There was nothing Gwyn liked to indulge in more than letting out her strain and frustration on the training ring. And for the past month, that's exactly what she had done.
Knuckles battered and bleeding, she threw a thunderous punch aimed for the head of the broad-shouldered Illyrian. Cassian side-stepped to his left, causing a fixated Gwyn to swing at the open air. A quick groan escaped her as she turned, now seeing a coy smirk grace her trainer's lips. Gwyn tightened her knuckles, his smug look only infuriating her further.
After a year of training, she had deemed herself good at hand-to-hand combat, but Cassian was a thing of legend—harvesting sheer power of an entire army on his own.
Again, she blindly charged at him, her entire strength concentrated into the balls of her fist. A feral cry escaped her, as she swung her clenched hands once more. And again, Cassian parried, causing Gwyn's unrequited force to send her straight to the ground.
A grunt left her throat, as she crashed onto the solid padding of the training ring. The force was enough to stain a side of her leathers—the night black now discolored to a washed grey.
"Gods, Gwyn, you're really after my ass today." Cassian huffed, extending a hand.
The tempered Valkyrie took it, but not without a wince caused by the throbbing sensation in her hands. She looked down at them now as she stood, a crimson color saturated the cloth that was once neatly wrapped and tucked around her knuckles. But regardless of the seething pain, she shook it off, as determination ran through her. She squared her shoulders, sizing up the Illyrian warrior in front of her.
"Again." Her voice was stern.
"Again? With your hands like that? I don't think so Berdara." Cassian scoffed, crossing his arms. Gwyn bit the inside of her lip, unhappy with the answer she was given, and at the fact that he was right.
"Go to the water station, hydrate and tend to your wounds." Cassian furrowed his brow, studying the stubborn priestess beneath him, "Then we'll talk." She heaved a deep sigh in response, walking herself to the water station outside the ring.
To her convenience, Nesta had already poured a glass of water for her, as she now held it up to the copper-haired priestess. "Again?" Nesta raised a brow, noticing the bloodied bandages on Gwyn's hands.
"Yes. Again." Gwyn acknowledged her doing, giving Nesta a sympathetic smile, assuring her sister of her sanity. "It's just training. Don't worry about it."
"You know, instead of trying to kill my husband, you can talk to me Gwyn… about anything."
Gwyn pursed her lips, her teal eyes averting Nesta's concerned stare. She knew what Nesta was referring to—about the bond that had made itself known between Azriel and herself, about how they both haven't spoke of it since their return from the High Lord's cabin.
Nesta reached for Gwyn's shoulders, giving them a light squeeze. "I love you, Gwyn, don't ever think you're alone in your thoughts. You can come to me for whatever reason."
"Thank you." Gwyn sucked a breath, a warmth settled in on her shoulders at Nesta's declaration. "Maybe I would like to talk, after all this."
"Mor and Emerie are inviting us to Rita's tonight. Why don't we drink and cry? Does that sound good?" Nesta playfully shook Gwyn's shoulder, lightening the mood.
Gwyn breathed in deeply before she replied, "That sounds heavenly."
An ear-piercing whistle was heard from the training ring, causing both Valkyries to shoot their heads up at the sharp sounds. "You're up, Nesta!" Cassian called out, receiving a slight groan from his wife.
"Don't let him push you around too much." Gwyn said with a smile.
Nesta scoffed, "Have you met me, Gwynnie?"
Gwyn couldn't help her chuckle, as her sister then made her way to the training ring, ready to put light to her words.
But before she could even watch the lovers before her begin their quarrel, she had to tend to her wounds as Cassian had instructed. She unrolled the now scarlet-colored bandages on her hand, first for her left hand, and then proceeded to her right. Gwyn stretched out her finger, surveying the hurt that she had punished herself with. Each rise of her knuckles festered an open wound, blood harvesting into the pools. Vibrant greens and blues sprawled across her hands, the bruising tender and warm to the touch. A hiss escaped her, as she poured water from her glass over the open wounds of her left hand. For the second time, she winced at the stinging discomfort; the pain more agonizing than she previously thought.
Before she could even clean the remaining hand, a lone shadow slid across her waist, proceeding to then circle itself through her arms and onto the tops of her hands. The presence against her skin felt cool to the touch, like a gust of cold air.
She smiled, knowing its commander wasn't far behind. The beating of her heart felt heavier than usual. "Are you worried about me?" The shadow continued its nimble movement around her hands, almost as if answering the question for her.
"Don't worry, I'm fine." She replied, but her wincing continued, as she now dumped water on her untended hand—the pain persisted. The shadow frantically swarmed around them; their worry unable to stay contained.
And that's when she heard it, the familiar velvet-like voice she reveled in—the voice of her mate.
"Gwyn."
The Valkyrie swallowed any hesitation and allowed herself to turn. Azriel stood behind her, his movements so quiet she couldn't hear his stealth footing. A look of beautiful concern shone upon his beautiful face. The remaining shadows doing the same frantic dance around his shoulders as their lone counterpart had done.
"Good morning, shadowsinger."
"You're hurt." His voice was low, as hazel eyes softened at the shadows that kissed her knuckles. Gwyn gave him a smile. "It's nothing, really."
"Nothing? You're bleeding." Azriel knitted his brows, his voice turning stern, "If you don't assess your wounds, they become a risk for infection before they can properly heal themselves."
The stubborn priestess bit the inside of her lip, "I was about to do that." Azriel walked over to the table, where a basket of salves and ointments were stored for situations just as these. He rummaged through the layer of bottles, until he pulled out a tin canister.
"Hands out," He ordered, turning to the wounded. But before Gwyn could even give a small protest, Azriel popped the lid off, his index and middle finger spared no time coating themselves in the thick salve. Gwyn complied with his order; her hands now stretched towards him.
The moment she felt his skin brush over her own, a small breath left her, as a faint feeling lightly glowed through the bond. Just as she suspected, he felt it too, as his hands froze in place—the feeling settled placidly against his own chest.
Azriel cleared his throat, continuing his nursing efforts. With gentle fingers, he placed the curing salve across her battered knuckles. "I've noticed you've been a little too dauntless during training. Why don't you hold off on hand-to-hand combat for a while, and focus on mind-stilling instead?"
"Are you telling me I need to calm down?" Completely ignoring the bond now, she raised a brow.
Azriel pulled a roll of dressing he kept in the leather pouch strapped to his belt, a staple he always kept in order to hide away the appearance of his own hands. "No, priestess, I'm telling you to give your knuckles a breather." Again, he took her hand, and began the bandaging process. Gwyn scrunched her nose. "How will I fulfill my goal of landing a hit on Cassian while I'm mind-stilling?"
Azriel chuckled, tightening the bandage as he went. "I'm sure that will come sooner or later."
She heaved a sigh, admitting defeat. "Fine."
But before Azriel could continue their light banter, Gwyn flinched, retracting her hands, as Azriel tucked in the bandage on a too tender of a spot. The once unruffled shadows that settled on his shoulders ran amuck through their hands, just like the lone shadow before them. Teal eyes followed their every swift movement, as the lively tendrils curled against her fingers, until they finally rested themselves against the very wounds that ached her. "I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" His voice was filled with concern. "It's nothing." She gave both him and his obscure shadows a small smile. "Azriel?"
"Yes, Gwyn?"
"Can they sense my pain?"
Azriel stilled for just a moment, processing the words that left her lips.
To even just imply about the bond, about the unending force that tethered the pits of their very souls together, felt like a thing of secrecy. It had been a month since their trip to Windhaven, making it a month since the bond snapped right through Azriel's chest. But along with the divine will that the Mother had bestowed upon them, came a month of aversion and of quietude, of treading carefully around one another—leaving the bond unspoken of. Both haven't spoke of it, and both have continued their lives as if nothing drastic had occurred between them, as if that night in the cabin was nothing but a mere fever dream they both had dreamt of.
Yet, they felt it. From every waking hour to every sleeping breath—the bond glowed quietly between them; the golden thread hummed its presence.
Although their friendship remained solidified, the air between them was filled with an abundance of unanswered questions and of unspoken tension the two had yet to address. It confounded them almost as it confounded everyone around them.
But it wasn't as easy as it seemed for Gwyn. Behind that unfaltering smile, behind the unfailing force of her sheer will and strength, shelled a delicate woman with many words to admit. How badly she wanted to grab her mate by the shoulders, to scream, to cry, to navigate the vortex that was her emotions—how badly she wanted to allow herself to do so.
"Yes." Azriel responded, his voice collected, acting as if there was no pull currently between them. "They wouldn't leave me alone about it."
A spread of rosiness found Gwyn's cheeks, bringing her freckles into even more light. Her chest sank, the bond hauling her again. Curiosity had bitten her, as she was unable to hold back her next choice of words.
"Can you… sense my pain?"
Azriel's hands stilled once again.
"Yes."
Gwyn swallowed, wondering if the spymaster could hear the amplification of her beating heart that seemed to ring loudly in her ears. The words she so madly wanted to speak caught heavy in her chest. Her pink lips pursed together, eyes focused on the beautiful and intricate markings of his own hands. The words rose to her throat, now at the tip of her tongue with the deep inhale she took. Her next breath would be the deciding factor of her courage.
But before she allowed herself to speak, she heard Azriel heave a sigh. Wide eyes looked up, now noticing the sharp glance Azriel exchanged with his brother across the ring. Cassian came to his own halt, leaving a baffled Nesta questioning his sudden antic. Azriel breathed deeply in through his nose, tucking in the last bit of bandage.
Gwyn allowed herself to breathe again, right before swallowing the conversation she had been rehearsing in her head for the past month. "Are you alright?" She asked, teal eyes blinking with curiosity. "Am I bothering you?"
"No, Gwyn, never." The spymaster admitted, his hands still encased themselves around hers. "It's Rhysand. He's requesting a meeting after today's training."
"With the Valkyries or you Illyrian brutes?" Gwyn asked.
"Both."
"I hope you don't mind the guest" Rhysand announced as he walked into the estates meeting room, bouncing a babbling Nyx on his hip. He gave the group before him a sympathetic smile. "He's been terribly fussy all morning, no thanks to those pleasant teeth growing in." He took his seat at the head of the table, his hands propped Nyx up on his lap.
"Perhaps let the babe lead the meeting, I'm sure he has more important things to say than yourself." Nesta snickered.
"Clever." The High Lord gave her a false smile, pulling a stack of paperwork towards him with his freehand. "This'll be quick." A roomful of eyes landed on the esteemed High Lord turned concerned father. "Word has spread like lightening regarding the revival of the Valkyries, as we are all well aware." Rhysand nodded towards the titled female. "The High Lords of Pyrthian have been informed of the Valkyrie practices you all just happened to revive. And to say the least, some have responded in a positive and very intriguing light."
"Even Beron?" Mor furrowed her brows.
"Well, all but one." Rhysand inhaled a deep breath, his violet eyes met Morrigan's own. "But the silence on his behalf is perhaps for the better, for now, but that's highly beside the point. We've received word from Helion this morning, regarding matters of our assistance." Rhysand skimmed through the papers that Nyx now had bunched in his small hands. "He expressed his interest in sending in his own priestesses to our training grounds here in the Night Court."
"He wants to build an army of Valkyries?" Emerie's eye widened at the idea.
"Just like we have, yes." Rhysand smirked. "In fact, he seems rather… infatuated with the idea of having his own priestesses wield a blade."
"Of course he does." Cassian huffed, "It's Helion we're talking about. Nothing like a hoard of well-muscled women to get him going." A round of laughs filled the room, including a hearty laugh from the High Lord himself.
"Well, back to it," Rhysand cleared his throat. "I know you've all been occupied with training the female Illyrians in Windhaven, so I wanted to run this through you before we send our response to Helion. I understand if training at the house, the women in Illyria and now Helion's priestesses would be rather… overwhelming for you all."
"You think we can't handle it?" Nesta raised a brow, a look of fire danced behind her eyes. "I'm sure you can," Rhysand angled his head. "But your input would be nice, is all."
Nesta looked at Emerie and Gwyn, all three Valkyries nodding their head in agreement.
"I think we can handle it," Gwyn spoke earnestly, earning a proud smile from the Night Court's spymaster who sat across the table from her.
"Then, that settles it. I'll send confirmation to Helion, and we'll begin receiving his first batch of trainees as soon as he gives the word. Azriel and Mor will winnow them as needed. If Helion sends them in an abundance, then Feyre and myself can lend a hand."
"Sounds solid, ladies?" Cassian asked. "As solid as can be." Nesta gave her husband a smirk.
"Well, I thank you for your diligence, Valkyries. You are forever in my ongoing debt." The High Lord gave the three women a nod. "If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to let me or Feyre know."
"A bigger training ring would be nice." Emerie tapped her finger on her chin. "Some new books in my personal library would also be very much appreciated." Nesta added.
"Noted. Also, I hope you can all join us for dinner." Rhysand said, bouncing Nyx. "Feyre would be delighted to find everyone here once she returns from the studio."
"Well, that's the least you could do for dragging us out here." Cassian stretched his arms upwards, accompanied by a groan.
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't we going to out tonight?" Mor arched a perfectly shaped brow, staring at the girls sitting aside from her.
"Rita's?" Azriel asked.
"Of course, it's karaoke night. We are very long overdue for a night out." Mor twirled a blonde hair between her fingers. "Plus, we must properly celebrate the expansion of the Valkyries, right?"
"Should we expect you all back?" Azriel asked, a smirk tugged the corner of his lips as his eyes met Gwyns. "Or will we find you inebriated, stumbling over your own two feet?"
"You won't have to worry about that." Gwyn muttered, pursing her lips. "That was one time."
"If we don't come back after midnight, then you're allowed to come get us." Mor chimed, as she stood from the table.
"So I take it you won't stay for dinner." The High Lord continued to bounce the babe on his leg, trying his utmost best to ease the teething child. Mor laughed deeply as she stood, "Of course we'll stay, but once we clean those plates its straight to Rita's." Rhysand pinched the bridge of his nose, "Forgive me for wanting to have my family over for a nice dinner."
"Fatherhood has made you so sensitive, Rhys." Mor snickered, walking over to the attentive father, and taking Nyx into her arms. "Isn't that right, Nyx?" But all the child did was give Mor a toothy grin.
"Well, I'm convinced for dinner, and you're lucky I'm starved." Cassian stood from the table, "Shall we, Az? Ladies?"
The latter muttered their agreement, pushing their chairs from the table. Gwyn stood, only to be called from the head of the table. "Gwyn, before you leave, may I have a word?" Rhysand called after the priestess, as he placed the paperwork away. "It'll just be a second of your time." Azriel lingered at the open door, his ears perked at the request of Gwyn's presence.
"Of course, my Lord." Gwyn nodded eagerly.
"I'll save you a seat next to me." Nesta waved her hand at Gwyn. However, as the room emptied, the door remained open, as a broody spymaster leaned against the doorframe.
"What does this concern?" Azriel mustered himself to ask. His shadows loomed against his wings, with just as much curiosity as he.
"This doesn't concern you, Az, she'll join you all shortly." With a quick fling of Rhysand's finger and smile bestowed upon the High Lord's face, the door of the meeting room shut.
"Excuse him." Rhysand redirected the same smile to Gwyn. "I hope my brother hasn't been giving you too much trouble". Gwyn felt her cheeks fill with warmth. She was sure Rhysand knew about the bond and was glad he made light of the situation. "He hasn't."
A small chuckle escaped Rhysand, as gave the priestess a nod, "I'm glad." Violet eyes, soft and mindful, now rested upon the copper-haired priestess. "Firstly, Gwyn, I'd like to thank you for your ventures to Windhaven. I visited the camp a few days ago and was approached by some of the female warriors. I can see a striking difference in their spirit, in the way they carry themselves, and your name was spoken of a few times. They extended their gratitude."
Confounded with his words, Gwyn blinked, internally baffled by the unexpected praise that left his lips. She knew the female Illyrians had become fond of her, as they openly extended their trust, but never to the extent of speaking of her so highly to Rhysand himself. Gwyn managed a nod, teal eyes filled with undiluted pride. "Truly, the honor is mine."
"You've done noble-minded things for the Night Court, Gwyneth. Your benevolence proves to me of the good-will you've brought the Illyrians. That's why I'd like to ask of you the following." He cleared his throat. "Gwyn, I wanted to put you in charge of the priestesses from the Day Court. As you know, some of these priestesses are victims of Hybern. I tread with caution around this, and I'm aware this is a rather heavy request, but the decision is entirely yours. With either choice you decide, you will have the entirety of my support and understanding,"
From shakily signing her name on the training sheet, to becoming a full-fledged warrior, Gwyn was aware of the significant transformation she had undergone since her arrival at the Night Court. To have the chance to train defenseless women that had gone through traumatic circumstances as she once had, was something she couldn't dare decline. Not once.
"I will never pass a chance to train any woman in need of our assistance." Gwyn pursed her lips, a brilliant confidence gleamed in her eyes. "I will be more than willing to accept this position."
"I appreciate your dependability, thoroughly, Gwyn." Rhysand gave her a firm nod, she returned the gesture. "Thank you for making everything so painlessly easy." Content with a beaming smile, Rhysand extended his hand, Gwyn extended her own, and shook his with a firm shake. "Now please, make yourself at home, and please stay for dinner. And if you must go out for Karaoke, do be cautious of your eardrums around Mor."
Their hands retracted, and Rhysand stood, but his movements halted as he noticed a lone shadow circling Gwyn's lap. "Oh. Seems like you have a friend." Rhysand leaned against the table, folding his arms against his chest. His observant violets eyed the curious shadow nestled against her lap. "Is it with you often?"
"At times, yes." Gwyn ran a hand through the inky tendril, the cool feeling felt brisk against her skin. "Azriel told me they go against his words to leave me alone." The corner of her lips tugged upwards at the thought.
"If I may be a little candid, Gwyn, I think they knew you were his mate long before the bond snapped for him." With that, Gwyn acknowledged the small hum of the bond confined to her chest.
"May I ask you a question, High Lord?" Her tone descended, speaking softly now. "Of course, Gwyn, ask to your hearts content." Rhysand shifted his footing.
Unable to find meet the depths of his violets, Gwyn focused on the way her hands ran through the murky shadows. Gentle passes kissed her skin, as if they felt the now severity of her nerves. Timidly, she licked her lips, allowing herself to speak of the question that ate her. "The bond… do you feel it… constantly?"
"Regardless of distance, nor the time of day, the bond doesn't rest, it doesn't sleep. When Feyre and I are away from one another, we can sense each other's feelings regardless of where we are. When one accepts the bond, that feeling intensifies, becoming much stronger than one can imagine." His shoulders eased as his head angled to the side, now curious about the questions that circled the priestess. "So my answer is yes. Why do you ask?"
She swallowed, hard, before re-joining with an answer. Although timid by the pressing subject of the bond, she felt a small relief—a relief of finally being able to speak of the obscured questions she had gathered the past month alone. "Before, I would feel just the slightest pull. I envisioned this thread, that was only alive from my end. But now I feel a turbulent force, where sometimes, it even wakes me from my sleep, or sometimes it just tugs and gnaws for the entire day, as if it'll do anything to make itself known." Gwyn felt the warmth begin to rise in the pit of her chest. The shadows that had once settled themselves with calm against her lap, now rose, curling themselves against her arms. She couldn't help her smile. "Sometimes it even feels like music."
She allowed her lids to close, imagining the whispered sounds of a soft orchestra that relayed its symphony through the thread of their bond. The light melody of a grand piano would run through her, as each delicate key intertwined itself to the ends of her heartstrings. She'd hear it… feel it.
And in times when she felt utterly alone, fighting the tremors that had consumed her throughout the night, she'd hear the press of those keys. The unison of those harmonies allowed themselves to serve as a reminder—the reminder that she was never truly alone.
Sharp, golden eyes focused solely on the large grandfather clock that sat in the middle of the Riverhouse's sitting area. Quiet shadow's loomed over Azriel's shoulders, moving slightly with each tick the clock sounded. The once cool demeanor Azriel had borne, broke indefinitely, as his leg restlessly shook with vigor—a forgotten habit he hadn't nursed since he was a child.
"You look troubled." Rhysand noted, as Azriel found it difficult to focus on the report in his hands.
"It's almost midnight and they still haven't returned." Azriel rubbed his temples, trying his utmost best to calm the pending headache he began to harvest. Rhysand raised a brow, "Is that a problem? You usually know Mor doesn't come back well until three."
"It's just…" Azriel pursed his lips, the pending words in his mind still forming.
"What? Gwyn?" His brother spoke of the answer. Azriel's bouncing leg came to a quiet pause.
"Az," Stern eyes studied his sullen brother, his face softened. "I truly didn't want to pry into your business, I really didn't, but have you both still not spoke of the bond since you've returned?"
"No," Azriel spoke with a heaviness in his chest.
It wasn't his intention to ignore such a topic of crucial importance. It was never his intention to be oblivious of the bond the cauldron itself had deemed him worthy of—at last. But to see Gwyn's tear-stained face that night in the cabin, to hear her tone of hesitation, he couldn't dare bring it up to her. The uncertainty she exuded that night was enough for him to avoid their mating bond for an entire month altogether. He swore to the Mother he'd never make her cry like that again, even if it meant to leave him wandering in the darkest parts of his mind.
It wasn't at all easy. Inarguably, it was his own definition of mere torture. To see your mate—daily, and to speak nothing of the tether that bound them together. There was nothing more that he wanted than to sit her, hold her, run his marked fingers through the silk of her hair and to speak of the words coiled deep in his core.
But regardless of that burning feeling harvesting within himself, he couldn't bring himself to speak, not until she initiated her own desire to do so. He gave her the control, to speak when she was ready—when she deemed it the correct time. It was her choice, and he would always let it be her choice.
"I don't want to pressure her. She's been through enough already. I couldn't forgive myself if I put her through even more," The spymaster spoke just loud enough for Rhys to hear.
"Perhaps she feels the same way, brother. You won't truly know until you speak to her."
"How would you know? Did you read her thoughts, Rhys?" He hissed at the thought.
"I would never." The High Lord spoke, "That is an invasion I would never cross of Gwyn."
With his brother's assuring words, Azriel allowed himself to relax, exhaling the forgotten breath he had held onto for just a little too long. Just speaking of her felt forbidden, as it was something he was treading softly over.
"But I can tell you this," Rhysand sucked in a breath. "Gwyn and I weren't the only ones in the meeting room this afternoon, and I'm sure those busybody shadows of yours heard exactly what Gwyn and I spoke of, of what she felt."
It was a truth he couldn't deny. As much as he instructed his lingering shadows to leave the priestess to be, they abandoned his command, and seemed to follow through the cracks and crevices. It wasn't the first time they'd prove their fondness, nor did he think it would be the last. But while Gwyn and his brother spoke behind closed doors, he could feel it. The bond lit a fire, as warmth radiated through his chest and her breathy whisper of words landed softly against his ears. It took absolute restraint to stay still at his post, to not kick open the door to the meeting room and demand her audience.
"There's so much I want to tell her." For once, he let his vulnerability shone.
"Then tell her." His brother pushed. "You should know she has just as much she wants to tell you."
The grand clock struck the start of the new hour, its mechanical tune announcing the arrival of midnight. Azriel's back stiffened at the sound. "Didn't you say you'd go at midnight if they haven't returned by then?" Rhysand asked, his brows high.
Azriel stood, his wings tucked in along with the trails of his shadows. "I'm a man of my word."
From the outside of the small venue, the sound of faint laughter and music could be heard, but the inside told a rather contrasting story. In absolutely no way was this the karaoke night that Azriel had remembered he had attended at Rita's. Bodies upon bodies were jammed full in Mor's preferred establishment, dancing to the rhythmic music that blared throughout. Azriel pushed his way through, looking for a familiar face amongst the sea of socialites. His shadows quickly dispersed across the raucous parlor, aiding him on his search.
It wasn't until he felt a tug on his elbow that had him turning his head. A red-faced Nesta appeared before him, an irregular smile plastered on her face. Her usual tight composure had become completely undone, as the once neatly braided crown that nestled atop her head now laid unpinned and free. Behind her, Cassian swayed, his hand draped around his wife. Both potent with the smell of their mating bond and of rich whisky.
"When did you get here?" Azriel knitted his brows, trying to piece the puzzle of Cassian's arrival. "Weren't you supposed to be going over reports?"
"I snuck off a little after the girls did." Cassian admitted.
"Are you here to collect us, chaperone?" Nesta asked, balancing herself against Cassian's side, clearly as inebriated as he was. "I did say that didn't I?" Azriel shook his head. "But I'm actually looking for Gwyn." He went straight to his point, earning raised brows from both Cassian and Nesta.
"Oh," Nesta smacked her lips, "Well, last I saw her she was with Emerie, and Emerie is with Mor." Nesta's trailed her words, as she then pointed to the other side of the room. "And they went that way." A helpless sigh left Azriel lips, as he knew her direction was most likely a solid indirection. Suddenly, the faint whispers of his shadows had called him—Outside, backdoor they informed.
"Come, let's get a drink, then we'll send out a search party." Nesta tugged at Azriel once more. Amused with her will to drink and her determination of finding Gwyn, he gave his brother's wife a smile. "It's alright, you two enjoy yourselves. I think I know where she might be."
With all speed, Nesta placed her hands on Azriel's shoulders, her grip strong. The blue-grey eyes wore a look so fierce, it pierced right through the spymaster. But it wasn't a look of warning, nor was it a threat, rather, a leer of courage—a push in the right direction.
Her words were simple, yet direct. "Speak. To. Her."
The backdoor of Rita's connected to an intimate patio sector, which stood surrounded by vine-filled trellis' from all sides. Small groups huddled themselves near the small pits of fires, escaping the roaring crowd from the inside just as Azriel assumed Gwyn had done.
But much to his wonder, there was no single sight of the copper-haired Valkyrie. With furrowed brows, he tuned himself with the shadows lingering around his shoulders, but they remained as quieted as he. Disgruntled with their silence, he stepped out the trellis and into the open air, being met with nothing but the brisk cold that the night brought.
"Hello, shadowsinger." Stiffed at the sound of that honeyed voice, the warmth returned to his chest. His body took a bend to the voice; hazel eyes widened at the sudden Valkyrie that appeared before him. She had baffled him with a trick from his own book. "Is that a startle I gave you?"
Azriel couldn't suppress the smirk that graced his lips. "Where'd you learn to stealth like that?" Gwyn shrugged in response. "I have a mediocre trainer, but he teaches me a thing or two."
"Mediocre?" The reputable spymaster scoffed, displaying his playful hurt. "How pitiful."
"Pitiful is squeezing yourself between a swarm of people just trying to get across the room."
"Were you not having a good time?" He angled his head, genuinely concerned. Gwyn shook her head in answer, "No, I was. I just needed to breath actual air instead of taking in the smell of spilled wine and the extra spritz of Cassian's overbearing cologne." But rather than continuing her mischief, Gwyn threw Azriel a suspicious look. "I thought you were coming only after I began to stumble over my own feet, and clearly I still stand."
"Perhaps I underestimated you." Azriel crossed his arms, the smile still lingering across his lips. "At least this time."
"I only had one drink. I won't overindulge in front of so many people." Gwyn spoke. "If I make a fool of myself then that'll only call for more eyes to witness." Azriel couldn't help his chuckle at her honesty.
But before he could deliver her snark of his own, he paused slightly, as he then felt it—the bond. He was sure she could feel it too, by the way her shoulders had stiffened, and the way her breath had hitched. Soft eyes observed her small movements, all while admiring the way the subtle winds danced along the strands of that brilliant copper. Gwyn felt the heat rush to her cheeks, her painted pink lips tugged upwards.
But rather than gazing upon the statured Illyrian, Gwyn looked upward to the night of the sky. "Isn't it something?" Gwyn asked herself more rather than Azriel. Her voice gentle, light. "I can admire it all night."
His sight traveled to where her gaze had gone, and it wasn't difficult to see as to why it had gone there. Sitting atop the great peak of Ramiel, glinted three stars, with a brilliance so fierce it had rivaled the radiance of Gwyn's moonlit eyes.
"Then why don't we?" He spoke just as softly, breaking the priestess from her trance. "Preferably somewhere with less of an audience."
Again, he extended his hand to her. And again, she took it.