Shield of Sparrows

“Hiding from me, Cross?”

I looked up from the book I’d been reading. Ransom stood in the balcony’s open doorway, wearing only a pair of low-slung pants.

His hair was mussed thanks to my hands last night. His expression was softer, sleep lingering on his features. He was more stunning than any sunrise.

And he was mine.

“You were hogging the bed.” I closed my book, setting it beside Faze on my lap. “Has anyone ever told you that you sleep like a starfish?”

He chuckled, walking to the back of my chair and taking my face in his hands as he brushed a kiss to my forehead. “Thought you might have had second thoughts.”

“No.” I reached for his cheek.

Relief washed over his expression as he kissed me again, then plopped into the chair beside mine. His abs bunched, his arms flexing as he moved.

Gods, he was perfect. Desire pooled between my thighs. Even after a night exploring that body, I only craved more. It might take me an entire lifetime to satiate my need for Ransom. It sounded like a good way to spend a life.

“At least I know where my shirt went.” He arched his eyebrow at my tunic. His tunic. I’d dragged it on this morning, wearing nothing beneath when I’d slipped out of the bedroom to let him rest.

Faze lifted his head off my bare thigh, giving Ransom an appraising look. He didn’t quite trust my husband. Or maybe he was just pissed that Ransom had commandeered his pillow.

“What are you reading?” He pointed to my book.

Cathlin must have brought it early this morning. There was a note under the door and a fresh stack of books waiting outside. They were a welcome sight, since I’d already read the others she’d given me—twice.

I flipped the cover closed for him to see. “It’s a book about Calandran folklore. I was hoping to find something about the Chain of Sevens.”

He smirked. “Searching for a loophole, wife?”

“Always,” I teased. “I’m just curious. But there’s nothing written about it. At least in what I’ve read. This book is about tales from migrations past.”

Ransom hummed, sinking deeper into his chair. “Tell me one.”

I opened the book, flipping to the story I’d found earlier to read aloud. “‘There was once a man from Laine who wandered the desert for ninety days beneath a sky darkened with crux wings. Without shelter, without weapons or magic, he should have been easy prey for the monsters. But Mack, the God of War, took pity on the man. For he had once been a great champion and gladiator, winning every battle in the Laine arenas, pitted against man and beast alike. His name was Sonnet. And he survived by speaking to the crux. By whispering the words Mack planted in his mind. They flew over his head, leaving him untouched and unharmed, as he whispered stories graced by a god. A new tale for each day he wandered. Those stories have lived on for hundreds and hundreds of years, surviving long after Sonnet died an old man in his bed.’”

“Sonnets Ninety.”

“You’ve heard this story before.”

“I’ve read them. His stories. They were mostly of magic and monsters. Of battles fought and lost. They’re bound in a book in the library at Allesaria.” Ransom frowned. “At least, they were. I don’t know if that book survived my father’s fire.”

“I hope it did. I’d like to read it.” If he ever took me to Allesaria.

Would he someday? Or would he always have a reason to keep me away? Would he ever trust me enough to take me to the capital?

He rested his head against the back of the chair as he held my gaze. “Go ahead. Ask whatever questions you’re thinking.”

It was both endearing and perplexing that he seemed to know me so well already. Because I desperately wanted to know him, inside and out.

“You can’t tell me about Allesaria, can you?”

He shook his head.

“Are you bound by a blood oath?”

He didn’t answer. And like his other silent moments, it was answer enough.

“I think that’s where it started. The source of Lyssa came from Allesaria. Someone there created it.”

“I realize the mystery around Allesaria makes it suspicious. But if it had originated there, the Voster would have felt it.”

“But what if they didn’t?” What if the High Priest’s magic hadn’t attuned itself to Lyssa yet?

He sat up straight, leaning his elbows on his knees. “They are not the enemy.”

His faith in them was as frustrating as his lack of trust in me. “Can you understand, after yesterday, why I don’t feel the same?”

Ransom hung his head but nodded.

“Maybe Lyssa didn’t start in Allesaria. But maybe that’s where it can end. Maybe your healers and alchemists and even the Voster can find a cure.”

He looked up, eyes sad. “There is no cure.”

“Yet. There was no Lyssa until these recent years. Why can’t there be a cure? Why are you giving up?”

“The priests have spent years trying to find the cure. If they tell me it cannot be cured, then it cannot be cured.” He stood from his chair, dropping to a knee in front of me. “I don’t want that hope, Odessa. I’d rather live expecting the end than wait for a cure that will never come.”

I fitted my hand to the stubbled line of his jaw. “Then I’ll keep that hope for myself.”

“I don’t want that for you, either.” He leaned into my touch. “We’ll keep hunting. Despite the attack, it’s working.”

Was it? He was so sure he’d be able to eradicate Lyssa from this realm. But what if the hunts weren’t enough?

Maybe Ransom was only saying that to give me hope. Maybe it was him holding on to that hope himself. Today, I wasn’t going to steal it from either of us.

“Come on.” Ransom stood, holding out a hand.

I shifted Faze off my lap to the floor, then stood, letting him wrap me in his arms and breathe in my hair as I buried my nose in his bare chest. Holding his scent in my lungs until I’d never forget his smell.

“We have training to do,” he said, voice low.

I groaned. “Fine. Let me get dressed. I doubt anyone in the training area will appreciate a princess not wearing pants.”

“Who said anything about the training area?” He leaned away, hooking his finger beneath my chin. Then his lips were against mine, a deviant smile stretching across his mouth. “The training I have in mind does not require pants.”

My breath hitched as he nipped at my lower lip. As he lifted the hem of his tunic, his fingers trailing along the curve of my ass, my nipples pebbled against the fabric.

Ransom swept me into his arms, cradling me against his chest as he stalked through the suite for my bedroom, but before we could lock ourselves inside, a knock came at the door.

“Don’t answer it,” I whispered.

He growled, and for a moment, I thought he’d ignore our visitor. But then the knock came again, more insistent than the last and loud enough I knew it wasn’t Evie.

Ransom set me on my feet and walked to the door, opening it to Zavier. Ransom shifted aside, waving our guest in.

“I’m sorry to interrupt.” Zavier gave Ransom a slight bow, then did the same to me. “Odessa.”

“Good morning.”

“A pony rider just arrived. He said he spotted a pack of bariwolves on the way here. He rode hard to avoid them, but it was less than an hour ago. I don’t know if it’s the same pack.”

“Fuck.” Ransom dragged a hand through his hair.

Were they on their way back here? Had I drawn the monsters closer? “Ransom, we could test—”

“Please do not ask that of me.”

I sighed. “Fine.”

This wasn’t something I’d forget, but after last night, I wouldn’t push for him to test it out.

“Give me a minute,” Ransom told Zavier, then followed me into my room.

As the door clicked shut, I slipped off his tunic, laid it on the unmade bed, and picked up my own clothes from the floor, dressing quickly as he did the same.

“Be careful,” I said.

“I will.” He kissed my forehead before we returned to the sitting room.

“Wait here,” he told Zavier. “I need my sword.”

Zavier nodded, stepping out on the walkway as Ransom vaulted over the railing.

I went outside, my feet bare, and stood beside Zavier. “I hate when you all go on these hunts. Are they working?”

He scoffed. “No.”

Not what I wanted to hear before they headed into the wilderness.noveldrama

“No matter how many monsters with Lyssa we kill, there are always more. I want to believe it’s working. But…” He was leaving again on another hunt, leaving his daughter behind. Zavier dipped his chin, moving away, but before he could reach the staircase, he paused. “He’s a good man. It did not sit well with him to lie to you for so long. But you should know, it wasn’t done to hurt you.”

I gave him a sad smile. “I know.”

He jogged down the stairs, joining Ransom as he came out of the house, fastening the clasps on his vest, his sword strapped across his back. He glanced up to find me, pressed a hand over his heart, and then they were gone.

Off on another hunt.

They had to be working. At least slowing the infection. I couldn’t fathom the other option. That everything they’d done had been for nothing. That Lyssa would continue to spread, out of control, until it blanketed the continent. It would only make the migration worse. And if the crux got infected…

Gods. What horrors would we face?

No, the hunts had to be working. Ransom, for all his talk about not holding on to hope, wouldn’t have exaggerated about that.

The Turan warriors would kill until the infection was gone. And we’d find the source, the person who was responsible for this blight on Calandra, and scorch their life from existence.

A restlessness crept into my limbs, and while I hadn’t slept for long last night thanks to Ransom’s delicious torments, I couldn’t stay inside. So I hurried to pull on my boots and pack my satchel, adding my new dagger to the pouch.

Then I went outside in search of breakfast.

Brielle usually brought it upstairs before she tackled her duties around the house, but this morning, I needed to move.

“Good day,” I greeted the baker and his wife as I went into their shop, the scents of flour and salt filling my nose. With a fresh scone, I set out for a walk, breathing in the clean air.

Despite everything happening, the worries and fears and uncertainty, there was a lightness in my steps. A shy smile on my lips. My muscles felt languid today, my movements flowing like I was floating underwater.

Ransom as a lover was a dream. Never in my life had I felt the way he’d made me feel last night. I hadn’t known sex could be so centered around my pleasure instead of a man’s. But gods, Ransom had been generous. Orgasm after orgasm, all night long, until finally I’d collapsed on his chest and slept like the dead.

I wanted a thousand nights to sleep with the beat of his heart in my ear.

He might not want me to hope, but I was going to do it anyway. If we could find a cure, then this charade would end. Ransom could assume his role as prince.

How was I supposed to pretend to be Zavier’s wife? How was I supposed to look at Ransom in public but not touch?

Everything hinged on a cure. Then there’d be no more hiding. No more pretending. No more talk of his death.

I refused to lose him to Lyssa.

If the Voster couldn’t find a cure, then we’d have to enlist others. Healers. Chemists. Scholars. He’d hate the idea of asking other kingdoms for help, but to save his life, I would do anything.

A door flung open at my side, bouncing off its hinges and startling me from my thoughts. I whirled at the noise.

A man dressed in an infirmary gown stumbled onto the street, his arm wrapped from wrist to shoulder in gauze. He looked moments from collapse, his steps swaying as he staggered my way.

He was one of the men who’d been unloaded from that wagon yesterday. One of the men Tillia had said they’d found outside Treow.

“Sir, are you all right?” I reached out to catch him before he could fall, gripping his good arm. The moment I touched his skin, I gasped, pulling away. It was so hot it nearly burned. “Shades. You need to get inside. You need a healer. Let me help—”

His hand flew to my throat, and before I could comprehend what was happening, he squeezed.

My eyes bulged, my breakfast dropping to the dirt. My mouth opened, gulping for air as I pulled and twisted and fought to get loose.

His choke hold only tightened.

“Stop,” I wheezed, slamming my fists into his forearm, trying to break free from his grip.

“I’m burning.” He stared at me, unblinking. The green starbursts in his eyes were dull and pale. “It’s melting me inside. I swore to serve my king and burn burn burn.”

Help, I mouthed, but gods, he was strong. More than was natural. Even with only one arm, I couldn’t break free.

With every passing moment, my strength faded, my head dizzying.

The street was empty this early. People were still in their homes. There’d be others in the courtyard, but I had no way to scream. No way to call for help.

I struck at the man’s forearm again, but the hit was too sluggish, too soft. The edges of my vision began to blacken, like smoke was creeping into my consciousness.

A shout rang out in the distance. “Stop!”

“Kill her. Kill her. Kill her.” The man shook me with every word, like I was nothing more than a doll.

Ama, save me.

I wasn’t ready to die. Not today. Not after last night with Ransom.

With fumbling fingers, I reached inside my satchel, feeling around the bottom. The dark spots in my vision were doubling, tripling. Tears streamed down my face.

“Make it stop. Make the burning stop.” He lifted his injured arm, his hand joining the other in a death grip.

The pressure around my neck was excruciating, my lungs on fire as I fought to suck in a sliver of air.

“Hey!” Another shout.

Would they make it in time to save me? Or would they be the person to tell Ransom I was dead?

The strength flowed from my body like water spilling from a cup.

My knees buckled. As I sank toward the ground, the man’s hold faltered, but it wasn’t enough to draw an inhale.

My fist closed around the hilt of my dagger. I slid it out, using my last shard of strength to take it from the sheath and slice it across his throat.

Blood sprayed, coating my hand. My chest. My face.

And then I dropped, crashing to my knees as I gasped for breath. My throat was on fire, and the inhale only made me cough and hack as I fell forward to my hands.

“Princess!” A soldier skidded to my side while the man fell to the dirt.

Blood poured from his throat, forming a puddle on the street. He didn’t press his hands to the wound. He didn’t try to stanch the flow. He smiled, and a white foam formed at the corner of his mouth. The angle of his lips was the same as the slice I’d drawn with that dagger along his neck.

And as the life drained from his body, the color vanished from his eyes, leaving nothing but milky white. For a moment, it seemed as if his body was steaming.

I coughed, still gasping for air as I curled into a ball, fighting to breathe.

“Healer!” The soldier held my arm. “Oh, gods. Breathe. Try to breathe.”

More people appeared at my side, but they all faded to nothing as I stared at the lifeless man on the ground.

I’d killed that man. I’d taken his life.

And his dark-green blood soaked the earth.