Summary: As Gwyn and Azriel wait for help. Lots of self-introspection, talking, and kisses. And later they receive some life-altering news from Rhysand.
This chapter isn't as fast-paced as the previous but I think we need a break. LOL At least for a few. It's necessary for the change in the relation ahead! Hopefully, it's just as good. Enjoy!
Her eyes remained locked on the wet cavern wall ahead. The battering storm outside synchronized the crackling embers. The fire barely replaced the chill seeping into her bones.
Catrin.
Shutting her eyelids, Gwyn's mind once again moved to the deceased male still mounted out in the woodlands. The one Azriel killed. The former soldier her twin had been seeing—who used Catrin to get insight on the temple. Abused her twin's goodwill and naivete. Exploited her insecurities against her to ply information. Used her sister's body.
Now Gwyn simply wished she was the one to have driven that stake into his foolish throat. Though, if Gwyn were being honest with herself, she hoped she could have asked him more questions. Because now that's Catrin left behind; her invoking stone and a whole bushel of why's and hows.
Cauldron boil and fry her. How many times had Catrin begged Gwyn to accompany her to the tavern? Too many to weigh. And now? What had her sister gotten herself into? Why hadn't she told Gwyn? Truthfulness, honor, had been very important between them. They were twins, for Mother's fucking sake!
The past was becoming clear now, like frost slowly vanishing off a temperate glass pane. Catrin's hurried words that evening, her frantic packing, and pleas for them to leave. Gwyn thought her need to leave was part of her sister's distaste for priestesshood. But now?
Gwyn's heart and gut tensed at the thought Catrin knew what was going to pass that night.
Could Catrin have stopped it? Any of it? All of it?
Despite her efforts, Gwyn's vision could not escape the crumbling stone facade in front of her. Or the self-portraits, she and Catrin drew around the age of eight. Catrin's much better, full of detail down to the pleats in her flowing light blue robes, while Gwyn's was barely a glorified stick figure wearing a burlap sack.
Gwyn, always competitive, added some coal to her twin's portrait, sketching a curly black beard, and mustache. As soon as Catrin noticed, her ears practically gushed steam. The same treatment was soon given to Gwyn's picture. Henceforth, the two pirate priestesses would be immortalized forever.
Gwyn's nose and eyes stung as she held the tears at bay, her sister's cobalt stone a cold, heavy burden in her pocket.
"What did you know, Catrin?" She asked in a whisper. As the shadowsinger rubbed against her, she cursed inwardly. His faint exhales brushed her hair once more as he settled.
Several hours ago, Azriel passed out from exhaustion, not only physically, but also emotionally. So Gwyn took the first watch, a hand steady on the dagger attached to her thigh. While the other was clutched in the shadowsinger's grip as he leaned into her, using her head as a pillow, one wing tucked tight to his back, the other draped over them both.
She often glanced at his hands, imagining what happened. What he had endured as a youth. To this day, Azriel often bound cloth dressings around his fist beneath his gauntlets to cover his scars while in public, the damages inflicted on him so much more than just to mere flesh.
Gwyn wondered if his horrid parents and brothers were alive. Because deep down a new fire roared, blazing in her chest, urging her to defend him. And if they were? One day, Gwyn would surely make them pay.
The distant howl of a wolf drew her concern from the shadowsinger. Her ears had been perked the entire evening, tracking anything beyond the voices of the forest and the rainfall. Her nose was keenly aware of the dampness of the cave. Of the petrichor and crisp foliage beyond the secret entrance. But it was the shadowsinger's chilled night air and cedar scent she couldn't elude, surrounding her. Comforting her as much as the weight of his wing.
Gods, what Azriel revealed just before he'd drifted off had the world dropping out from under Gwyn's feet. Had her brain spinning at his words, every so often interspersed with others.
"In ancient Illyrian, Gerona means Azriel."
Whispers in the wind. "Gerona leads you home."
"In ancient Illyrian, Gerona means Azriel."
Catrin's. "We forge our own path, sister. We follow our own stars."
"In ancient Illyrian, Gerona means Azriel."
The ones from her dreams. "You know Gerona will always lead you home, don't you, Gwyn?"
"In ancient Illyrian, Gerona means Azriel."
And as Gwyn valiantly struggled against the sleep claiming her, there was only one word repeating as she held Azriel's hand…
Home.
By the time Gwyn pried her eyes free to birds crying and trilling, the storm had passed. Her body throbbed with tenderness, and she couldn't feel her legs—because an Illyrian male's head was lying on her upper thighs. Azriel gently cradled her arm, captured between his powerful biceps against his firm chest. His heartbeat was slow and steady under her palm. He spread out one half of his wing over her lower legs as a makeshift cloak, keeping her warm after their small fire had doused.
She allowed herself a slight smile, watching him doze, his faint shadows rising and falling to the tempo of his breath around them. Gods, he must have been drained to have collapsed onto his side like so.
Her hands had a mind of their own, absently delving into his hair, brushing the longer ebony strands from his forehead. Gwyn had never known him so relaxed, so loose, so... very un-Azriel.
"Mmm, keep doing that. It feels nice," he blurted, his deep voice raw with sleep.
Gwyn gazed down at him, his lids half-open as he stretched, cringing. Her fingers kept sifting through his sleek ebony.
His eyes opened fully, exposing rich hazel, enticing her in that fierce way they always did. "How are you, Gwyn?"
"Fine." His hard stare told her he didn't believe her, so Gwyn added, "A little tender." A lie. She was actually in great discomfort from her wound. But, thankfully, the lingering fever in her nerves from the faebane was ebbing from an inferno to dying sparks. "But my legs are asleep."
His perfect lips curved in one corner and seeing that smile attempt was like drawing in a long breath after near-drowning; potent relief.
"I'm sorry," he drawled but didn't move, merely nudging his head into her palm as she caressed his scalp.
"It doesn't seem like you're a bit sorry. If you were, you'd get off them," she nudged, wiggling her legs under his neck.
"Well," The shadowsinger's fingers skimmed over the back of the hand she still had over his heart, his feather-light touch creating a riot of shivers in their wake. "I wanted to make sure you stayed where you were and not sneaking off as you often do."
"I do no such thing!"
"Uh-huh."
Gwyn moved her arm to playfully bat at him and Azriel caught midair, bringing her hand to his lips, planting a lingering kiss on the inside of her wrist. There was something different about his touch after yesterday. Last night. As if he felt something too, Azriel sat up, grimacing as he did so.
She snorted. "Aches and pains in your old age?"
He shot her a wry look. "Smartass."
"Just pointing it out." She offered him a shrug as he scooted closer until they were hip to hip on her uninjured side. Reaching up, his large hand poised over her cheek. In quiet thanks, Gwyn leaned into his reach.
Slanting his head, Azriel leaned in, and when his mouth met Gwyn's, all the uncertainty about what awaited them that day went away.
Azriel reaffirmed what he'd thought the first time their lips met; he could happily live off her kisses. Her breath in his lungs.
Her lips drifted over his in soft sweeps. Slow. Deep. The kiss consumed all else. One you proffered someone as a vow. And a kiss he wanted repeatedly from his priestess. Every single damn day.
'You can have that if you allow it, Shadowsinger.'
And he held those words and split open that shield around his dark heart. Through the angered darkness surrounding, spewing insult after insult.
'She will regret being with someone as unworthy as you,' they hissed and swore, not releasing his safeguard to open any more than a fissure.
Breathing raggedly, he withdrew, dropping a brief peck over the freckles of her nose, his hands still cradling her face.
"Az, can you promise me something?"
"Anything."
"I—," Gwyn bit her lip, hesitating, her auburn brows knitted.
His thumb swept over her jawline in soothing caresses. "Just ask me, Berdara."
"I know you can't tell me all that passes in your day-to-day work. Frankly, there are probably things I shouldn't. But," she stopped, pleading with those big, expressive eyes. "When you have a rough day, Azriel, even as awful as yesterday; I want you to tell me. Share with me what you can, so I can be there for you. And if you still need space afterward? Fine. But I'm here and at least I'll see where your head is at. I know what it's like to go through that alone."
Azriel brought his forehead to hers, his lips murmuring against her mouth, "That's it?"
She shrugged and her nose bumped into him as she nodded. "Yes. I recognize it's a big ask, but that's all I want, Azriel. Yesterday was…"
"A lot," he finished, and she agreed. "For both of us."
And it was. He felt flayed apart, torn wide open. Too exposed. He'd talked more on his past yesterday than to anyone before in one go. So much of both their souls, their relationship, had been bared and tried. And it hadn't escaped Az how waking by Gwyn's side this morning had seemed different from before.
"But we were true to one another. Honesty, Shadowsinger. As much as you can provide. That's all I want."
But were you true with your words, Azriel mused. Had the priestess truly fallen for him, or was that a tactic to get him to step back from the edge? If they were expecting full disclosure, perhaps he should ask—
The shadowsinger received a strong flick against the curve of his ear. 'Do no such thing! You know the lovely priestess meant what she said in here.' A mass of shadows hovered over his heart. 'You know she meant every word, Shadowsinger. Do not doubt her words.'
Gods, Azriel needed to consider them. Believe he was worthwhile to gain her devotion.
But you see you are not, the insidious voices inside him responded. We all know your love will be her ruin. End her.
'Do not go there,' his shadows ordered. 'Fight them! Fight for her—for you. Promise us you will try.'
"I promise—," Azriel answered. As Gwyn moved in for a kiss but Azriel leaned out of her path. One side of his mouth quirked up when she huffed loudly. "But I expect you to do the same. And sometimes that means we will not agree on all things."
"Oh, believe me, I understand that," she said, obvious frustration of two very diverse varieties written on her face.
"But I promise to tell you what I can when I can, Berdara. Alright?"
"I just don't want you to carry so much if I can help you bear some of the weight," she said. Her words gutted him. How in the ultimate fuck had he gotten lucky enough to encounter this girl? How had the horrors of how they met, ironically in this place, led to something so…
"You want me to be truthful, Gwyn?"
"Yes."
When you collapsed yesterday… A shudder rolled through him at the memory. Watching her eyes widened, the blood dripping over her leathers. Time stopped. Everything had stopped. His heart. His breath. Between that and the library, too many close calls recently. And I…
'Say it,' his shadows urged. 'Speak your truth.'
But for Az, indeed though yesterday may have been an exhausting exception, actions always spoke louder than words. He kissed her again, this time stronger than before, forcing everything he felt for her into it. Hoping his passion expressed to her what he couldn't say in words.
I don't want to lose this.
I don't want to lose you.
Not right now.
'Never,' his shadows hummed, drowning out the darkness in his mind, thumping against the door he'd tucked them behind.
Gwyn wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned into him, her breasts flush with his tunic, the thin fiber of both their clothes no contest for the heat between them. The peak of her nipples against his chest. She opened for him and he moaned into her mouth, his hands smoothing over her lower back, her sides.
Until she gasped and jerked when he accidentally grazed over her wound, which resulted in her knee crashing into his thigh and him seeing stars and holding back a scream.
"Sorry," they both said at the same time. Gwyn laughed and leaned in to kiss him again, brief and sweet.
"Azriel," she said, rubbing his nose as she dragged away, her lips damp. "I don't mean to ruin this, but. I—need." Whatever she needed, whatever he could physically do for her? He was down for. Injury or no injury. Cave or no cave.
Her stomach rumbled loudly, and she flushed.
"Hungry?"
"Yes, but—"
"Food. You need to eat."
"After I... gods, I have to tend to my needs," she mumbled.
Oh.
'That means she has to…'
'I know what that means, thank you.'
'Just checking because your mind was working another way.'
The priestess sent him a stern expression not to be ignored. "You will stay here and wait for me." She held up a staying hand. "And before you even start, I am armed with a dagger—and that warning isn't just for any foe that may approach me in that sort of vulnerable situation if you understand my meaning."
Little did she know, the thought of Gwyn holding a knife to his throat was not a threat to him. Quite the opposite. Not that he would ever tell her.
'She said to be sincere, Shadowsinger,' his shadows reminded, almost swelling and sinking in a mass shrug. Azriel rolled his eyes at their antics.
Before Gwyn rose, her eyes enlarged, peeking over his shoulder. His hand automatically went to Truth-Teller at his side, ready to act and protect them both. "No. No. Azriel, look."
She moved her arm to her rib cage, holding up her wrist. Her bracelet was... glowing. The charm lit from the inside.
Holy fucking shit.
That glass charm dangling from her bracelet. How in the hell had he never noticed before? He recognized it as the one from the necklace he'd given her the Solstice before… After she returned the jewelry to his gift pile. He could sense his friendly shadows shuddering at the memory, while the inner dark ones tittered in delight. At the pain the episode had induced to three lives.
'A fourth, if he knew,' his shadows gently censured. As they were blunt, they had not agreed with his decision in his past pursuits of Elain.
And then fate and brooding had led him to the training ring to find Gwyn practicing. His only joy came from the thought of her grin at receiving the gift. After all, why shouldn't the damn thing bring someone happiness?
But shining like a star? Unless the saleswoman had left that description out at the time of purchase; illuminating, it certainly should not.
"Why is the charm glowing?" he asked, perplexed, as she tried to scramble to her feet, only to slump back against the wall. "Gwyn, stay still, please. You're hurt worse than me."
"Help is coming!" She smiled so wide tiny lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes. "This is how Nesta, Emerie, and I found each other during the Blood Rite! We each made these friendship bracelets last Winter Solstice. They function as locator beacons. Which means—"
"Azriel," a female voice cried out. What the fuck? Feyre? That had the shadowsinger on his feet. Godsdamn, what was his High Lady doing out here?
"Gwyn! You better be fucking alive or I'm going to kill you, Valkyrie!"
"Nesta!" Feyre snapped.
"GWYN!" The voices grew closer.
"In here," Gwyn shouted as Azriel stood, bringing Gwyn with him to their feet. Leaning on each other for help, they started to the cave entrance.
As they emerged from behind the climbing vines, Nesta almost knocked them over as she bolted for Gwyn, hauling her into her arms.
"Shit, Berdara. Shit," Nesta said, the eldest Archeron's voice wobbling. "We went to the temple first and then the woods." She squeezed the priestess harder.
"Ouch. I'm fine, Nesta."
Azriel's growl vibrated in his chest as Nesta drew back, sending a glare. "Calm down, I wasn't trying to hurt her, prick. Wait... are you hurt, too?"
"Too? Who else?" Azriel asked Feyre as she approached him, folding him in an easy embrace.
"Cassian," Nesta said, rancor in her tone. "He ran to protect Rhys and then ended up taking an arrow for me and the bolt was—"
"Ash, and spiked with a weird faebane?" Azriel asked, checked out his leg, and Nesta nodded. "Yeah, well apprised."
"So are Mor and Rhys," Feyre appended. "They hit Rhys right away, so he couldn't use his powers. I sensed something strange down the bond and I left Nyx with Elain and winnowed everyone home. I even called Lucien for help to winnow since he can go farther. We have an antidote for the faebane, at least, or something that works faster. But no one else could winnow and I couldn't leave Rhys or Nyx…"
Azriel nodded, bowing his head. "It's okay. We survived thanks to the little Valkyrie."
As they moved again, Gwyn couldn't suppress her wince, and Az knew she was suffering more than what she let on. So incredibly stubborn.
"They stabbed Gwyn in the side," Azriel said as he led her to easier terrain by the arm. "So be careful next time you rush to hug her, Nesta."
"Stabbed?!" Immediately Nesta's eyes appeared steely, and she began assessing Gwyn's body.
"I'm fine," Gwyn assured. "This is just Azriel playing overprotective nursemaid."
"She sewed herself back together with needle and thread," he added, finding humor watching both Feyre and Nesta's mouths drop open wide.
"We need to get her home. Get Madja to check her over," Nesta said to her sister, hysteria building in her voice.
"Let me reach Rhys down the bond. The antidote should have acted by now and he could winnow faster," Feyre said as the two Archerons discussed a method for their safe departure.
Gwyn sent Azriel a glower. And gods, he wanted to kiss it right off her obstinate face. And praise the fucking Cauldron, he'd get the chance. He captured her hand in his own as they waited for their High Lord to winnow them to home to Velaris.
Azriel hadn't left her side since they returned, not even in the High Lord's study. He'd chosen the seat beside her, dragging hers closer to him. Rhysand had smirked at the gesture as Gwyn rolled her eyes.
Azriel leaned closer, his mouth against the shell of her ear, speaking only loud enough for her to hear, "Remember what I said about rolling your eyes all those months ago, Berdara?"
She did.
"I look forward to it, Shadowsinger," Gwyn sighed, relishing in his ragged inhale against her skin. And she truly did. She wanted to feel his bare skin against her own. Wanted to kiss him all over. Wanted to live.
Cassian's low laughter and Rhysand's throat-clearing dragged them away from each other. All four of them banged up, bandaged, and blackened. Both Cassian's wings had been punctured multiple times and were slowly healing under Madja's care and Nesta's ever-watchful gaze. Feyre stood beside her mate, the High Lord seated at his desk more rigid than usual from the arrow wounds to his back. Mor was still in Madja's charge, Emerie by her side.
"Now that we're all here, we can discuss—" The High Lord began but was immediately interrupted.
"What the fuck happened," Cassian supplied.
Rhysand turned to Gwyn and Azriel. "Well, we know this was a well-coordinated offensive. They were prepared." Purple eyes as strong as amethyst whirled on the male at her side. "Az, I understand you questioned one detained?" Azriel nodded. Then Rhysand asked, "May I?"
Azriel dipped his chin slightly and Gwyn could see his hazel eyes go blank as Rhysand saw the scene through the Shadowsinger's eyes. After a few moments, and a few clearing blinks, Azriel was back to his normal stoic persona.
Rhysand's dark brows drew together. "So this began even before the war with Hybern?" His fingers tapped on the rich wood of the arms of his charcoal wingback. "We have the Dread Trove. That's under lock and key. The Cauldron is concealed. But... the Seer Stone?" He swung his head. "I've never heard of it before today."
"Me neither," Cassian added. "This seems like Amren territory. Someone needs to drag her ass out of Varian's bed and bring her here."
"Seer stone," Gwyn asked, her hands wringing the edge of her fresh black tunic, one she borrowed from Azriel's closet at the River House. The shadowsinger had yet to bring up the Seer Stone in conversation, as their initial chats after everything had been intense.
"Does the resident priestess have any clue about that," Feyre inquired, tilting her head in question. Her cheeks heated as all gave their attention to Gwyn. Cool breezes swept over her cheeks, her fingers now burrowing into her thigh.
Gwyn thought for a moment of growing up in the temple, running around and hiding as children. "We'd overheard talk of a Seer Stone at Sangravah. But…" She took a deep inhale. Exhale. "After the attack, nothing. The last I gathered was that the gem was secure. I merely assumed that meant they sent the stone to the High Temple for safekeeping."
"Do you know of the stone's abilities?" the High Lord asked, resting forward with his fingers steepled.
She shook her head. "No. I mean, High Lord, one could guess it was related to something with seers—" The simultaneous sounds of Azriel's snort, Cassian's choking, Nesta's amused hum, the High Lady's chuckle, and the High Lord's clicking of his tongue had her at the peak of embarrassment. And panic. "I meant no disrespect, High Lord."
Cassian laughed loudly, and she felt Azriel sending him a silencing glare over her head.
"For the last time, Gwyneth, it's Rhysand or Rhys. And not to fret. You're correct in your hypothesis. That would make sense." Turning back to Azriel, he mulled, "But how is Beron involved?"
"Beron," Cassian asked, scowling as he swiveled in his chair toward them. "Vanserra set us up?"
Azriel rolled his shoulders, schooling his features as his knuckles cracked. "The prick only alluded to being hired by the Autumn Court but didn't implicate Beron directly. But, considering I saw him meeting with Beron in Vallahan months ago, it's no leap in logic."
Rhysand sat back, his eyes fixating on the door behind them all. "Beron's involvement in the continent. Hiring men to recover this stone. He's making a move... but why?"
"It's chess," Azriel's deep voice proclaimed as they all focused on the Spymaster. "Your game in your head is always moving pieces ahead before you move on the board."
"So, it's a strategy," Cassian said, his knuckles cracking.
"Well," Gwyn started, her mind working. "If one were to get the stone and use it, to be honest, I do not know how it works or if it works, but if one could use it to see... could it be used to see an outcome?"
Nesta straightened beside her mate, crossed her arms over her chest. "Like a war?"
Strained silence spread across the den.
Oh, gods. Another war?
Her eyes met Nesta's, and she understood. Gwyn knew. If there truly was another war, the Valkyries would enter and leave their indelible mark.
She would fight this time. Azriel knew it without her saying a word.
Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie would lead the Valkyries, no matter what he or Cassian said to the contrary. And it fucking terrified him to his very core.
'Us as well,' his shadows admitted. 'Not because we do not trust the lovely priestess, but…'
But if something happened to her in the heat of battle, he'd never fucking recover.
'We need to stop it before the war happens.' Noted.
"I'll have to think on the next course of action and speak with our allied High Lords. You're all dismissed. But, Gwyn." Rhysand's smooth voice carried the shadowsinger from his thoughts. "I need to speak with you in private."
Azriel stiffened.
"Do you need me to stay," he heard Nesta offer from the doorway as she helped Cassian. Gwyn reassured her chosen sister she would prevail without her help.
The door shut behind them and Rhysand eyed him, brow arched. Azriel didn't move a muscle.
Rhysand cleared his throat again. "I received word from the High Temple with the details of the note you found."
Fuck. Azriel almost forgot about the list in Merrill's office because of everything going on. The one showing Gwyn's imminent requirement to be present at Calanmai. As if the young priestess were a lamb to the slaughter.
"I'd rather Azriel stay," Gwyn said, straightening in her chair, her hand absently finding his, his squeezing in answer. He'd remain, no matter what Rhys said. Feyre nodded and proceeded to slip out when Gwyn added, "The High Lady as well. If you don't mind."
Feyre offered a comforting grin and then they all turned to Rhys, whose jaw was already ticking. Not good.
"I sent a message defining the situation to the Temple, and it seems that they already had you listed, around the same time you found the list in the office."
Gwyn's eyes went large. "But how is that possible?!" She twisted to Azriel and then back to Rhys, bewildered. "Whoever met Merrill was the one who wrote it! How did the Temple have my name listed at the same time?"
"Merrill must have sent word, or whoever this accomplice sent it. But according to the temple, it was directly ordered from the Mother and is, therefore." The High Lord ground his teeth and the High Lady gasped. "Unchangeable."
Azriel was seeing red, his shadows swarming around the room in eclipses of fury, sending papers flying off the High Lord's ornate wooden desk.
'Azriel, calm down,' Rhysand warned. 'And you're about to break Gwyn's fingers.'
Az blinked and realized he was and Gwyn was... unmoved even though her fingertips were crimson and white, the sides of her knuckles grinding together painfully.
"She's not doing this, Rhys," Azriel snarled. "I don't give a flying fuck with the High Priestesses or the Mother."
"No, she's not," Rhysand said. In my discussion with Clotho, she was disgusted and knew nothing about this. She suggested a workaround but... because when you accepted the invoking stone, you accepted a bargain."
Azriel's stomach dropped, and he tasted rising bile in the back of his throat. No. No. That was it. He was plucking her up and disappearing. They'd go to the mortal realm, hide…
'You can't shelter from a bargain, Shadowsinger.' And the ramifications of breaking one?
Gwyn's lower lip quivered, but she bared her teeth. They all jumped when her fist slammed down onto the arm of her chair. "But I was merely eight years old! My mother had just died when I took the vows. How is the indoctrination of younglings something condonable by the fucking Mother?!"
Good question.
"I agree. That's why the younglings you saved from Sangravah are being transferred here to our sanctuary. We will remedy this, Gwyn. There will be no more of this now that I am aware. Clotho will help ensure so."
"That's good," Gwyn said, her chin high.
"Yeah, fine, but what about Gwyn," Azriel directed back to the issue at hand.
Rhysand's eyes moved back and forth between the two of them. Azriel did not let go of her hand. "Clotho showed a loophole in the original bargain you took for the invoking stone, Gwyn. It was a promise to fulfill your duties to the Mother while you are a priestess. The while is the keyword; only bound you to follow those orders—"
"As long as I remained a priestess," the words came out in a strangled gasp that even he could feel in the pit of her stomach, in the narrowing of his own throat and chest.
"Gwyn," Az sighed, easing a thumb over the back of her hand.
"So, I guess therein lies the choice," the young priestess said, her shoulders tall but quaking, shaking the hand in his. Her glossy eyes lifted to Azriel. "Where will I go? They're all I've ever known."
He knew those words were meant mostly for herself cut him to the quick.
"You're family, Gwyn," Rhysand said, his voice soft and warm like a summer night breeze. "You've already carved out a place here. If you would like to leave—" Leave? Azriel's shadows scattered about in panic again, swelling and expanding, practically covering the already traumatized girl until he called them back. Rhysand shot Azriel a stern look before continuing in soothing choice words. "If you would like to leave, you have my support, but if you want to stay in Velaris, we'll set up the Townhouse or we'll ask Nesta about…"
"You can stay at the House," Azriel answered. "If you want to, I mean. You don't have to ask Nesta, you know she'll say yes. You can have your own place. But it's your choice."
Please, he begged with his eyes into the sadness of her own. The helplessness.
And you'll be near me.
'She'll be near us.'
Let me take care of you. Protect you.
'Do not forget she is more than capable of doing that herself,' his shadows chirped their approval.
It was well known to Azriel, but something inside his body was dying at the thought of Gwyn leaving. Dimming. Withering.
I need you; he wanted to scream at the top of Ramiel.
Gwyn gazed at Azriel with tears swimming in her eyes as if he were the only person in the room. Her brave, beautiful response was a simple, yet world-changing, "Okay."