Rites of the Starling (Shield of Sparrows #2)

Sparrow Wolfe's fate rested in the hands of five men.

The five kings of Calandra.

They stood around an oval table, their focus on the treaty splayed across the grooved wooden surface. The ink on the parchment was still wet. The cleric who'd penned the document hurried to collect his belongings, then scurried out of the room now that his task was complete.

The underground cellar was cloaked in shadow. The scents of dank rock and acrid smoke filled the air. One of the lamps was sputtering out, the oil in its reservoir nearly gone after hours and hours of negotiations.

Sparrow stood against the stone wall as a silent observer of the discussion. A fire crackled in the hearth, but its heat could not chase away the cold that had crept into her bones. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

A numbness was taking hold of her body, creeping into her fingertips and toes. With the Goddess Daria's luck, that numbness would soon dull the ache in her heart.

Not one of the five kings paid her any attention, not even her father. They were too busy debating who she would marry.

The Voster High Priest hovered behind the men. His bare feet hadn't touched the floor since he floated into the cellar. The dim light leached any hint of color from his pale white skin.

His eyes, those solid, dark pools, stayed locked on the treaty. The moment the kings came to an agreement, he'd seal their oaths in blood.

The priest's hands were clasped in front of him, and the thick, dark-green nails protruding from his fingers were so long they curled into his robes, the burgundy fabric as dark as the storm cloud over her heart.

The kings were dressed in bold fabrics, reds and greens and blues and teals, each proudly representing their respective kingdoms in color and the emblems stitched into their clothes.

Sparrow was dressed in gray, a shade as empty as she was of hope.

This treaty was a necessity. She'd told herself that countless times. It would end the wars that had plagued their continent for generations. It would bind the five kingdoms of Calandra together forever.

Either they would find a way to live together. Or they'd die trying.

The logical princess her father had raised, the fledgling politician, knew this was essential for survival. But the young woman with dreams of finding love had begun to wither the moment marriage stipulations had entered the conversation.

There was a reason Sparrow was in this cellar, something she hadn't realized until it was too late. She was not here as her father's heir. She was not here to observe and learn.

She was a token to be traded in the name of peace.

These kings of men were worried that exchanging goods alone was not enough to maintain the accords. What better way to tie kingdoms together than to bind them by blood? By future generations. By the children she would someday bear. Children tied to two kingdoms.

A silence settled around the table, making the hairs on the back of Sparrow's neck stand on end. She stood taller as the kings nodded.

"Do we have agreement?" the High Priest asked, his voice as silky as her chestnut hair.

Every king, including her father, murmured, "Yes."

The moment this treaty was signed, each king and their future heirs would be expected to maintain its stipulations. To break their oaths would mean death.

It went against her nature as a Turan to give up her free will. Her father likely felt the same. Yet Turah had no choice but to participate. Their kingdom was strong but not strong enough to stand against the rest of Calandra. Especially while they were trying to recover from the crux migration.

Her father couldn't stop this treaty, but that fact didn't make her fate any easier to accept.

One by one, each king drew a dagger or knife from a sheath. They sliced open their palms, dipped their quills, and scrawled their names in blood.

Her father went last. With his pen poised over the treaty, its tip glistening in red, he cast her a long look.

The pity and apology in his steely gray eyes made it hard for her to breathe.

The green starbursts in his irises flared for a brief moment before he dropped his gaze to the parchment.

The harsh scratch that came with his signature was quick, like an arrow through her heart.

Sparrow dropped her chin so the kings would not see the tears in her eyes.

Done. It was done.

Calandra was in ruins from the crux migration. Now the kingdoms would rebuild together. Trade together. Live together.

Breed together.

Tonight, Sparrow had become a brood mare like her favorite horse, Helena.

Would she ever see Helena again? Would she ever return to Turah? Or would she be taken directly from this miserable cellar in Ozarth to a city in Genesis, where she'd be paraded as their new queen?

Would the people of Genesis hate her the way their king, Tanis Oak, hated her father?

The idea of spending the rest of her life tied to a man who loathed her family, her people, made her stomach drop. Would Tanis take his anger out on her? Would she be made to suffer for a rivalry that went back far beyond her years?

The treaty forbade him from killing her, but there were fates worse than death.

Tanis, at least ten years her senior, was the only unwed king in this room. And she was the only princess in Calandra of age to bear children. Maybe after she birthed him a son he'd forget about her. If the gods were merciful, she'd be left alone.

Sparrow squeezed her eyes shut as dread and sorrow threatened more tears. No doubt Tanis would not take kindly to a simpering wife. And she was a Turan.

She would not cry.

The gods were to blame for this. Bastards. The Six had cursed Calandra with their monsters. With the crux. She'd survived this past migration only to trade one nightmare for another. The gods could rot in their shades. And so could the Voster, with their oaths and magic used to manipulate men.

With her teeth gritted so hard they cracked, she steeled her spine and lifted her chin.

The High Priest's gaze was waiting.

She loathed him more than anyone else in this room. He would trap her in this treaty without remorse. She could taste the hate for his magic on her tongue, like the coppery tang of blood.

With a slight incline of his head, he summoned her to the table. "Your name?"

"Sparrow Wolfe." Her voice was steady and calm, not betraying her racing heart.

He stared at her for a long moment. "This treaty shall be known as the Shield of Sparrows."

Another princess might have appreciated having a treaty named in her honor.

Sparrow swallowed a scream.

"Do you, Sparrow Wolfe, princess of Turah, vow to uphold the Shield of Sparrows with your union to Tanis Oak, king of Genesis?" the High Priest asked.

Every king in the room seemed to hold their breath, waiting for her reply.

Tears filled her father's eyes as he gave her a nod.

"I, Sparrow Wolfe, make this vow," she whispered.

Without meeting her gaze, her father passed her his knife.

She opened a palm, refusing to wince as the blade cut through her flesh. Signing her name in blood was done with a quick flick of her wrist.

Then Tanis's name was beside hers, his own vow spoken aloud. His voice was smooth and deep. Emotionless and cold.

A shiver raced down Sparrow's spine.

The High Priest placed both of his hands on the treaty, closing his eyes.

There was no sensation. No visible hint of his fluid magic. But when he opened his eyes and lifted his hands, there was no doubt in her mind that she was now bound to this treaty.

The Shield of Sparrows.

"It is done." The High Priest's declaration stole the air from her lungs.

Tanis marched out of the cellar.

The other kings swept out after him, climbing the stairs that would take them away from this secret chamber beneath Ozarth's capital city.

The High Priest pressed both of his hands over his heart and gave her a slight bow.

She bit her tongue to keep quiet.

Then he rolled up the treaty into a neat column. The ink, her blood, had barely dried as he left.

Her father deflated once they were alone. A breath rushed from his lungs as his shoulders curled inward, his broad, towering frame shrinking before her eyes.

It cleaved her spirit in two.

None of this would have happened if there were no crux. If there were no more migrations.

"Why have the Six cursed us with these monsters? Why do they hate us?"

"Because they are petty gods," he said. "Because only humans have the power to make the gods insignificant."

Sparrow stared at her father, taking in his strong profile. "I will never worship them again. And I will never trust the Voster."

"Neither will I." He gave her a sad smile, opening his arms. "I am sorry, my daughter."

She collapsed into his chest, into the strong embrace that had held her since she was a baby. "What do I do?"

He kissed her hair. "Be bold, my Sparrow. Be brave."