Shield of sparrows, p.1
Shield of Sparrows, page 1
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Dedication
Content Warning
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Forty-Four
Forty-Five
Forty-Six
Forty-Seven
Forty-Eight
Forty-Nine
Fifty
Fifty-One
Fifty-Two
Fifty-Three
Fifty-Four
Fifty-Five
Fifty-Six
Fifty-Seven
Fifty-Eight
Fifty-Nine
Sixty
Sixty-One
Sixty-Two
Sixty-Three
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Devney Perry
The Never List
The Games Gods Play
Landmarks
Cover
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2025 by Devney Perry LLC. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing believes stories have the power to inspire, connect, and create lasting change. That’s why we protect the rights of our authors and the integrity of their work. Copyright exists not to limit creativity, but to make it possible—to ensure writers can keep telling bold, original stories in their own voices. Thank you for choosing a legitimate copy of this book. By not copying, scanning, or distributing it without permission, you help authors continue to write and reach readers. This book may not be used to train artificial intelligence systems, including large language models or other machine learning tools, whether existing or still to come. These stories were written for human connection, not machine consumption.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
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Shrewsbury, PA 17361
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Red Tower is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by by Liz Pelletier
Cover design by LJ Anderson
Edge design by Bree Archer
Case design by Elizabeth Turner Stokes
Case image by yukitama/Shutterstock
Endpaper original illustration by Juho Choi
Interior map original art by Elizabeth Turner Stokes
Interior map frame images by MassyCG/Shutterstock,
DestinaDesign/Shutterstock
Interior design by Britt Marczak
Hardcover 978-1-64937-851-4; Ebook ISBN 978-1-64937-808-8
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition May 2025
To the characters who came before.
To the stories that led us here.
To the chances we take. To the dreams we chase.
Trust your wings.
Shield of Sparrows is a heart-stopping romantasy set in a world of deadly monsters and even deadlier mysteries. As such, the story includes elements that might not be suitable for all readers, including combat, violence, blood, gore, death of humans and animals, injury, dismemberment, illness, hospitalization, arson, alcohol use, sexual activity, and graphic language, with mentions of poisoning and trafficking in backstory. Readers who may be sensitive to these elements, please take note. We invite you to grab a blade and prepare for a new world…
One
What if I jumped?
Balanced on the edge of a sheer cliff, I stood at the mercy of this realm, wiggling my bare toes in the dirt beneath my feet. A strong gust of wind could tip me forward or backward. The slightest tremor in the earth, and I’d either fall.
Or fly.
What if I jumped? Would anyone care?
No. Not for me. Not for the wrong princess of Quentis.
Forty feet below, waves crashed against rock, the water’s spray white as it broke against gray stone. I wanted to jump. I wanted to dive into that ocean blue. I wanted to be unshackled from everyone’s expectations for just one godsforsaken moment.
Except if I jumped, I’d be late. And if I was late, I’d be in deep shit.
Margot would kick my ass if I missed this meeting with the Turan warriors Father had invited to Quentis, so there’d be no jumping. Especially not today.
I inched away from the edge. The temptation.
It wasn’t like they needed me for this fiasco. Mae would charm our guests.
She was the right Quentin princess.
My half sister had been groomed her entire life for this occasion. This performance. Sooner or later, she’d be the Turan queen, and today was her chance to meet some future subjects before her marriage to their crown prince later this year.
My attendance? Entirely unnecessary.
But I worked hard not to piss off my stepmother, Margot—and my father. I might not be his favorite daughter or the cherished princess, but there was a crown in my bedroom. And today was all about showing the Turans exactly how sparkly our crowns could be.
My shoulders sank as I took another step away from the cliff, then another, the soles of my feet sinking into the grass as I walked over to the charcoal slippers I’d kicked off earlier. But before I could step into a shoe, the thunder of hooves drew my attention toward the road.
The noise grew louder—no doubt a rider coming this way, likely to fetch me.
“Damn.” Was I late?
Margot had prattled on and on at breakfast this morning, and I’d only half listened as she’d recited today’s schedule of events before the introduction to the Turans.
The rangers had arrived late yesterday, after nightfall. The elite band of warriors had missed the window for dinner or meetings. On purpose? Probably.
I couldn’t blame them. Nor could I judge them for sticking to their wing of the castle since, either resting from their journey over the Krisenth Crossing or avoiding the pomp of royal civilities. But whether I liked it or not, there would be a spectacle. A time for Mae to shine.
While the Turans were doing whatever it was that Turan warriors did when visiting foreign kingdoms, my sister was being primped.
Mae would be bathed and pampered. Mae would be massaged with scented oils and treated with the finest skin tonics on the continent. Mae would be wearing a gown her seamstress had spent a month crafting for tonight’s feast.
Mae. This was all about Mae.
I doubted the men visiting would care about the embroidery or lace, but what did I know? Mae was their future queen, not me. My only obligation was to appear.
On time.
In Margot’s litany of instructions over this morning’s meal, it was the only time she’d mentioned my name.
Do not be late, Odessa.
I wasn’t always late. Usually, but not always. Half the time, no one even noticed.
Hopping into a gray slipper, I flicked away the skirts of my matching dress and shifted to pull on the other shoe. Both were firmly covering my toes by the time a familiar rider crested the hill to the cliffside.
Banner sat proudly in the saddle, his short, light-brown hair combed, not a strand out of place. His expression was blank.
Was that a good blank? Or did it mean that I was in trouble because my fiancé had abandoned his responsibilities as general to collect me?
Banner tugged at the reins, slowing his buckskin stallion to a stop. With a fluid swing, he was off the saddle and leading his horse my way with purposeful, intimidating strides.
“Princess.” His tone was serious, his brown eyes never leaving mine, but a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“I was just leaving.” I held up a hand. “I swear.”
“Before or after you heard me riding this way?” He arched an eyebrow. “You’re going to be late.”
Going to be late. Meaning I wasn’t late. Yet. Phew.
“I promise to be on time,” I said. “You didn’t need to come fetch me.”
“Actually, I came out for a ride.”
“Ah.” Maybe that meant no one knew I was even outside the castle’s walls. I could slip back inside unnoticed and hurry to c
Banner was already dressed for the meeting, wearing his formal uniform. The gold buttons on his teal coat were as shiny as the castle’s spires in the distance. His favorite throwing knives were attached to his leather belt. Father would be wearing much the same uniform, though he preferred a sword. Mae’s dress for tonight had been designed with layers of aquamarine and celeste. Margot would likely be in her signature blue.
My dress, like all of my dresses, would be gray.
Someday, when I didn’t have Margot dictating my wardrobe or Father’s scrutiny at every meal, I wanted to wear red. Or green. Or black. Or yellow.
Any color but gray.
“You know, you can spy on the city from your own window rather than hike all the way over here,” he said.
“But this gives me a better view.”
The sunlight caught the amber starbursts in Banner’s eyes, the vivid color bright against the brown of his irises. That amber starburst marked all those born on Quentin soil.
His gaze drifted behind us to the castle, then shifted to the city that stretched along the coastline beside this cliff.
Roslo’s white buildings practically glowed in the afternoon light. The capital city’s streets teemed with people and carts. Boats crowded the harbor’s docks, and the calm waters of Roslo Bay were a brilliant aquamarine beneath the sun’s bright rays. Quentin flags of the same teal fluttered in the breeze from where they hung on the castle’s towers, the largest of which were stitched with the royal crest—a crossbow woven with leaves and stalks of wheat.
Father considered the view from his throne room’s balcony unmatched, but I much preferred my city from this spot.
That castle was my home, but this cliffside was my sanctuary. This was the one place where the air wasn’t thick with judgment and guards weren’t stationed at every corner, ready to report my mistakes to Margot.
From this vantage, I could smell the salt drifting off the water. The scents of food and spices carried on the wind from the markets in the square. On calm days like today, I could hear the noise from the docks and the clamor of the streets. And when I had time, I’d bring along a journal to sketch the various views.
Banner’s gaze stopped on the three wooden ships docked in the bay, their forest green sails a slight contrast to the teal accents on the Quentin boats.
“Have you seen them yet?” I asked. “The Turans?”
“Not yet. But I just met with your father.” His jaw clenched. “He informed me that the Guardian traveled with the rangers.”
“The Guardian.” My jaw dropped as my stomach twisted. “The Guardian. He’s here? In Roslo?”
“Apparently,” Banner clipped.
Oh, hell. This was bad. This was the reason my fiancé had come out for a ride.
We might not be in love, we might not even be considered friends, but there were a few things I’d learned about Banner during our engagement. He was unfailing in his loyalty to Father. He loved the status that came with his rank and betrothal to a princess. And he loathed the Guardian.
“I’m sorry.” I reached for him, but he waved me off, raking a hand through his hair. “Will you be going to the meeting?”
“I’m the general of your father’s legion. What do you think?”
Was it really so hard for him to just say yes?
Maybe after we were married, he’d stop treating me like a child. Though considering the fifteen-year age difference, I wasn’t holding my breath.
Banner rubbed a hand over his jaw, smooth and set in an angry line. “Pray to Carine I’m able to keep my composure.”
I’d pray for the Goddess of Peace to be with us all today.
“I will have my revenge,” he said, more to himself than to me, and the cool, collected man who was to be my husband vanished. His frame began to vibrate with rage. His hands flexed at his sides, like he was itching to pull out a knife. “I vow it.”
“Banner,” I warned. “If the Guardian sailed with the Turans, he’s here on Father’s invitation. It’s not the time. You can’t go after him while—”
“Don’t you think I know that?”
I flinched as he yelled into my face. It wasn’t the first time a man had directed his temper my way. It wouldn’t be the last. And I’d learned that it was easier to surrender than fight. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m well aware that I have no choice but to stand aside and welcome these guests to our kingdom. That I must be in your father’s throne room and meet the piece of filth who destroyed my family. I deserve to have that bastard’s head on a platter, yet I can do nothing. Nothing. I know exactly what fucking time it is, Odessa.”
I stayed quiet as he spat my name. “You’re going to be late,” he barked.
“Right.” I nodded, dropping my gaze to his polished boots.
Banner exhaled, collecting himself. Then he hooked a finger under my chin, tilting my face upward until our gazes locked. The anger in his irises was fading slowly. “Sorry. I’m frustrated.”
“It’s understandable.”
“Would you like me to take you back? I can skip the rest of my ride.”
“No.” I gave him a soft smile. “You go. I’ll walk.”
If I were wearing Banner’s boots, I’d probably need to clear my head, too.
Why would my father force him to attend this meeting today? Father knew that the Guardian had killed Banner’s brother. That they’d fought over a woman in Turah, and that fight had ended in death. When word of his brother’s murder had reached Quentis, the news had irreparably broken Banner’s mother to the point that the woman had taken her own life last year.
Apparently, Father could be as callous to his beloved general as he could be to his oldest daughter.
“I’ll see you later,” he said. “Don’t be late, Princess.”
Banner dragged a knuckle along my cheek, then retreated to his horse, swinging into the saddle and disappearing without a backward glance toward the sweeping hills and rolling fields that surrounded Roslo.
I waited until he was out of sight, then, on a sigh, I started down the trodden path that would take me to the rear entrance of the castle. From there, I could slip through a side entrance and climb the stairs to my rooms on the fourth floor.
My gray rooms.
Mae’s suite was pale blue, for the virginal bride who would soon be married to a prince. Who would fulfill her role in accord with the Calandra trade treaty that kept the five kingdoms at peace.
She was the Sparrow.
But Mae was far from a sweet, delicate bird. She certainly wouldn’t be a virgin on her wedding night. Funny how the guards never reported her comings and goings, not while she was screwing their captain.
I glanced over my shoulder, to the edge of the cliff and the open ocean beyond.
What was out there? Mae would find out. After the wedding, she’d set sail to Turah. “Lucky brat.”
Not once in my life had I been jealous of Mae. She was Father’s favored daughter. When the time had come for him to choose the Sparrow, it was no shock he’d picked Mae. And she was Margot’s pride and joy. She had a mother while I had a ghost. Still, I’d never envied her, not once.
Until now.
Because soon she’d leave and discover the realm beyond Roslo’s gates and Quentis’s shores.
I was going to miss my half sister. From the day Margot had placed her in my arms when I was five, Mae had been mine. She fought me on everything. She pestered me relentlessly. She wasn’t kind or grateful. She was a massive pain in my ass, but she was my sister.
I was going to miss her.
And I couldn’t wait for her to leave.
Maybe when her shadow was gone, I’d have some freedom. Maybe not. Maybe the only moments of peace I’d find for the rest of my life were on this cliffside.
A breeze lifted my unruly hair, pushing a lock into my mouth. I spit it out, but not before the bitter tang of the brown dye Margot used each week spread across my tongue. The wild curls never stayed in their braid, no matter how hard my lady’s maids tugged and yanked. The only time it cooperated was when it was wet.
The ocean beckoned. I stopped and turned.
What if I jumped? Would anyone notice?
No. Not for this princess. A smile tugged at my mouth.
I raced for the cliff. My drab, gray dress streamed behind me as I ran, faster and faster, arms pumping, legs pushing. I didn’t think. I didn’t falter. One moment, my feet were tethered to the earth.
