SUMMARY: Azriel and Gwyn are both dealing with their own issues and the ones they have together. Gwyn discovers what could be a clue to a threat.
UPDATES WILL NOW BE ON FRIDAYS!
Gwyn sensed his gaze on her from across the training ring again. Fervent. The back of her neck tingled with heady awareness. The trained Illyrian was working with the novices, drilling them through the basics of correct finger and arm positions for hand-to-hand combat. How to plant their feet properly. Cobalt siphons shining like bluish flames in the light, the sun finally warm against her face. A signal spring was on the horizon.
She'd been the one staring at his demonstration. And it wasn't the way his muscles moved and flexed beneath the unyielding leather armor. Not that it hadn't attracted her attention because, Cauldron, above. It was the way he respectfully addressed the priestesses, particularly the new pupils. The courteous distance he maintained unless directed. The delicate but firm vocal cues and questions.
Azriel knew Gwyn noticed, noticed she was glancing with mounting pride. Proud that he, a fine, caring male, was hers. Daily she thanked the Mother for sending the shadowsinger to her rescue in more ways than one.
Despite the clamor of the rooftop full of grunts. The din of clanging metal, and the meaty thuds of fists. Their eyes inevitably found each other. More than once during exercises this morning, she'd felt a cool wisp of shadow against her cheek, or playfully brushing her rear. Those earned the Azriel a quick look of amused ire.
Weeks passed since they wept themselves to sleep. Clinging to one another. Afraid of surrendering one another in the twilight. As if they would lose one another forever. The next morning, safely protected in his arms with the memory of the night before, she jackknifed, gripping her legs to her chest, her cheek resting atop her bony knees.
"Gwyn?" Azriel asked, voice gruff with sleep. She heard the rustle of sheets beside her and then a rough palm on her lower back. A kiss to her bare, freckled shoulder. Her body leaned into his warmth. His arms folded around her, they spent the morning in bed quietly talking.
Completely vulnerable before him, for good or bad. The remaining walls crumbled to dust. But Gwyn could sense fear thrumming through Azriel. In the way his shaky fingers brushed through her hair. The tension in his jaw worked against her temple.
Sighing, she rose on her knees, pivoting so she was straddling his lap. His hands dropped to the bed as he leaned back, bracing himself in more ways than one. His wings spread out behind him.
"I think, perhaps," Gwyn said tentatively, searching for the right words. "I would benefit from speaking with the priestess I went to after… everything."
Azriel's answering exhale was unsteady. He nodded. When his face dipped, she watched his practiced mask settle into place. With two fingers beneath his chin, she forced him to meet her measuring gaze. "I need you to understand this has nothing to do with you, Az. This has to do with me."
His tan forehead creased beneath onyx hair. "Does this priestess truly help with this?"
"I can't speak for everyone but myself. Yes. Under her deal, she is compelled not to tell anybody what transpires in her space unless she suspects harm. It's private."
"Are these things you can not speak to me about?" Azriel asked in a hushed whisper, lost within the surrounding shadows.
Gwyn's face and chest pinched. "I can, and I will. I need… perspective first. Do you have anything you'd like to ask me? Tell me?" As he opened his mouth, she silenced him with a finger to his lips. "Besides an unnecessary apology for last night that I won't accept?"
Azriel eyed her intently. Haughtily, Gwyn smirked back at him. He pressed a faint kiss to the pad of her finger. Gwyn's body should have fluttered, her chest should have constricted when she heard that. Normally, he would have curled his long fingers around her wrist, kissed, licked, and perhaps sucked the digit until she was giggling or moaning.
"Shadowsinger, I don't want what happened yesterday to cause you to treat or love me differently."
"Nothing has changed, Gwyn," he said without hesitation, his body growing taut.
"You have returned to being cautious." She lowered and shook her head, sending her copper hair sliding over her shoulder. Holding his hand in hers, she lovingly traced over the ridges of scars. "I appreciate your discretion. But, truthfully? I enjoyed being at your mercy, Azriel."
"Is that right?" Azriel asked, his hand clinging to hers, his thumb caressing the back, sending a shiver up her spine. Nodding, she nibbled on her lip.
"Well," Gwyn drew out the word, her crooked smile becoming positively impish. Her fingertips slid up his torso, tracing the inky motifs of swirls adorning his ribs. Curling ever so slightly. "Perhaps, not as much as I loved having you at mine."
His dark brows arched and then snapped together in realization. "Don't you dare think—"
Hysterics cut everything Azriel was going to say off as her fingers wildly tickled his sides. His chuckles were rapid and heartfelt as he tried to protect his vulnerable sides. Her delight at being able to set them off was obvious. "Gwyn," he panted between bursts of laughter. "St-op." His wings tried to shoo her away, but she was unrelenting.
"The Spymaster of the Night Court is a baby."
When he could take no more, he grunted, flipping them, her back bouncing as she hit the mattress. Regaining control, Azriel gently pinned her wrists to the bed, her bare chest heaving beneath. Shadows swirled around them, in between them, in an excited cavort.
"You. Gwyneth. Berdara are a menace," he gasped, his muscled body pressing into hers. Tsking, his mouth lifted teasingly to one side. "And you have no idea what you've started."
"Berdara!" She blinked rapidly, the deep voice rousing her from her memories.
Gwyn twisted to the voice, finding Cassian staring at her, arms crossed with a blank face.
"She asked a question. Thought you'd like to answer if you're done fantasizing," he said. Her cheeks heated, and her eyes fell to her boots.
"Sorry." Gwyn tucked a section of loose bronze hair behind her arched ear. "What's the question?"
"What is something you learned during the Blood Rite?" The raven-haired priestess asked. Ah. Well, that made sense, given what the new advanced group would face this week. This year, Cassian and Azriel wanted their input on the course.
Gwyn stood straighter before the seated group, her hands clasped behind her back.
"First, I want to reassure all of you that none of those who complete the obstacle course will face the Blood Rite. Last year's experience was inexplicable. But when you complete the course? Cut the ribbon? You'll be an Elite. To answer your question regarding the Blood Rite itself."
The young Valkyrie paused, feeling the invisible stroke of shadow on her nape, and she knew Azriel was eavesdropping. She remembered the look on his face when she came out shaken and battered. An arrow wound to the thigh, coupled with emotional scars that often chased her into sleep. With each one of her shallow breaths, there was sheer relief slipping behind the mask. As if the shadowsinger was as worried about her safety as Cassian was about Nes.
"To survive," Gwyn continued, "You need to find shelter and food."
Emerie chucked beside her, her chin motioning to the copper-headed Valkyrie. "Gwyn stole squirrel meat from one of them. She also watched and waited, devising plans to lead a beast to…,"
The eldest Archeron interrupted, clearing her throat.
"Scare some Illyrians away," Nesta added, omitting the fact Gwyn's plan had massacred the barbarous Illyrians. The thought still made her uneasy. Gwyn shifted from foot to foot. "Yes, well, they won't have to deal with that. But, you will be tested."
Nesta's arms crossed over her chest, mirroring her mate. "Get some good sleep, ladies. Tomorrow is going to be unpleasant."
Cassian clapped his hands, dismissing the group, leaving Gwyn, Nesta, and Emerie to help with the cleanup. Over by the weapons rack, Nesta nudged her.
"Are you alright? You seem distracted and not just today, the last couple weeks."
Gwyn exhaled through her nose, her shoulders rolling. Peering over her shoulder, she found Azriel and Cassian over by the door, deep in conversation entering the house.
Nesta placed a hand on her shoulder, dragging her own gaze from the doorway. "Is something going on with Azriel?" Her silvery-blue eyes drew daggers.
"No, not like that." She sighed deeply, drawing Emerie's scrutiny. Gwyn hurriedly finished restoring the practice weapons in their rightful place. "I promise, we're good. But can we talk about this later? I'm late for work." Not altogether an untruth. She had some research to do for the High Lord, but first was the appointment. With Eirny, the priestess she saw for counseling.
Freshly washed and changed into a black tunic and breeches, Azriel finally sat at his desk. His eyes scanned over the new intel. Beron had dispatched mercenaries over to the continent. No news on who they were meeting or purpose. Interestingly enough, they weren't stationed far from the queens or Koschei's lake. The memory of what occurred to Eris's soldiers came to mind. So, was Beron working with the Queens? Would the old prick have the balls to dare rouse Koschei? And why? There was no doubt he suspected his eldest son, the one true heir, might be plotting. Beron didn't keep his crown and head by playing stupid games. The bastard that he was still a cunning asshole.
'Our Valkyrie made it to the library safely,' his shadows reported. 'She went to see the healing priestess.'
Counseling. Azriel knew she'd gone after what he deemed as "the incident," but less as weeks passed.
"It's good to hone and rebalance periodically, as one might do to maintain a sword," Gwyn explained, hinting at the possibility Eirny would want to see more than traumatized priestesses.
After he didn't answer, she muttered under her breath that the mighty shadowsinger might dread a little conversation. Az let that one go. One thing he'd learned so far in their relationship; learn when to pick your battles.
"I was going occasionally even before this happened," she admitted the dawn after the incident. The morning he'd almost feared to touch her. He had listened to her. How she still wanted him. Loved him. And then she'd ambushed him with her playful fingers until he couldn't breathe and he'd been more than happy to return the favor. Tickling her until she tapped out, unable to speak through the explosion of hiccups. The rare forfeiture was a first for Miss Gwyneth Berdara.
Amid their revelry, Azriel couldn't escape the sheer terror etched in her features with her cheek smashed against the wall. Never would forget.
'Enough, shadowsinger. She told you to stop, so stop,' his shadows pleaded as Azriel did his damndest to silence the heavier darkness inside, about to argue. 'Wasn't your fault. Our girl is right, you are a glutton for punishment. Your hearts sing the same song. You would never harm her.'
No. He'd rather stab Truth-Teller into his own damn chest than intentionally hurt her.
Guilt was a festering wound, one he'd been tending to, living with, since the day after they set his hands ablaze...
He remembered shivering from exposure and pain and hunger. At first, Azriel thought he was dying as she cried out to him like a beckoning angel. Her sweet voice was sharp and insistent, wailing for her son. She'd come for him. To free him, take him to safety. Then his father raised his voice, bellowing, warning her to stop. The answering sickening, fleshy crack echoed off the walls of his cell, pursued by clipped, frantic whispers. Azriel only learned what happened because of his shadows…
Az flexed his linen wrapped hands, swallowing thickly.
'She still loves you.'
Yes. Even when his mother didn't remember, she did. He felt it to his very soul and cherished each flicker of recognition. Every alert conversation. Time with his mother was more precious than gold.
Each visit yielded the same questions. Would she remember him? Would she be violent? Worst of all, when she looked upon his face when she was trapped, would she look upon her son and only see his abusive father?
The last time he visited Rosehall after Solstice had been a relatively pleasant visit. She did not recognize him as her son but as a dear friend. He brought her a gift. A year's worth of cross stitch with many pictures of Prythian courts. A window to the outside world his mother couldn't make herself venture. Fear had made her a shut-in. Not simply in the house, but in her mind.
"I met a girl," he'd admitted off the cuff while they'd played a game of chess beside the wide window in the cozy parlor, near to the warmth of the crackling hearth.
His mother's tan face lit up like the sun, her eyes turning into gleaming topaz beneath long stray pieces of unruly ebony. And when she'd pressed for more details, he obliged.
"She sounds enchanting. Have you told her you love her?"
By that point, he hadn't yet uttered those profound words, but they already seeded deep in his heart, his soul.
His mother made her decisive move on the board and looked up, tilting her head. "You should. You should tell her before you regret it when you no longer have the chance." She stopped, shifting uneasily in her seat, her hands wringing unconsciously in her lap. "I wish I had told my son Azriel that I loved him more. My beautiful boy."
His hand froze mid-move, hovering over the board. His mother continued talking about losing her son. Long dead. Az knew better than to correct her. Dissuade her from her garbled memory. To correct her now would cause outbursts and outrage since it was already late in the day. Madja called the phenomenon sundowning.
He'd left after checkmate, sketching a bow, promising to return and leaving her to the caretakers he hired in the house Rhys's mother had offered as a house for her friend's care.
Even though Azriel knew she was protected, cared for, his demons followed him back to Velaris, ever louder with each wingbeat.
'You should bring the lovely Valkyrie to meet her,' his shadows whispered, lugging him from his anxieties and back to the present. A heaviness settled on him. Gods, he wanted to, but…
Knock! Knock!
Azriel sat up straight as his shadows circled around.
'The High Lord.'
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Come in, Rhys."
Rhysand poked his head into the room, a casual, smug half-grin gracing his features.
"You never knock," Azriel said, flipping over a page stained by rings of amber drink.
"Well, I never had to worry about you using this office for—" He flicked a piece of invisible lint off his navy lapel. "Intimate activities. How does it go with our favorite redheaded Valkyrie?"
Azriel rolled his eyes and didn't deign a response as the High Lord of the Night Court occupied a seat opposite him across the desk. Besides the occasional crinkle of paper, silence abounded in the space between them.
"Any particular reason you're gracing me with your presence or did you merely need a reprieve from your home?" Azriel said, wondering whether he read into the note of envy even though he was the happiest he'd ever been in his entire life.
"Unofficially, I dropped by to see if Gwyn would take Nesta and Feyre up on their offer for lunch. But it seems she's indisposed."
"Gwyn is sifting through dusty texts for your High Lord ass in the library, remember?"
Rhysand dipped a shoulder, placing his hands on the armrests. "Pity. I believe our dear Gwyneth deserves a break."
Azriel couldn't argue with that. She'd been relentless in her pursuit of anything, her frustration with each passing day that conceded nothing.
The High Lord cleared his throat. "Officially, we need to discuss Nuala." Azriel became still, and he lifted his gaze. Violet eyes pierced his. "There's been no solid evidence she's alive, Az. All we have are a pile of bloody clothes, which had been an intentional—"
"Ruse."
"Azriel, I don't think—"
"I don't leave people behind, Rhys. And you see the sadistic games Beron enjoys playing against you."
"I realize all too well, Az. If we can't send anyone in..."
Azriel glared coldly at his brother as inky fog thickened and spread. It did not require him to be daemati to see what he was suggesting. Azriel ignored him, returning to his work.
"What about sending Lucien?" the spymaster spat like distasteful residue on his palate. "Wouldn't he blend in more? Doesn't the lordling know exactly where his prick of a father would hold captives?"
A heavy, drawn-out sigh resounded. "You know what would happen if Lucien stepped a toe into Autumn."
Azriel did and didn't especially give a damn. As long as another particular copper-headed offspring of Autumn remained safe, he would sacrifice.
'She is the middle Archeron's mate, Shadowsinger. You recall what it was like when the High Lord died, how it stirred our High Lady. Would you want to cause Elain that kind of grief?'
The shadowsinger's eyes slammed shut on a harsh exhale. No, he did not. Try as he might, Azriel could never erase the horrifying, anguished screams emitted from Feyre as she had clung to the body of her deceased mate. Truth was, Azriel wouldn't condone that type of torture on his worst enemy.
Nor would he put someone he loved directly in the path of unparalleled danger. He turned back to his reports, his eyes examining the text. "Is that all, Rhysand?"
Fingers tapped a purposeful rhythm reminding him of drum beats before battle. In the midst of opening his mouth, the door to his office flew open, striking the adjacent wall.
Gwyn rushed in, still clad in her leathers. Copper hair frazzled, a glaze of sweat dotting her brow. Brows knitted, Azriel stood and hurried to reach for her.
"Shadowsinger! You won't believe what I found," she panted breathlessly, hustling over to the side of the desk, arms crossed over her chest.
He set his hands on her shoulders, steadying her, finding her shaking under his grip. "First, are you alright?" His shadows swirled around her collar, checking her for injuries.
She rolled her eyes, shifting her body. "I'm fine, you mother hen!"
He arched his brow. "Then why are you huffing as if you were chased?"
"Funny story…"
"Any tale that begins with funny story, is notoriously not funny, Berdara," Azriel said, pulse-quickening. "Usually quite the opposite."
"Well then allow me to regale you with this notoriously unfunny tale, then," Gwyn started before a loud cough interrupted.
Azriel would have laughed at the wide-eyed look and embarrassed flush that swept over her when she finally noticed Rhysand. If he had not been so concerned. She lifted a hand to her gaping mouth.
"Oh gods, did I interrupt something?" She twisted back to Azriel, her hair streaming behind her shoulder. "Was it something important? I'm sorry, High Lord… I mean Rhysand… I mean Rhys. Shit. Excuse me, I'm a mess."
Rhysand's deep chuckle did nothing to assuage Azriel of his worry. "Gwyn, what the hell happened?"
As she trudged aimlessly between the towering stacks, Gwyn's mind drifted elsewhere. Her session went smoothly, and she certainly felt lighter. The priestess Eirny listened, encouraging Gwyn that it was okay to think the way she did. Reassured Gwyn she was normal. Her reactions only natural. Yet something remained unsettled the Valkyrie, sticking to her bones like marrow.
It was obvious Azriel was still being prudent, approaching intimate moments differently. An unmistakable, deliberate way. If he wished for her leg on his shoulder, he tapped the back of her knee and let her choose. Or he'd express his want in words. Before the incident, he would have simply adjusted her leg where he wanted.
It was a sweet gesture. Kind. But…
In her dreams, she remembered being under Az's loving control. Heard his low, bossy demands panted in her ear. Her wrists kept together with a phantom, rough hand. A patchwork of scarred ridges and valleys distinctively his…
Communication and trust are key with your partner, Gwyneth. You should never fear voicing what you want, Eirny had scrawled on the piece of paper. Like Clotho, she had seen her own horrors, left unable to speak.
Gwyn was absorbed in those thoughts. Wondering if they would ever return to how it was before when she realized where she'd traipsed.
A shudder worked through her body, hairs rising on the arms and her nape.
The seventh level. How had she gotten here?
A gust blew between the stacks, nudging at her back. Her feet moved forward, compelled. Deeper and deeper into the darkest sections, even fae light seemed too afraid to venture. Once, the void would have terrified her. But now?
Further and further, Gwyn sought her way by touch and intuition. Fingers caressed rounded, bumpy leather spines as the mustiness of ancient tomes surrounded her. She walked and walked. Until her boots struck the wall, Reaching out to steady herself, her right hand came upon something odd jutting out from the shelves. Not a leather-bound text but… loose paper. A pile of papers bound with string.
The moment she snatched them, she felt something. Eyes watching, reminding her of the calamity in the library.
Instinct screamed. Run. Run.
So she did.
Swift as the wind. Fast as her legs could carry, Gwyn sprinted between shelving and up ramps and stairs. Up and up, her legs burning as she finally reached the house, and she hadn't stopped until she burst into Azriel's office.
After she divulged exactly what occurred on the seventh level, she was out of breath. Azriel's face was stark, his forehead creased. Hands locked into tense fists, blanching his damaged knuckles.
"So what exactly did you find?" Rhysand's voice broke the reprieve.
Gwyn blinked, staring at the pile of bound paper in her arms. She shuffled to the desk, spreading them out. She studied the text and found much of the words unreadable. Nothing but a jumble of indecipherable symbols and archaic letters.
"It's encoded," Gwyn said. "But I recognize the handwriting." She raised her face to Azriel. "It's Merrill's."
She hastily skipped pages, splitting them, thrusting smaller piles to Azriel and Rhysand, who had joined her. Searching. Reading.
Rhysand sighed as he scrubbed his jaw. "This is going to require a cipher."
"We'll figure it out," Azriel replied, his eyes flashing over to Gwyn. We'll. Shock and pride spread, turning the corners of her lips upward.
Rhysand flipped through two pages, his fingers moving underneath lines of text. "I would like Amren to study these. Perhaps this isn't simply encoded. What if this is an ancient language? A lost dialect? I've never seen symbols like this before," the High Lord admitted, brows pinched.
Azriel nodded as they fell back into the discerning quiet full of crinkles and swipes.
Finally, something stood out in the margins. She rotated the yellowed page on its side.
"Wait, this section," Gwyn said, her freckled fingers gliding beneath the hurried notation. "It's about a stone?" She peered up, finding Azriel and Rhysand eyeing each other. "But that symbol here, I've seen that in my research. It's an oblong blackened skull with flames and means deathless."
"Shit," Azriel hissed, dragging fingers through his mussed night-black strands, hands clasping the base of his neck. His intense hazel eyes found hers. "Do you think it is related to the Seer Stone?"
Gwyn immediately shook her head. "No. As far as legend goes, from what I found, certain priestesses used the Seer Stone for prophecy. They only use the Invoking Stones for good. The priestesses wouldn't use something related to anything deathless," she said, her mouth curling in distaste. "Isn't that what we assumed? Someone, Lord of Autumn or otherwise, wanted to find it for that purpose?"
"One would assume that," Rhysand said, leaning over the desk to stare at the aged paper. His violet eyes sharpened. "But a stone and the deathless. There's only one link… Koschei."
Merrill was probing into the past before the creations of the Courts. The High King. Something about a stone that was hidden away. Something powerful.
Something connected to Koschei.
And again, there was what Gwyn went through in the library. All the time she felt like she was being watched. Stalked. Like invisible hands had been grasping for her in the dark.
But Merrill was gone. Dead.
So what could be…?
"Berdara, are you not hungry?" Nesta asked, eyeing the plate of herb roasted hen and buttery smashed potatoes. The plate Nesta had so graciously ordered and delivered for Gwyn from Sevenda's. Her stomach rumbled and Nesta snorted. "I guess that answers my question. Eat."
Gwyn picked up her fork, stabbing into her meal. As her mouth savored, her mind chewed on her thoughts. Where did Rhys go with the text?
Azriel wouldn't let her peculiar feelings in the library go unchecked. After they'd collected up the loose pages, the shadowsinger left to go downstairs and then presumably to the river estate to report. Would he be back tonight?
A lone shadow blew by her neck, stroking. One straggler remained as if a sentry on watch.
Why had Merrill been looking into anything related to Koschei?
Kings? Sirens? Prythian? What in the Cauldron had she been up to?
"You were missed this afternoon," Nesta said, swirling a spoon into her tea.
"You met with Feyre and Nyx?" Nesta's brow lifted. Gwyn shrugged, taking a small bite of potato. "Rhysand stopped by."
"Yes. Feyre, Nyx and Elain."
"Elain? She's back?"
"She is, and she's… different. Dare I say happier? It's impossible to tell with my sisters. They both have this uncanny way of disguising discomfort with a smile. Something my mother tried to instill in me, but I just grew to resent. Never took." She shot a wry grin. "But yes, she was running late, but she dined with us and it was… nice. Pleasant."
"Well, that's good. I'm happy for all of you. Sisterhood is a deep bond."
"Whether by blood or fate," Nesta smirked, she reached over, placing a hand over her own. "Elain actually asked about you."
Gwyn blinked once. Twice. "She did?"
Nesta nodded. "She wanted to apologize to you in person and was hoping you were going to be at Starfall to do so. This brings me to something discussed at lunch. Starfall is almost upon us in a few weeks."
Gwyn knew this well. Usually, Starfall involved many gatherings of ceremony and prayer. Others were to attend Calanmai. Thankfully, Rhysand and the other High Lords worked with the High Priestesses to make participation in the Rite voluntary. But this year?
"You're going dress shopping with me," Nesta said. Gwyn's fork clanged as she set it on her plate, placing her hands in her lap. "Unless you weren't planning on attending? I can only assume your mysterious bat is making some sort of plans."
Her heart kicked in its cage. Mother above, was he?
How long had Gwyn wondered about Starfall? To be there, watching the sky as it glittered with wonder? To revel in the beauty of friends and family? To dance beneath the luminous sky as the stars shimmered like sparkling gems?
In her head, she remembered the words she had spoken nearly a year before. Words she'd avowed to her shadowsinger. "And who knows, maybe I'll show up to Starfall itself next year! That's my goal—that's my new ribbon."
Her lips twitched. Shoulders straightened. New ribbon, indeed.
"Yes, Nesta. I will attend Starfall."
Next Chapter: STARFALL
Chapter 51 collage teaser will be up on my Tumblr ( mystical-blaise) this late Sunday. I'll have a TikTok (mysticalblaise) video teaser up on Monday!