The clouds were floating puffs of pink candy floss.
The sky layers of strawberry, orange, and blackberry sorbet.
When was the last time she played this game, Gwyn wondered.
It had been ages. Before her world changed, when she and Caitrin would sneak out to their secret pond outside the temple walls. Flat on their backs in the dewy grass, they'd stare into the heavens and compare what was overhead to various food items. Silly really.
The sun became a juicy tangerine.
The moon a wheel of brie cheese.
Her smile slipped from her face.
Cloistered among the library stacks, in the shelter of her beloved books, she'd missed so much. The way the late afternoon sunlight warmed the apples of her cheeks. How the western wind whipped her red hair into knots. The glorious gradient of a sunset and the majesty of a million glittering stars. The simplicity and beauty of life.
Coward. She'd been a coward, unable to face...living. Not just the existing. Gwyn wouldn't deny it any longer, ready to shake off the shackles. To leave without being held immobile by unseen hands. No longer imprisoned by memories, haunted by ghosts. Those spirits drove her out of bed this morning and onto the rooftop, fueled by rolling anger. The reason she'd lashed out at poor Emerie. Cauldron, she owed her sister a heartfelt apology and an I-am-so-sorry pastry. Azriel earned one as well.
Azriel.
Gwyn woke up sucked into a storm, the winds of her emotions blowing every which way. Her angry blood zinged with lightning. She had been primed for destruction, to take out everything in her path. And Azriel had stood strong in the middle, letting her vent with her fists and legs until the worst blew over. Never bending or yielding. He was in the eye, her calming and hopeful center. And not once did he judge her, or scold her.
Peering beyond her booted feet, Gwyn instantly regretted the impulse. What had led her to sit on the ledge again? A moment of pure insanity? Mother above, she was far above the ground. She kicked her leather-clad legs back and forth as the sun slowly sank into the horizon. After her earlier training tantrum, she'd returned to her dorm, intending on a quick bath for her aching muscles, and allowing herself a much-needed sobbing fit. Soaking her pillow, all the fight left, she had fallen asleep curled up on the small bed. For the first time in years, no nightmares plagued her dreams, her brain, and body crippled by exhaustion.
Having accidentally napped through her afternoon library shift, Gwyn's pride compelled her up to the roof. Donning a fresh pair of training leathers, she climbed the endless stairs and got to work. She completed her actual routine for the day, repeating the correct stances and attacks against a not very enthusiastic practice dummy. It wasn't exactly the same as having a living partner, but it worked. At least she accomplished something other than bruising her friends.
Sweaty and panting, Gwyn had made her way to the water table. Their Illyrian teachers were sticklers on water, both always going on how your body cramped you weren't fully hydrated. Something clinical about acids and muscles, which she intended to search for in the healing section downstairs. Cup in hand, she made her way to the balcony's wide stone railing, hopped up, and took a seat.
So there the priestess sat alone, watching the stars wink in the gathering twilight. It took her breath away. Gods, she avoided so much because of fear.
No more, she vowed. No more hiding. No more running...
Chilled darkness swarmed her, gently tugging her back at the collar. Overprotective busybodies, she mused. Speaking of overprotective busybodies...
"You can stop lurking, Azriel. I know you're there...and call off your spies. I have no intention of jumping," she called over her shoulder with a smirk. The little dark beasts swirled over her arms before returning to their master. After the last few days, the spymaster no doubt thought her capable of doing something drastic. After all, Azriel's ability to read people like a book was only surpassed by his talent as a strategic worrier.
"I didn't think you were going to, Berdara," Az assured, suddenly at her side, causing her to jolt. His hands shot out to steady her before she slipped off the ledge, pulling back once she stable. Cauldron, how can he move with such stealth? "Do you make it a habit to sit alone on the edge of the tallest buildings?" He peered over the side, casting her a sideways glance.
"Do you make it a habit to slink in corners?"
He shot her a pointed look.
Gwyn snorted. "Fair enough. I guess that goes with the occupation. Perhaps you should change your official title to Skulkmaster," she teased.
"You feeling better," he asked, placing his hands on the wide stone railing.
"I do." Thanks to you and some much-needed rest. "And to answer your earlier question; no, extreme ledge sitting is not habitual." Though she often thought about hiding flat on top of the shelves someday, hoping Merrill would leave her be.
With nimbleness and grace, Azriel hopped up onto the ledge, taking a seat beside her. "So, you're not worried about falling to your untimely death?"
"No. Besides, you're here now. If I fall, you have those handy wings."
Sending Gwyn one of those rare half grins. He leaned back, resting his palms on the smooth stone beneath. "So you just expect me to dive off and save you?"
She lifted and dropped a shoulder. "I guess that would be up to you."
"What if I fall," Az continued with his interrogation, spreading his fingers out across the smooth stone.
"Should I toss you over the edge to see what happens," she pointed to his glorious wings. Her curious fingers itched to stroke them, but she wisely kept her hands to herself. According to Emerie, you did not touch an Illyrian's wings without permission and she was dying to know why. "But I would wait with bated breath until I knew you were safe...maybe."
Azriel quietly snickered. "Well, I'm happy to find you not throwing yourself off the balcony." He paused, his expression dulled. "So, why are you up here, Gwyn?"
"I came up to do some actual training and got caught up in this," she gestured to the landscape. "The House has the best view of the sunset." It wasn't a lie. High above Velaris, you could see so much beyond the city and the colors the sun cast on the mountains and sea.
"Not true," he alleged, casting a sideways glance, running a hand through his slightly damp hair. "Have you seen it from the coastline?"
She bit her lower lip, shaking her head. "No. I-I've never been down to the beach...but I'd like to go..."
Someday was left unspoken and tasted bitter on her tongue. Someday was a protective shield. Safe-the temple was supposed to be safe. Catrin's wide, pleading eyes reminded her that someday was not a guarantee.
Today. It was time to live again.
Azriel stared ahead as the sun settled into the sea in the West, his bronze skin cast in a peach hue in the dusk. The fading light shone through his wings, illuminating the membrane in mauve and gold. Those eyes were the color of melted honey and toffee. The ebony strands of his hair shimmered with hints of blue, slightly curling at the nape. Gods, even in profile, it was impossible to deny he was one beautiful shifted, the muscles in his arms straining under his dark gray sleeves.
Azriel's body was a work of art, chiseled over centuries of training with a blade. There had only been a few times she'd seen him without his shirt on, and Gwyn held onto those images like a special gift. The way the muscles rippled under tanned skin as he wielded a sword, bunching, and flexing. There was no arguing the Illyrian had a physique meant for the cover of one of Nesta's romance novels.
A shadow peered over the shadowsinger's wings, swirling around his shoulders, hovering by his head. His lips twitched. Gwyn's eyes narrowed and went wide. Oh, those little... Were they-were they telling him she was gawking? Hurling herself off the roof suddenly seemed like a grand idea. Her eyes quickly darted away and she found herself wishing she had the power to winnow away.
After the awkwardness dissipated, they sat together in companionable silence in the lingering daylight. Such a normal thing to do with a friend, she imagined. Besides Emerie and Nesta, Gwyn spent little experience with anyone outside of the archives. She'd give herself the credit. Gwyn had come a long way by attending training sessions with males. Cassian and Azriel both respected her comfort, making her feel at ease and safe. And if there was one other male besides her best friend's mate she could place her trust in, possibly even call a friend?
She scooted over before realizing what she was doing. For his part, Azriel didn't move, didn't make a fuss about her positioning herself closer. Gwyn placed her right hand back down, her pinky finger now brushing his thumb. Warmth radiated from her to his hand and heard him inhale sharply. The siphon on his scarred left hand flared a brilliant lapis, glowing from the inside like the intense center of a flame.
What in the Cauldron?
His eyes shot to hers, dark brows drawing together. Even his shadows floated like frozen smoke. The world just stopped.
'Your hearts sing the same song.'
Eyes round, she tried sliding her hand back, but Azriel wouldn't let her pull away. His fingers gingerly skimmed the open fissures in her knuckles. A slight sting raced up her arm from the contact, but she couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Didn't dare break their connection. As if waking up from a dream, Azriel jerked his hand away. "Dammit, I'm sorry, Gwyn, I shouldn't have-"
"It's okay," she swallowed, reaching out to him.
"May I," he asked. When she nodded her answer, he lifted her trembling hand, closely inspecting her injuries. "We should clean these cuts and put on some healing balm before you get an infection," he muttered, his breath warm on the back of her hand, the touch so tender and attentive.
"Azriel..," Gwyn gulped. "About this morning..." She gnawed her lip as he set their joined hands down between them, keeping his hold loosened. It wasn't the first time Azriel had touched her, having to reposition her elbow often when she practiced the bow. But why now? Tears welled in her eyes with the realization. Gods. So she could pull away. He handed over total control. Did he know what that meant to her?
Her eyes fluttered shut as Az's thumb grazed the back of her hand. "Gwyn, you don't-"
"No. I do. I'm sorry. It's...I was angry...with...myself."
His head snapped to his left so hard his neck cracked. "What? Why in the hell would you be angry at yourself?"
"For yesterday," she explained, fidgeting with a loose thread on her cuff. "When...when that male fell on me...I panicked. After all this training, I still panicked."
Azriel's golden eyes locked onto hers. "Don't. Don't do that to yourself, Berdara. Even the most seasoned warriors panic. I've fought in countless battles, in far too many wars. And even with all that experience, there's this moment right before the calm breaks and everything goes to shit. Just an instant before they signal to advance when your feet are welded to the spot. Everybody struggles with fight or flight. It's a natural response that Illyrians have to train around for decades. Centuries even. You did nothing wrong. Think of this as a learning experience. Just like after the Blood Rite, you assess, learn from your mistakes, and move on."
"But it's those moments that matter," she countered. "It's those moments where it is killed or be killed. It's those moments that count. Gods, what if that male had been really trying to hurt me?" Gwyn whispered, shaking her head as Azriel's hand squeezed hers.
"Gwyn, you fought."
She twisted towards him, her lips set in a tight line. "Oh, and that's another excellent point. That male was innocent."
"The prick touched you without your permission, and you felt like you were in danger. There is nothing wrong with what you did." His jaw tightened. "He was a drunk asshole. Now he's an asshole with a hangover and a shattered nose."
She gasped, her eyes wide as she put her hand to her mouth. "Oh Cauldron, did I break his nose?"
Azriel pressed his lips together, trying not to smile. "You sure did. You might have busted up his jaw too. You got that bastard good. Honestly?" He gave her hand another squeeze. "I'm fucking proud of you."
Gwyn lowered her arm, a small chaotic giggle escaping. Holy Mother, she had broken that male's nose. Sitting up straighter, she raised her chin. "You know what? When you put it that way, I should be fucking proud of myself."
A surprising, side-splitting laugh erupted from Azriel. A genuine, soul-warming sound that was deep and hearty. Warm and bright. Such a perfect tone that she could imagine his singing voice must be extraordinary. Gods. The grin that accompanied it, the sparkle in his eyes... If he wasn't holding her hand, Gwyn would have swooned right off the balcony.
"I've never heard you swear before," he chuckled with a smile. "And that was a big one."
"Nesta is rubbing off on me, I guess," she smirked, sneaking a sideways glance before staring at her swinging legs.
"Not sure if that is exactly a good thing, but it was cute." He knocked her lightly with his shoulder.
A flush spread over her cheeks and neck. Cute? Please don't let him notice. She stole another peek at him. He was watching her with an intensity she couldn't decipher.
'Light. Keep it easy.'
"Funny, I was going to say this is the most I've ever heard you talk, Azriel."
He barked out another boisterous chuckle.
"With all your brooding, who knew you could laugh," she teased, not bothering to cover the fact that she was looking at him.
One of his dark brows arched. "Of course I laugh."
"You just don't do it often?"
He lifted a shoulder, dropping it with a sigh. "There's not much in my life to laugh about lately...especially with Cassian out of the House. My brother's always good for a one."
"I can't imagine there is ever a dull moment when Nesta and Cassian at home."
"I wish there was," he muttered under his breath. Mother only knew the shenanigans poor Azriel had walked in on. Frankly, Gwyn didn't want to know.
"Ever think of moving?"
"Why, Priestess? You have an extra bed for me in the dorms? I'm sure it would thrill Merrill to hear you invited-"
She threw him a dirty look. "If you finish that sentence, I am going to shove you off this ledge."
"I'd liked to see you try, Priestess." One side of his lips tipped up in a puckish half-grin.
"Oh, I'm sure you would, Shadowsinger," Gwyn knocked his shoulder back. When she turned her head away to hide the heat in her cheeks, she noticed the sun had already disappeared beyond the horizon. The stars sparkled above like glitter on the midnight velvet. Glancing straight up, she groaned, wanting to give one particular constellation the middle finger. "Damn you, Gerona."
Azriel pressed his lips tight, fighting back a snicker. Of course. Guess that solved if he was there for her slight fit over the stupid clouds sabotaging her way home, stealing her glory.
Gwyn sighed, absently twirling an errant strand of copper around her finger. "I think you might be right."
"You? Thinking I'm right? You're conceding to me? Is the world ending," Azriel teased.
She rolled her eyes. "Let's not go crazy. I mean about yesterday. Perhaps I was being too hard on myself. It was a big step for me to take..."
"Huge, and one you should be proud, Gwyn. We're all proud of you, but all that matters is how you feel."
She searched deep inside, finding that, yes, she felt that glow of accomplishment.
"I need to look at yesterday as a giant leap, and I may have stumbled back a bit, but I need to press on. I-I can't go back to how it was before," she paused, shaking her head. "I don't want to. I don't...no, I can't let what that...what happened to me steal any more of my life. I want to live. I want to experience the world."
The grip on her hand tightened. "That's good, Gwyn. Like I told you this morning, anytime you need to work something out, I'm here." A ghost of a smile graced his mouth. With a spin, he turned back to the roof and stood, pulling her over with their still joined hands. "Come on, Berdara. Let's see if there's any of that balm for your hand."