelyn.
Part of me wanted to ignore her. To let them all suffer in my silence. But the other part knew there’d be no avoiding her forever. I’d have to face them all eventually. And I might as well start with her. So I climbed out of my chair, my legs stiff, and crossed the room.
Her hand was raised for another knock when I pulled the door open. Her cheeks were splotchy, her eyes red-rimmed.
I shifted to the side and waved her in.
“I’m sorry, Highness.” Jocelyn’s hands were clasped behind her back. Her head was bowed. “I don’t have an excuse. I’m sorry. Whatever punishment you deem fit, I will deserve.”
A punishment? Jocelyn was too used to Mae’s tantrums. Unless a nasty scowl counted, a punishment hadn’t even crossed my mind.
“I’m not going to punish you.” I returned to my chair, sweeping a hand toward the other in the sitting room. “Sit down.”
The order came out with a bite. A Margot-style bite.
Yes, I was angry. I would be for a while. She’d lied to me. They’d all lied. Every time I thought about how I’d been duped, I squirmed. But I refused to let this give me my stepmother’s jagged edges.
She walked over, sitting stiff as a board, eyes still downcast.
“I’m mad,” I told her. “I’m hurt. I’m embarrassed.”
“I’m sor—”
“Sorry.” I held up a hand. “Let’s move past the apologies. Starting with the truth. How long has this been going on?”
“A while.” She kept her gaze on the floor, her hands clasped in her lap. “I met Vander in Treow. We started first, whenever he was in the encampment. He asked if Zavier could, um…join us.”
Did Zavier speak to her? Had he revealed that part of himself to her?
“I’m sorry.” Jocelyn shook her head, eyes flooding with tears. “He is your husband.”
Well, at the very least, it was nice to know I wasn’t the only person who’d been tricked by this sham. “Do you have feelings for him? Them?”
“It’s not like that.” She sniffled. “It’s only sex. It’s an escape. A way to feel something other than sad.”
My heart pinched.
I hadn’t realized she was sad. Brielle was the one who seemed most homesick and lonely. Brielle was the one who seemed to be slipping further and further from the person she’d been in Quentis.
Jocelyn had been so stoic, steady, since we’d arrived, but maybe that was just a mask. A brave face.
We’d been here for months, and for the majority of that time, Jocelyn and I had been apart. While I’d been exploring, consumed with Turah and Lyssa and Ransom, she’d been alone, missing her life.
“What do you want, Jocelyn?”
“To serve you, Highness. To earn your forgiveness.”
I scoffed. “That’s the most practiced line I’ve heard in weeks. Try again.”
She chewed on her lower lip. “I want to go home.”
Home. I envied that she knew exactly where home was. “All right. I’ll see what I can do.”
Her face lifted, her eyes swimming. “Really?”
“No promises. If there was an excuse to send you away, this is it.” Everyone could think I was devastated by her affair with Zavier and Vander. They could see this as her punishment. “But I’ll need you to do something for me. I need you to deliver a message to my father.”
“Of course. I’ll take whatever you need.”
There would be nothing for her to take. This was a message she’d have to deliver in person. “My father asked me for information on Turah. Has Brielle told you anything about that?”
“No.” She shook her head. “What information?”
“He was hoping I could discover the way into Allesaria.”
She glanced to the door, checking that we were alone. “And have you?”
“No. And it’s unlikely that I will. It’s forbidden for people to include it on any maps. And Zavier has no intention of taking me there. Certainly not before the migration.” I swallowed hard. “You must tell my father that I’ve failed. The Turans suspect he’s trying to find their city. And the last person they’ll ever trust with that information is me. Please tell him I’m sorry.”
I wasn’t sorry. Not even a bit. But even I thought this message sounded believable.
Jocelyn would report to Father that I’d failed. She’d likely tell him about her liaison with Zavier. Shades, maybe he’d put her up to it from the beginning. He’d be angry. He’d be irked that I’d sent her home with nothing useful. But would he be surprised? Not in the least.
I was always going to fail him.
But this failure was my choice.
Jocelyn didn’t need to know about Lyssa. She didn’t need to know that Zavier’s identity was a ploy. She didn’t need to know that the road to Allesaria was likely etched into a leather cuff around Ransom’s arm.
The message she delivered would be of my choosing.
“I believe the Turans are more cunning a foe than we’ve ever considered,” I said. “Tell my father to be cautious. They’re amassing a militia. Probably to defend against the migration, but he must consider this in whatever he is planning. I don’t know where King Ramsey is training these soldiers, but the barracks in Ellder are full. And it seems that both Zavier and the Guardian consider this their home.”
Lies and truths, woven together, in the hopes Jocelyn wouldn’t just believe my story, but that she’d sell it to Father, too.
“All right.” She nodded. “Should I tell him about Treow? About the day the king came and his soldiers burned those books?”
“You can tell him anything he desires. I have no secrets from my father.” The lie slipped off my tongue without a hitch. I almost patted myself on the back.
“Highness, do you think I should stay? In case you learn more? So that I can tell your father something. Anything is better than nothing.”
Was she really worried for me? Or was she scared to be the messenger?
“By the time you return to Roslo, we’ll be close to the autumnal equinox. Winter won’t be long to follow. I’d rather send this message than none at all. Besides”—I gave her a pointed stare—“you’re my husband’s lover. I cannot allow you to stay.”
She gulped.
“Go home, Jocelyn. Hug your mother.”
Her eyes drifted to the floor again as she stood. “I’m sorry. I have let you down.”
I’d hoped that maybe Jocelyn and Brielle would become my friends. But then she’d fucked Zavier.
We weren’t friends.
