The Sparrows Who Dream

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Chapter One

River

A flame in the mist

When death shall come

Only she will stand the fight

Only she can end it all

One war

One right

The third and final bell trilled, bouncing off the stone walls as River tore through the castle. She flicked her gaze away from the gold-painted script on the walls. The prophecy had become a prayer for most humans, a promise that one day the bloodshed would end, but for River, it was no more than a curse, a burden she could never live up to, and yet was hers alone to carry.

Her feet slapped against the marble floor. She barely avoided a collision with the guard as she turned the corner.

“Aren’t you supposed to be inside?” he said with a sly look, pointing at the door.

River didn’t have enough time to flash him a smile before she threw open the wooden door to her chambers.

Her handmaiden rose to her feet. “Did you find him?” Laya’s voice raised an octave the way it always did when she expressed any sort of emotion.

River’s eyes trailed to the portrait that hung above her four-poster bed. In it, her brown curls bounced as she straddled her horse and looked down on a blond boy several years older, his face caught mid-laugh.

“No.” River controlled the tremble in her voice.

Laya moved to the window, pushing aside the large emerald curtains. “They’re still unloading his carriage. He must be here somewhere.”

River peered over her shoulder. “I don’t remember him leaving with so many trunks.”

“Do you think he spoke with your mother yet?” Laya’s unlined face scrunched.

“Please stop making that face. I swear, it’s like every time you speak of him, you could—”

“Strangle him?” Laya finished.

“Don’t, please. Not today.”

Laya tsked and twirled her finger. “I expect better from him, yet I am never surprised.”

River spun, allowing Laya to undo the buttons of her brown day dress. “He’s different with me.”

“I’m sure they all say that.”

River rolled her eyes. Laya couldn’t understand how she felt about Bass, the way he made her feel like she was the only person he ever needed by his side. She pressed her thumb into the circular silver scar on her palm, the first one her mother had given her. River had only been four, and it was Bass who had stepped in to take the remainder of the punishment. Her stomach seized at the thought of the twin scar on his palm. How many times had he done that for her? More than she could count on her fingers and toes.

“I think this dress will work.” Laya held up a stiff, velvet emerald dress and helped her inside it.

“A little formal for—”

A loud thud sounded as her door slammed against her wall.

“You’re late,” a gravelly male voice slurred.

Of course, Bass was right. By the third bell, she should have already been at her place beneath her mother’s throne to await the council members’ arrival.

River spun on him, clutching her dress to her chest. “Sebastian Michael, I have been searching this castle for you since before lunch! Where in the Heldours have you been?”

She couldn’t help but rake her eyes over his body hungrily. It had been three moons since he had left to go to his father’s sickbed, and every day her heart had ached to be near him, hear his voice, or feel his lips against her skin. His honey-colored hair was cropped short, dark circles fanned out under his aqua eyes, and his uniform was unbuttoned at his neck, showing the top of his muscled chest.

She put her hands on her hips, the dress collapsing in on itself.

Bass’s eyes flickered to her chest and then to the wall next to him. “I’ve been busy.” But the s was too elongated, and he stumbled over his words.

River gestured to Laya to finish buttoning her up. “You’re drunk.”

“So what if I am?” His jaw clenched.

“Suck in,” Laya stated as she drew the laces back.

River tried not to watch in the mirror as the layers fell just right to hide her curves. She was thicker than most women in the court, bottom-heavy for her short stature. The emerald dress had capped sleeves and was cut low on her chest, where a jewel was strategically placed to ensure it as the focal point. Laya handed her a pair of fingerless gloves that matched the dress to hide her arms.

“I’m sorry about your father. He was a great king. We’ll celebrate him.”

Bass shook his head vigorously. “The monsters, they did it. Those evil demons from the north—”

River let out a breath, tired of this argument. “Sebastian, they didn’t kill your father.”

“That magic of theirs did. It ruined our world. It does something to our people . . .”

His ramble went in one ear and out the other. She had never been beyond the castle grounds to know whether what he spoke of was the truth. River only knew stories of the Spitarians—the bloodthirsty, winged monsters that lived to the north and haunted children’s nightmares. They were the enemy of the whole human race. But River had never understood the irrational fear of the unknown.

“Do you really believe that?” she asked.

Bass ignored her as he strolled to her dressing table, grabbed a small circular bottle, and handed it to Laya. She didn’t comment as her pale, thin fingers worked the cream over River’s skin, covering the imperfections and scars that marked her. Unlike men, princesses were not meant to have scars from swords and daggers. Laya made sure to pay special attention to the two jagged scars that peeked out of the back of the dress and ran down her spine, an accident by the healer at birth. Finally, Laya braided River’s unruly dark brown curls into a low bun covering the birthmark that rested below her hairline.

River caught Bass’s arm as he tried to pass and spun him back toward her. “What’s going on?”

He looked at the floor.

Look at me. Please. She had never seen him this way—without that ever-present infectious smile—and it pained her.

“Tell me,” she whispered as she wrapped her hand under his stubbled chin and yanked his bloodshot gaze to hers.

He blinked his blue-green eyes slowly. “The stupid prophecy always gets in the way.”

“What way?”

“This. I—”

Laya cleared her throat. “I think there’s another time to discuss this, no?”

Bass pulled back but not before planting a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll meet you outside.” He was out the door before she could respond, leaving a wet mark atop her head.

“Why wouldn’t he look at me?” River breathed, brushing her hand over her stomach, her callouses catching on the way down.

“His father did just die,” Laya said, pulling out her skirts. “Give him some space.”

But River didn’t want to give him space. His father’s death only made the discussion they’d had before he left that much more important.

Bass had promised that he would make a request to the queen for River’s hand in marriage on his return from attending his father. They had planned for any argument her mother would make against it—the Finn and Castor thrones would be stronger if the kingdoms were united as one. As their domains bordered each other, it would only help strengthen their armies in the newest series of attacks from the Spitarians. River’s hand began to shake.

Laya snatched at it. “Did you eat today?”

River let out a huff. “Must you always ask?”

“My concern is that if you continue bottling these emotions, you are likely to explode. And frankly, I don’t want to be around when you do.”

“I have more control than that.”

Laya squeezed her hand gently before she opened the door. “You must go.”

River pushed her shoulders back, taking the strength in Laya’s squeeze with her as she exited her chambers. Humans didn’t show affection other than to their lovers. Had it been anyone else, she would have shied from the touch, but River trusted Laya.

The corridor was empty, other than the guard stationed to her left and Bass on her right. The silence cut through her façade, and her shoulders slumped. She was late, which would undoubtedly mean consequences.

River sucked her lip in, trying to find a loose piece of skin with her teeth. She put one foot in front of the other, forcing herself forward. The candelabras flickered against the wall, shining light onto the tiled floor.

“Has something else happened?” River said, trying to slide her hand onto Bass’s arm, but he pulled away.

Before he had time to answer, the oak door groaned, opening into a well-lit portion of the throne room. Crystal chandeliers lined the ceiling, their candles glimmering softly. The white marble walls were inlaid with gold swirled in patterns and shapes, all leading to a center spot on the ceiling: the Heldours’s crest. A sword, featuring jewels of the five royal families lining its hilt, pierced through a crescent moon.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess Castor,” the guard boomed, “and His Royal Highness, Prince Finn.”

River kept her head high as she strode into the room, her shoulders braced in perfect posture. Before her sat two massive gold thrones, one with emerald stones for the Castors and one with red rubies for the Devlyns, her mother’s family name. The gold shimmered stark against the crisp, clean walls; the high-backed thrones were the centerpiece for the whole room.

The king’s throne sat empty except for his emerald-and-gold crown. She tried to remember what her dead father looked like, but she couldn’t conjure more than the images painted around the palace.

The council stood at an angle below the thrones, all twelve men’s gazes fixed on River and Bass. Their faces were a mix of pity, eagerness, and disappointment.

Queen Castor’s long hair cascaded down onto her soft rose dress. A small gold crown lay atop her head. No one could deny how devastatingly breathtaking she was; they said she was the most beautiful queen ever to live. River’s features were structured the same way with high cheekbones and large red-wine lips. The significant difference was the paleness of the queen’s skin, a flawless complexion with piercing green eyes. River’s hazel eyes blended into her tan skin.

The queen’s smile was calculated. “It seems as though you two have finally decided to grace us with your presence.”

The council laughed at her joke.

River tried to control the twinge as it seethed through her stomach. She dipped her head in the requisite apology before continuing toward her customary place.

“Don’t bother as you were late. You both can stand.” Her mother didn’t meet River’s eyes but instead stared intensely at Bass.

“Yes, my queen,” River and Bass repeated in unison.

River blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tunnel vision as panic raced through her body.

“As I was saying, upon his return, Prince Finn informed us that Queen Finn has concluded she is no longer physically able to rule. Which, of course, changes our timeline a little. River’s first assignment was to be on her eighteenth birthday, but that is still five moons away, and Sebastian will be crowned by then.” The queen drummed her long fingers on her throne.

River tried to process all her mother was saying. Bass being crowned was no surprise, but him leaving so soon was. He had been living in her kingdom since he was seven, fourteen years ago. The Finn kingdom was too small to provide the training he needed, and River’s parents had felt giving her a male competitor would make her stronger. They were to learn from each other the customs of the other kingdoms and become a seamless part of their traditions; they were to become better rulers for it.

“Council, you each trained River in different areas to prepare her for the prophecy and throne. Do you feel she is ready for her assignment? Is she ready to begin taking on the prophecy?” The queen’s gaze fell on each of her advisors.

The men of the council whispered among themselves.

“Yes, we feel she is,” one said.

A smile lifted the corners of River’s mouth. She had gone through rigorous training her whole life to prove she was worthy of not only the crown but could live up to be the savior the humans needed and the prophecy promised.

“Proficient in all, master of none. Isn’t that what they say?” another whispered.

Her smile fell. They were correct, of course. She could hold her own, but would it be enough? It had to be. The prophecy had chosen her to save them all.

The queen’s nostrils flared. “Well, is she ready or not?”

“As long as she follows orders. In her fragile state, we worry that if she isn’t under someone’s thumb, she will flounder,” the oldest one’s voice croaked.

Under someone’s thumb?

The queen turned her eyes back to Bass. “And you have trained River to look out for herself. Do you feel she is ready to be on her own?”

River turned to him, watching the blond stubble of his clenched jaw. He lifted his chin to the queen, his piercing blue-green eyes boring into her. “No readier than she would be in six moons.” The slur was still present in his voice.

How could he say that?

You will be the greatest queen ever to live. You will save the world from the beasts and live a long life. Your people will worship you. He had said those words before he had left three moons ago.

River stiffened. “I am ready!”

“No one asked you to speak,” her mother chastised.

Something coiled in River’s stomach as her hand began to shake. Bass’s eyes fell on her hand, then he looked away, rubbing his palms over his eyes.

The queen sighed. “Sebastian, dear, I know you have been through a lot these past few days, but would you rather someone else take over for you? I am certain your new wife would miss you if you were gone so long.”

“What?” River choked.

She felt it as if it were a physical blow. She closed her eyes as the dizziness overtook her. She couldn’t breathe. It was as if someone very heavy were sitting on her chest.

“Riv, I—”

The queen chuckled. “Oh, I am sorry. I thought since the two of you were arriving together, he would have told you he would soon be marrying your cousin. Did you think you would have that honor?”

Everything began to collapse as if the whole castle were falling on her. She felt his strong hands clasp at her elbow, but she shook free of him. River couldn’t breathe. This was all too much. The weight of the future she had dreamed of was crashing down on her.

“Sebastian, I ask you again. Is she ready?”

“Yes,” he breathed.