Page 2 of Spar of Hearts

The girl sniffed, then burst into wordless hics and sobs.

“Shhh, it will be all right. Come here.” Anya opened her arms. The girl clumsily fell against her, crying and shivering. The girl’s frame was lithe and small, far too thin for her height. Slivers of heartbreak broke through Anya’s regal facade.

“Allow me, Anya,” Lord Bryson’s husky voice came from above her. He bent down and scooped the girl into his arms, then hoisted her onto his shoulders. The girl’s tears vanished as she giggled at the exciting height.

“Off we go, fair maiden; let me be your noble steed!” Lord Bryson took exaggerated, horse-like steps until they disappeared into the lower decks.

Anya huffed. “He won’t let me help with a damned thing, will he?”

The scene would normally have been endearing, but the Lord had an impeccable talent for swooping in to steal every helpful task from her. She wanted to be involved in everything on this ship. These were her subjects, and they needed to see that the Crown would no longer overlook them; that she was going to be there to help them beyond the voyage. But that was not going to happen with that hotheaded Lord around.

“I don’t think he means any harm by it.” Blackbird fiddled with one of the short braids that framed her tan face, giving way to silky, shoulder-length raven hair. Her pointed ears peeked out between the strands.

“That’s the worst part about it. He is such an oblivious buffoon, he doesn’t even realize the disrespect he shows!”

“The voyage will be over soon. We’ll grin and bear it together, My Lady.” Blackbird literally grinned, boisterous like a court jester. Anya was always grateful for her lady-in-waiting’s positive attitude. The dazzle of Blackbird’s pearly smile contrasted the ribbon of black ink that started in the middle of her chin, then split into two thicker stripes down her neck, finally rejoining just above the slant of her chest. It was the traditional coming-of-age mark of the coastal tribe that took her in as a baby. It was hard to believe Blackbird was twenty-four already.

Anya took a deep breath. She often resorted to sorting the scents in the air to calm herself. Salty air. Damp wood. Her own bergamot perfume. A rotting fish hidden somewhere on the deck.

“You’re right. Tonight is the deck feast and dance. We’ll make merry and be off this blasted ship by morning.”

And the crew and passengers will speak of Lord Bryson’s great leadership. All I did was get us from here to there. Mother and Father will never view me as more than an academic.

This was the work she wanted to do. Undertaking missions and helping people beyond ink and parchment. She wanted to purge the banshees from the Terris Ravine, bring rations to the dying mining villages deep within the Raven’s Peak mountains. But this past month all but buried that hope. Her parents would surely keep her chained to diplomatic tasks within the safety of the palace walls.

“We should get some breakfast ourselves. I no longer feel like I have a right to say it, but…I am hungry,” Blackbird said sheepishly.

“I could have guessed,” Anya chuckled. “You have the appetite of a true sailor.”

Roderick Bryson

“There we go!” Roderick hoisted the Centarian girl off his shoulders and handed her to her mother.

“Thank you, My Lord. I’m sorry she—” The Centarian woman yawned. Every bob of her throat was pronounced beneath her sunken, ashy skin. “—got so far from me. I…I must have fallen asleep. It’s been so long since I’ve had a full stomach.”

Roderick waved her off. “Do not fret. It could happen to anyone. Even so, the Lupus Star is the safest place she could possibly wander. She wandered into the arms of our lovely Princess, after all.”

“The Princess is so pretty, Mama!” the girl chirped. “Her eyes are like stars!”

She was right. Though Lycanians had lost their ancient ancestors’ ability to shift after a millennia of mating with humans, they retained one of their most prominent features: lovely gold and obsidian wolf eyes. And Anya’s never failed to seize him by the throat in a very, very good way.

The girl’s mother appeared to be holding her tongue. He chuckled nervously, unsure how long he’d been thinking of Anya. “Yes, she is quite beautiful. Kind, too.” The image of her hugging the little girl was still fresh in his mind. The Princess was in no way haughty or holier-than-thou; part of the reason he wanted to make her his Princess. He was confident that she would be thrilled. He was a nobleman, and the most decorated knight in Valeria. There couldn’t be a better match.

“If the Princess was so kind, she would have come for us before our people started sailing to their deaths in hollowed-out tree trunks,” a gruff voice came from his left.

“She did not know—”

“She’s a pompous fool then,” the man cut him off, his red eyes steely. Any menace was offset by the man’s hollow, sunken cheeks. Roderick disagreed with the assessment, but who was he to argue with someone who’d endured the horrors of the Centarian islands for decades? He could barely stomach it for the short time they spent shepherding them out of their dilapidated villages and onto the ships. It kept him up at night when he closed his eyes. If that was his reality, how could this man ever blink?

He ignored the man and turned back to the little girl. “It was a pleasure to meet you, fair maiden. Stay close to your mother now, all right?”

The girl giggled in reply and buried her face in her mother’s hair. Roderick headed to the galley. He had little appetite in the face of his people’s starvation, but he would do them no service by being any less than his best. He owed it to them. The years he spent living lavishly while they descended into squalor had begun to haunt him. Such folly. Such waste. Not just money, but time. Heart.

He swung the galley door open, where Lady Rowan and Anya were playing cards and enjoying steaming cups of tea. An empty plate was precariously perched on the edge of the table. Anya had shed her heavy, fur-lined coat, revealing a white lining beneath a green overdress. The ensemble was practical but still appeared plenty thick and warm. A leather bodice accentuated her curves. The tight, forest-green overdress complemented her toned arms. He was jolted out of his admiration when she suddenly slammed her hand of cards down with a victorious, howling laugh. The plate tumbled and shattered on the floor, silencing her joy.

“Damn it!” She leaned down to pick up the pieces.

“Allow me, Anya.” He quickly knelt and collected the shards in his hand. He reached for another piece just as she swatted his hand away. It seemed a playful gesture. He looked up, coming face to face with her lovely golden eyes. A fanged smile curved his lips.