Flying. It was one thing Gwyn has never gotten particularly tired of—to be high above the lighted city, just high enough to see it in all its picturesque glory. To see intricate paintings and studies of Velaris in old tomes and archives was one thing, but to experience it whole, to witness the stretch of pure life and landscape… it was entirely another. From the white marble buildings that somehow seemed more brighter at night, to the tranquil waves of the winding Sidra, Gwyn's teal eyes widened with admiration, as if it was her first time witnessing the city of starlight at such heights.
She imagined how liberating it must feel, to escape the world and take to the skies at your own leisure. To lurch away your worries as you knowingly get lost in the thick of the nebulous clouds. Her eyes shut, basking in the feel of the cool wind on her warm skin— a perfect balance she had come to love. The sound of nothing but the night's gust sounded in her ears, the quietude of a familiar solace she enjoyed. Her trance awoke as she heard the rippling sound that came from the set of powerful, muscled wings behind her.
She'd admit she was envious of the broad Illryian wings—to take to the skies when needed be. Gwyn could only imagine the luxury of it, to rule the air as you pleased. She'd travel to beautiful places, far places, places her and Catrin had messily circled in the sacred atlas that had belonged to the temple.
If she had the gift of flight all those years ago... on that day… perhaps… then…
"Why so quiet, Gwyn? Scared of heights?" The velvet-like voice could be heard above her head, chasing her out of the abundance of thoughts.
The banter lightened her heart… and she was thankful.
She turned to face the spymaster that had her secured tightly against him—one arm around her back while the other hooked the back of her knees. The corner of her lips tugged upwards. "You know, at this angle." Gwyn tightened her hold against his neck. "I could very well strangle you, bringing you down in an instant."
A mischievous smile returned her own. "Careful, Valkyrie," A low chuckle arose from within him. "If I go down, you go down,"
Her laugh burst throughout the vast sky, the sound melodic and bell-like, and the bond glowed brightly as the sound graced the open air. As if in a silent understanding, they both quieted, and exchanged their small smiles. She'd often notice how touch can affect the intensity of the bond, naturally. And with their bodies pressed so close together in such proximity, it was only right they'd feel the unison of the delicate hum that ran between the two like a current.
"Maybe that is something we can add to our list of training maneuvers," Gwyn managed to say, despite the clear presence of the bond.
"What? How to survive a fall from thousands of feet in the air?" Azriel raised a brow, awaiting her answer. Honey eyes now eyeing their destination, the House of Wind.
"But of course, you see-" But before she could finish her paragraph of an answer, a small squeal escaped Gwyn, as Azriel quickly descended from the skies on a sudden note. Thoroughly enjoying his impromptu lesson, a chuckle escaped him, the sound loud and golden.
They landed softly on the stone terrain of the training ring. With careful hands, Azriel placed Gwyn on her feet, earning him a labored thanks.
"Did you enjoy your lesson?" Azriel tucked in his wings.
"Thoroughly." Gwyn replied, pure sarcasm on her pink lips. She ran a hand through her once neat locks, and placed a hand on her hip, her head angled. "Isn't it strange how we always wind up here?" At her question, the spymaster attempted a smile, amused at Gwyn's finding. She added, "Do you do this on purpose?"
"You wanted a better view, Berdara." He crossed his arms, motioning his chin to the vast sky. Gwyn followed his motion, curious eyes quickly fixating themselves on three stars that shone like a silver fire hovered upon Ramiel. Once a year, the three stars would illuminate with such a blaze it was difficult to not pay attention to them above the great city.
"Do you know what their clear visibility signifies?" Azriel asked.
"Yes." Gwyn's fixed gaze didn't leave the sight above. She knew clearly what their brightness indicated… because she lived it. She would never understand how something so beautiful could signify that such a perfectly orchestrated danger loomed near. "The Blood Rite will commence soon."
She remembered it clearly— The way her body tightened with fright, as she awoke amidst a pile of sleeping Illyrian men on the first day of the Blood Rite. She remembered the way her heart pounded fiercely through her ears, and the way she swallowed her violent sobs, as she prayed that not a soul would wake from it.
"Yes." Azriel agreed, waking her from her lurid recollections—an unconscious practice he had done twice in the span of ten minutes. "It will."
"I thought I was going to die up there, you know." Gwyn huffed a breath. "I was sure of it."
Azriel tensed at the eeriness of her words, the weight of them prodding an uneasiness straight into his chest. His shadows skittered around his shoulders. "Don't speak of such nonsense."
"Nonsense?" Gwyn could laugh. "I survived by the Mother's will. That and of pure, idiotic luck. If it wasn't for Nesta or Emerie, I might as well would have been good as dead."
A heaviness nestled itself atop of Azriel's shoulders, bringing a sullen sensation between the bond. He knew she could feel it—the mass of his worry. "Gwyn," Azriel swallowed. "You are a Carynthian. You share the title bestowed to only few. You shouldn't speak of yourself in that manner."
In contrast to the fright she had endured during the morning of the rite, Gwyn had also recalled the absolute determination to live. In such a moment of severity, survival was the key, and Gwyn did everything in her power to do just that—survive. And together with Nesta and Emerie, she'd done it, they'd done it. But it wasn't just about survival, but about winning. And they'd do just that too—win.
Gwyn retracted her gaze from Ramiel to the dainty bracelet on her wrist that was entangled in white, teal and blue. In a sense, she owed the little ornament her life.
"Carynthian." Gwyn repeated the decorated word, her eyes moving back to the peak of the mountain. The title was foreign on her tongue. And although it was rightfully hers, she rarely used it.
"Yes, Gwyn, Carynthian," Azriel spoke, eyes wholly on hers. "We are equals."
Equals.
Mates were equals.
She often questioned the Mother's divine will, as to why certain things were destined to take place, good and bad, in jovial times and in solemn. And she couldn't help but think that if all that she was forced to endure in her short life was to be placed right at this precise moment, to be placed in this very spot—standing next to her mate.
Gwyn pursed her lips, feeling the tightening of the bond between them. An array of feelings sheathed the thread.
"Regardless of what you think of yourself, you've pocketed a heap of triumphs since you've arrived. That alone is a victory in itself, Gwyn."
Discarding her priestess robes for leathers, slicing the ribbon, stepping foot outside the House of Wind, attending Nesta's mating ceremony, experiencing the nightlife of Velaris, taking missions in Windhaven— we're just among those small milestones that Azriel had spoken and took note of. And what tugged at her the most, was that he was there through each and every one of them.
"I'm proud of you, Gwyn." His voice was earnest, full of promise. "For everything you've endured—conquered."
Azriel's praises were usually quick, only heard in the training ring, as tired priestess heaved with exhaustion from his instructions. But this time, the weight of his words held a much deeper meaning. The beating of her heart felt as audible as it could ever be. Loud, thunderous, the pace beating in a fleet rhythm. She knew he could feel it, perhaps even hear it, if the bond allowed that much.
Gwyn pursed her lips, as they then quickly turned into a sly smile. "Why so sentimental? Did you not just plummet me a thousand feet from the sky?"
His chuckle was low, soft. "I would never, Gwyn."
But something tugged at her, and this time, it wasn't the bond that connected the entirety of their souls together. It was the words that have been swallowed in her throat, begging to be released—spoken. She knew this day would come, the day where she would speak her truth—and the day Azriel would receive the answer he deserved.
"Azriel," Her once voice of confidence softened its tone, an unusual trait for the unwavering priestess. "I'm sorry."
Azriel's rounded ears perked at her apology, his face tilting up to her unusually small voice. "Sorry? What ever could you be sorry for?" His question was genuine, unaware and naive as to what Gwyn would be issuing an apology for.
The now timid priestess pursed her lips, her hands fidgeting with the silk fabric of her dress.
"That night at the cabin." She sucked in a breath. "I shouldn't have run off."
Azriel stilled at her words, his face becoming unreadable, unable to be deciphered—a spymaster true to his craft.
"And this entire month… I wasn't sure how to approach the topic, therefore leaving it cold," She admitted, her side of the bond grew heavy. "I'm sorry."
"No," Azriel finally spoke, his face still adorned with neutrality. "It was a shocking revelation, for both of us. You can't be sorry for dealing with such a natural instinct."
"But I can be," She protested. Her hands fisted in her dress, eager to speak her part— her truth. "You deserved better that night; you deserved a proper conversation. And I didn't give it to you." Tears began to swell in her eyes. "I was a coward."
"Gwyn." His eyes softened now, along with the tone of his voice. The same hands that she had praised, that she had assured worthy, quickly strode to cup her shoulders, keeping her upright in place. "You are not a coward."
The teal eyes that averted the bearer of those words, now dared to look up. Azriel, with a face of sheer devotion, stared right through her, piercing her. His hands carefully trailed from the cusps of her shoulders to the round of her cheek. With a coarse thumb, he wiped the single tear that dared to escape. "Everything you couldn't speak to me, couldn't convey to me—I felt it.
"I felt your sadness, your frustration. I felt the moments you awoke from your night terrors, and the moments you lighted the entire house with your revelry." He brushed his thumb across her cheekbones, across the parade of freckles he came to memorize. His faint touch sent a shot of warmth straight to her chest. "I felt it all."
And she remembered. On nights where she had awoken, breathless and gasping for air, trying to suppress her scream from the night terror she had just endured—she'd feel it. The eruption of panic and agony that burned throughout every inch of her body, turned into a thing of ease, a source of comfort. The bond would chime, glow, its music enveloping itself around her—the fierce, quiet protector she didn't know she had.
"When we spoke in the cabin, you said you didn't speak of the bond because we weren't aquatinted," Azriel spoke. "I think you know me well enough, Gwyn, to know how I feel about this, about the bond—about you."
But try as she might to accept the feelings that they both now visibly shared, a hesitancy arose within her, heavy and somber.
"Azriel," Gwyn's voice was like a whisper now, a hum in the wind. "I don't wish to alter your life so drastically. I swear on the mother I never mean to do so. I don't want this to feel like your…" She sucked in a breath, unable to look at him straight in the eyes as the word began to leave her lips. "…Obligation." The distinct choice of words was enough to make the shadowsinger wince.
"Gwyn." His throat tightened, as the siphons on his leathers flickered in dismay. "This isn't an obligation, nothing near it."
She had somehow known, yet the intrusive mindset she carried couldn't help but push the idea that he might see it as so. Gwyn knew Azriel was handsome, highly sought after, and perhaps even full of lovers. She'd seen the ways the females in the training ring would roam their eyes on him. She'd hear the heaps of hopeless sighs that left their mouths when he simply walked by, strapped in his leathers and freshly sharpened knives. Who was she exactly to change him? To change that?
"But what of your life?" Gwyn continued to press, glancing lowly at him. "You would rather choose a preordained mate rather than your own choice?"
"This is my choice." Hurt shone his face, overtaking those same beautiful features. "I feel an irrevocable pull to you—a brilliant, absolute pull I will not deny nor ignore. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't feel it, feel you." Hazel eyes softened, desperate to plead their truth. "You are my mate, Gwyn, someone who was predestined to share my soul, and if you believe I have felt this way for another female… then Cauldrons, Gwyn, you are incredibly, incredibly wrong."
Silence fell between the two of them, as nothing but gale and darkness surrounded them. Emotion glittered in Gwyn's eyes, a film of gloss beginning to grace the front of her teals. She opened her mouth, words at the ready, but felt it close again with a small breath.
"But what of you?" He held her stare, his question bearing an unexpected weight. "I don't care if this union is holy blessed by the Mother herself. This is your choice. It will always be your choice." Stern words were spoken, as Azriel dropped his hand to his side before caressing the ends of her coppery-brown hair. He swallowed hard, the words heavy in his throat and in his mind. "If you choose to accept the bond, or reject the bond, I will respect your choice. Always."
For two years, she kept that heavy secret, not ever knowing if she'd ever see the Illyrian male again that had unveiled himself that day in Sangravah. And for two years, she lived a harrowing life in the library, thoroughly believing she'd live out the rest of her days with a dreadful heart that ate at her every night. She was defeated, demoralized, and she accepted the fact at who she had then become; a shell of her former self, inconsolable and completely broken.
And then Nesta came, and Cassian, Emerie. And then… Azriel.
Azriel, who pushed her to her limits, who knew she was far more capable than she gave herself credit for. Azriel, who taught her how to fight and how to defend herself from the cruelness of the world that she herself had witnessed—survived.
A guide. A protector. A mate.
"I don't wish to reject it." Her voice was soft as the admittance finally uttered its truth, her eyes brilliant as they shone against the luster of the stars above. But her lips pursed, and her hands began to tug at the fabric of her dress again. Hesitation.
"But I've yet to love, yet to be touched properly, yet to face the ardency of a male. There are still so many things I must learn, to face, before I can properly accept the bond. I want to return to Sangravah, to visit Catrin's gravesite, to restore the temple, to face all the horrors in the eye and conquer everything that had once took a hold on me so tightly." Her throat bobbed as a surge of emotion shone on her face. "I want to do all that with you."
"Gwyn." He paused; a look of longing lit up his features. "I give you my word. I give you every ounce of my word. I will do all that for you… with you."
The formidable shadowsinger of the Night Court kneeled below her on a knee, wings tucked tightly behind him. And in an unexpected movement, he unsheathed truth-teller, carefully setting down the coveted blade at the fronts of her feet. It was a gesture shown to none but his High Lord and High Lady, and now, to his mate. The symbol of pure reverence and vulnerability laid before her—her savior on his knees.
"You can accept it tomorrow, the week after, the month after, in years or centuries." His eyes never left hers. "You have me completely, and that is my bond."
Azriel extended a hand, scarred and beautiful. And again, she took it.
She matched his level, sitting on her knees, the delicate satin of her dress now marked with dark stone. But all that mattered in that significant moment, all that she needed, was right before her—yearning and waiting, hand now enveloped with hers. The shadows that coiled against his body then stretched outwards, nestling themselves against her shoulders.
"You really think I'd take centuries?" A tug curved her lips upwards, the banter shielding anymore tears that dared to come.
"No." Azriel tucked a stray hair strand behind her arched ear, a small chuckle escaped him. "But you can take however long you'd like, Gywn. I'm not going anywhere, mate."
Mate.
Again, the bond gleamed between the two.
She had once convinced herself, a mere two years ago, that the light in her life would never come along. And for the most part, she was thoroughly convinced that she would live in the desolate void, with nothing but her afflictions and her gloom. But with that merciful hum that chimed so gently through her chest, she smiled, now fully convinced that she would persist. She'd live a life so beautiful and worthy, for herself—for Catrin.
"Can I kiss you, Gwyn?"
Heat rose to her face, her neck, but she managed the small nod. Teal eyes shut with a shutter, as something of eagerness ate at her heart. Her breath hitched, as the warmth of Azriel's soft breath lingered closer, setting her skin ablaze. And in an instant, his lips pressed gently onto hers. But beyond the softness of his lips, and beyond the taste of his sweetness and mint, something bloomed.
Music. It was what sounded like music that played between them.
The once tranquil hum burst into an orchestrated melody, ringing from their pounding hearts to the caves of their chest. It was a clash of gold and light wrapped in a blanket of symphony. The thread that adhered both souls together, gave off an abundance of a brilliant, radiant light. They pulled away just slightly, as small gasps left both sets of mouths. Their tightened chests turned into an ardent blaze, no sign of the dim glow nearby.
Perhaps it was a push from the Mother herself, but Gwyn knew they both had felt it—love.
Moments turned into seconds—which had turned into minutes, as the fated pair had somehow made it to the floor of the ring, admiring the stars that casted their glow upon them. Resting her back on his chest, Gwyn had pointed out a cluster of star formations, some old and some new, and the rich origins of each. Her slender finger traced the outline of every constellation, a slow and precise movement, which had Azriel reach for her hand, joining her in the process.
"Which one would you go to?" His whisper was an indulgence against her ear, sending a quiver against her skin.
"I'm not sure." She looked up towards him, her mate, before her voice turned into her own whisper. A small smile found her lips. "I quite like it here."
"Me too."
The night persisted, and amidst their smiles and laughs and small kisses, darkness engulfed them whole. Both now had fallen asleep—a once heavy task—wrapped in the comfort and familiarity of each other's arms. A protective wing had draped over them both, shielding them from the elements.
And for once in her life, and his, they slept in tranquility, not a trace of a nightmare loomed. And even in sleep, the bond hummed, the music still lingered to the very pits of their souls.
Enveloped in nothing but the dark of the sky, the melodic sound continued between them—like a slow dance in the dark.