Shield of Sparrows

Ravalli was as different from Ashmore and Treow and Ellder as they were from each other. So far, each Turan town I’d visited was unique.

It wasn’t this way in Quentis. Roslo was the largest city, and the only feature that made it stand apart from the other cities along the coastline was the castle. The villages and towns inland were all similar, dotted with the same style of buildings. White or gray plaster walls with gray thatched roofs. Most homes incorporated a splash of teal to represent the royal color.

The buildings in Ravalli were all constructed from rough-hewn logs, reminding me more of Ellder’s fortress walls than a family’s home. They were wooden, top to bottom, with small windows. And all of them were sunken into the ground so that to enter through a door, you had to descend four or five steps first. The roofs were nearly at eye level, and each was spiked with metal spears, like the roofs in Ellder. Spikes to deter the crux. Sunken homes in place of underground shelters.

Nothing had been built to align with the dirt roads. Instead, each road flowed around whoever put their house in its path. The village was a series of brown log boxes that sat at odd angles. Shops were scattered from one end of town to the other, mingled in between homes.

By the time we weaved through the village and found the inn, I was utterly lost. If not for the mountains and hills beyond the town, I’d have no reference as to which direction we’d come from.

Ransom dismounted Aurinda and took Freya’s reins as I swung off my saddle to the ground.

“We’ll leave the horses here.” He tied both to a hitching post. “I’ll have a stable boy come and get them.”

“All right.” I followed him through the inn’s front door, watching as he ducked through its frame.

After spending last night sleeping on a thin blanket with a rock digging into my back, I was hoping to crash in an actual bed tonight.

The inside of the inn was dark. The bottom floor was a tavern lit by a chandelier of elk antlers and the small fire burning in the hearth. Summer was fading, and the cool mornings proclaimed that autumn was on its way. But the afternoons were still hot, and that fire made the space sticky.

Ransom cut a path through the tables toward the long bar at the far side of the room.

A man with a red scarf tied around his neck nodded as Ransom stopped beside a row of wooden stools.

Not a single person was here besides the barkeep, but the smell of people lingered, sweat and smoke and stale beer. There wasn’t a single window. Not one. And the door was as thick as the walls.

Even the largest of grizzurs wouldn’t be able to claw its way into this tavern.

Ransom set a stack of coins on the bar, then shook the barkeep’s hand. When he returned to my side, he had two brass room keys.noveldrama

“Not sleeping on my floor tonight?” I asked as he gave me one.

“Don’t make me regret giving you your own space.”

“Please.” I huffed. “I would never cause trouble.”

“That you actually believe yourself is the most terrifying part of that statement.”

I threw up a hand. “Hey, trouble finds me. I don’t go looking for it.”

He nodded to Faze. “Says the woman with a tarkin strapped to her chest.”

“Fair point,” I muttered. “Now what?”

“Would you like to sit down? Get something to eat or drink?”

In this hot, stuffy room? “No.”

“Then let’s go.” Ransom led the way out the door, taking us back outside.

I filled my lungs with the sweet afternoon air laced with the scents of grass and water from the river nearby. “What will we do first?”

“I’d like to find whoever killed the lionwick. The local blacksmith should know. We’ll start there.”

“Lead the way.”

We fell into step, side by side, winding through the roads and alleys until the sound of hammers pounding on metal brought us to the forge. Like I did at the tavern, I hung back while Ransom greeted the smith.

The older man had tufts of white hair above his ears, but otherwise, his head was bald. His gaze floated in my direction once and only once before he turned and addressed Ransom alone.

“Good day, Guardian.”

Damn. This was what I’d been afraid of. Maybe I shouldn’t have come.

These people weren’t going to lay out their truths with a golden-eyed stranger in their midst. Despite what Ransom believed, they didn’t trust me. Hell, he didn’t trust me.

“And to you, smith.”

“Who is your companion?” the smith asked, his voice low but not low enough.

“Princess Odessa Wolfe.”

“Wolfe?” The smith choked on his own spit, coughing to clear his throat.

“Wolfe. She is the Sparrow.”

The smith turned, eyes wide, and dropped into a bow.

Ransom smirked.

So that was his plan. He hadn’t been worried about these people distrusting a stranger. This was the first stop on my introductory tour of Turah. And he was going to use my novelty as the Sparrow to lure information out of these people. Not that I was really necessary.

The Guardian was a novelty all on his own. But this might draw a bit more fanfare. Bring people in from the outskirts.

Smart. Damm it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I told the smith. “You have a lovely forge.”

I didn’t know much about forges, but I’d been reading up on Turan customs and specialties, metal forging being toward the top of the list. I was probably going to sound like an ass, but I pointed to the tools he’d organized on shelves and hung on hooks.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever seen such an impressive collection of chisels and dies and cone mandrels before.”

The man stood tall, smiling, his cheeks flushing red. “Thank you, Highness. It’s taken me a lifetime to acquire it all.”

“A lifetime well spent.” I smiled.

“We were traveling by and heard a rumor that you’ve had an unfortunate encounter with a lionwick.” Ransom walked to a row of hooks hung from a beam. He took one out, weighing the metal in his hand. “Was anyone killed?”

“No. Thankfully. But it took six men to bring it down. Something wasn’t right with that monster.”

Like the fact that it had green blood. People might not know it was called Lyssa, but green blood was hard to ignore. How many Turans had started to suspect that something was wrong?

“The paperman, he’s new in town, got a nasty slice on his arm,” the smith said.

“Paperman?” I asked, instantly perking up. Papermen meant information, hopefully more than was shared in the paper in Ellder.

“He’s from your kingdom, Highness,” the smith said. “Left Quentis after his wife was taken to the shades. He’s been in Ravalli six months. Nice fellow. Keeps to himself. Though I’m afraid there’s not much happening around these parts that isn’t shared first at the tavern. By the time he prints his paper, it’s usually old news.”

A Quentin paperman. Did I know him? Had I read his work before?

The smith shuffled closer, checking behind me to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “If he was smart, he’d stop printing facts and start telling stories. We don’t have many storytellers in town. He’d make far more coin spinning tales. I even suggested it to him once. But he’s stuck on these suspicions about the king’s militia.”

Ransom shot me a look that said don’t you dare.

I ignored it and inched closer to the smith. “Forgive me. I’m new to your kingdom. The king’s militia?”

“Yes, Highness. King Ramsey is recruiting for his militia. There hasn’t been one in an age. I think it’s in preparation for the migration.”

“Ah. What exactly is suspicious about that?”

The smith shrugged. “Not sure. They haven’t made the paper yet.”

“I see.” Our next stop would be the paperman’s office.

“I think he’s leading some of the more gullible folks on,” the smith said. “Speculating about something amiss. Making sure those of us who subscribed to the paper when he moved to town don’t drop him. A salesman if I ever saw one.”

“I’d have to agree. I’m certainly intrigued.” I gave him a kind smile. “Thank you for your time. It was lovely visiting with you.”

“And you, Highness.” He bowed again.

Was this how it would be from now on? Bows and formal titles? How long until news of the Sparrow spread across Turah? The secrecy had to end at some point. But I still wasn’t ready.

“Shall we, my queen?” Ransom extended a hand toward the road.

I waved goodbye to the smith.

He dipped his chin, and for the first time he seemed to notice that I was carrying something across my chest. But before he could peek inside the wrap, I turned, keeping Faze hidden from sight.

Then I waited until we were out of earshot before I asked Ransom, “Is the militia for the migration? Or something else?”

Like an invasion.

Or to defend against one.

“I have bigger problems than Ramsey.” Ransom flicked his wrist. Topic over.

I’d never seen a king dismissed so quickly.

“You told the smith who I was. That’s your plan, isn’t it? That’s why you brought me along? I’m here to get attention.”

Ransom looked down, green gaze finding mine as another smirk toyed on his mouth. “Worked like a charm.”

I rolled my eyes. “You could have told me.”

“It was more fun this way.”

“For you,” I muttered. “We should talk to the paperman.”

Ransom stopped walking.

“What? Don’t you think he’d be an important person to question?”

He raised his eyebrows. And waited for me to realize we were standing in front of a building with a small placard on the front door.

Ravalli Paper.

“Oh.”

“After you.” He took the steps down to the door, then opened it and waved me inside.

It was brighter than the inn, thanks to the small windows cut into the logs, but not by much. If we kept going in and out of buildings today, I was going to get a headache as my eyes adjusted to different lights.

A long, sturdy table acted as a partition in the entryway. Beyond it were other tables, all crowded with papers and ink. And against the far wall, a press spanned the entirety of the space.

Ransom rapped his knuckles on the wooden table, and a moment later, the paperman appeared from the hallway.

He wore a smile and thin, wire-framed glasses. His amber starbursts over brown eyes and his mop of blond hair reminded me of home. His left arm was in a sling, and a bandage poked out from the sleeve of his tunic. “Hello. How can I help you?”

Before Ransom could answer, a boy flew in from the hallway. He had his father’s features but with lanky limbs and the kind of uncontrolled movements that happened when children grew too fast.

The boy panted, out of breath, as he clutched his father’s uninjured arm. “Papa. The Guardian. He’s in Ravalli! Do you think we can meet him?”

One corner of Ransom’s mouth twitched, and he cleared his throat. “There’s a good chance.”

The boy did a double take. Then he swayed to the side, barely keeping his balance.

“Jonas.” The paperman steadied his son and shook his head. “Take a breath.”

The boy stared, jaw on the floor, at Ransom.

I pulled in my lips to hide a smile.

“We’re honored by your visit,” the paperman said. “Welcome. How can I help?”

“I’d like to ask you about that.” Ransom pointed to the bandage.

The man sighed. “I’m a better writer than I am a warrior. I probably should have just stayed out of the way. But that monster was vicious, and I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if someone had died.”

“What happened?” Ransom asked.

“Papa saw it first,” Jonas blurted, then pointed to the window beside the front door. “He was in here working and saw it walk down the street. He took his crossbow and went after it. Shot it clean in the gut, and it didn’t stop. Took six men shooting at it to bring it down. The monster looked like a pincushion by the time it was dead.”

Ransom looked to the paperman, waiting for confirmation of the boy’s story.

“It’s as Jonas says.” He nodded. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“How’d you get hurt?” I asked.

“It came for me after that initial shot. I yelled for help. By that point, others had come out armed. I was reloading my crossbow but wasn’t fast enough. I fired a second bolt, sent it right into the monster’s neck, enough to slow it down, but its tail whipped out. Caught me in the arm and cut it to the bone.”

I winced.

“The healers were able to sew me up. I’ll be right as rain in no time.” He put his free arm around the boy’s shoulders.

The color had drained from his son’s face, like he was reliving the incident and seeing his father hurt.

“Was there anything else you noticed about the monster?” Ransom asked.

The man glanced at his son like he didn’t want to keep talking about the attack, but for the Guardian, he did it anyway. “Its eyes were cloudy. And its blood wasn’t red, but green. It’s got a lot of people scared and talking. And the stink of that monster.” He shuddered. “I’ll never forget that horrid smell. It was like being in the middle of an Ozarth cave ginger bog.”

“Cave ginger? The candy?” It smelled sweet and spicy. One of my personal favorites.

“Only after it’s been harvested and crystalized. They grow it in alligask bogs that give off the most vile, rancid smell. If you love the candy, never see where it’s farmed. You’ll never eat it again.”

“Noted.”

The alligask lived in swamps and bogs. Their bodies were covered in lime-green scutes, and their tails were twice the length of their bodies. They could walk on land, though their legs were so short their bellies scraped along the dirt. The monsters could unhinge their massive jaws to swallow prey whole.

“You’re well traveled, if you’ve been to the bogs in Ozarth,” Ransom said.

The paperman shrugged, his eyes growing distant as he kept his arm around his son’s bony shoulders. “My wife was the traveler. We were simply her willing companions.”

“Mother died two winters past,” the boy said, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “She was killed by a cutpurse.”

My hand came to my heart. “I’m so sorry.”

“We came to Turah to start over.” The man and son shared a smile. “Just the two of us.”

“Why Ravalli?” I asked. There had to be larger towns where they could sell more papers.

“It’s about as far from Quentis as we could get.”

Ouch.

Ransom held out his arm. “I didn’t ask your name.”

“Samuel Hay.”

My mouth fell open. “Samuel Hay? As in the author of A Year in Quentis?”

“Um, yes.” He let out a small laugh. “Not many people around here know I wrote that book.”

The book of lies? Heat flared in my veins as my blood began to boil. Red coated my vision.

This was the asshole who’d accused my father of murdering my mother?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Ransom said. “This is Odessa Wol—”

“Cross,” I said. “Odessa Cross.”

Samuel’s smile fell flat. His eyes bulged.

“From Quentis,” I added, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Princess.” Samuel dropped into a bow, hauling his son along. “I, uh…”

The moment was awkward and tense. He looked like he wanted to crawl beneath this table and hide.

Good.

The tension must have stirred Faze, because he chose that moment to awaken from his nap with a whining growl.

The boy, Jonas, shot upright and pointed to my carrier. “What’s that?”

“Oh, um.” Shit. This kid had just watched his father get sliced by a lionwick. He probably didn’t need to see a baby tarkin. “We should probably go.”

Except Faze squirmed enough that the covering slipped, revealing his face and violet eyes.

“Is that a tarkin?” The boy’s face lit up, and he planted both hands on the table, leaping over the surface. “Is it yours? How long have you had it? What does it eat? What’s its name?”

“Jonas,” Samuel hissed.

The boy’s hands flew into his blond hair, pulling at the strands as his body vibrated with excitement. “Where did you get it? How old is it? Can I see it?”

This kid was so much like Evie that all I could do was laugh. “His name is Faze.”

With a hand under his belly, I fished him out of his carrier and set him on the floor.

Jonas dropped to his knees, smiling at the monster as he held out a hand. His face was alight with wonder as he watched Faze stretch and flick his tail in the air. “Wow.”

“You can pick him up.”

Jonas didn’t hesitate as he hauled Faze into his lap, stroking along the row of scales down the tarkin’s spine. “You’re a princess. And a legend tamer.”

A flush spread across my cheeks. When I glanced to Ransom, his emerald eyes and a smirk were waiting.

“Legend tamer.”

The last thing I needed was another nickname. But maybe, someday, if I ever saw Mae again, I’d tell her that once upon a time, a boy called me a legend tamer.

She probably wouldn’t believe me.

“Thank you for your time,” Ransom told Samuel. “We’ll be on our way.”

“You’re leaving?” Jonas clutched Faze to his chest. “Already?”

“Why don’t I stay a while longer?” I offered. “So Jonas can play with Faze?”

In truth, I wanted to find out about this militia and Samuel’s suspicions. And I wouldn’t mind setting the record straight about Quentis.

Especially that libel he’d printed about Father killing my mother.

Ransom’s eyes narrowed. No doubt he knew I had my reasons. “Don’t wander off. I’ll be back.”

I nodded, waiting for him to leave. Then I plastered on a sugary smile and faced the author.

“So…let’s talk about your book.”

Samuel had the decency to cringe.