Chapter Text
You can do this. Gwyn took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. She glanced at herself in the mirror, admiring the teal dress Nesta had sent her—it would go so well with your eyes—she had said slyly, dropping off the package in her hands after training earlier in the day.
The teal of the dress did bring out the blue in her eyes, and it highlighted the copper notes in her hair. It was made of the softest silk, and when Gwyn had first seen it, she’d gasped, knowing that it had likely cost more than all of the clothes she’d ever owned combined.
But what she’d liked best was that despite its beauty, it was simple, elegant. It was not too tight, and it was long-sleeved, with the neckline far higher than the dresses Nesta usually liked to wear—so Gwyn knew she had had the dress made with her in mind. The thought brought a smile to her lips, and solidified her resolve to go. Besides, Emerie would be there too, and the two of them would be able to laugh at the way Nesta and Cassian hopelessly mooned after each other.
She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, and twirled, remembering old childhood dreams of going to balls with handsome lords and dancing in beautiful gowns. Catrin, who’d been light on her feet, would’ve dazzled crowds with her dancing, while she would’ve sung the melody that her sister danced to. For a moment, she allowed herself to savor the sweetness of the past, unmarred by Hybern.
Hesitating, she glanced towards the necklace on her nightstand. Golden and lovely, it was, aside from her circlet and her friendship bracelet, the only piece of jewlery that she owned. Clotho had given it to her, saying it had come from a friend, but had refused to tell her which one.
Gwyn knew which one she’d like it to be. She smiled slightly, thinking of Azriel’s handsome face, his kind eyes, and his scarred hands, the only part of him that belied the trauma he must have endured. One day, she hoped he’d share it with her, but right now...well, it was enough for now.
With shaking hands, she slipped on the necklace, fastening the clasp at the nape of her neck, before giving herself a once-over, pleased with what she saw. She lingered over the cloak draped over her bed before choosing to forego it—it was supposed to be a warm night, after all, and she wanted Nesta to see how much she appreciated her gift and all of its little details.
She made for the entrance of the library, brushing past a few curious priestesses—there was no doubt in her mind that they would press her for details once she returned. To her surprise, a giggling Ananke caught her arm.
“He’s waiting for you,” she whispered, squeezing Gwyn slightly. “And you look lovely. You must tell us all about it after you come back.”
There was only one male that could make Ananke giggle like that. A smile rose to her lips, unbidden. “Thank you,” she breathed back, straightening her shoulders and gliding the rest of the way to the entrance.
Sure enough, Azriel waited for her at the doors, sillouetted by the fading afternoon light. Although his back was to her, his shadows peered curiously at her from around his wings, shrinking back in slight surprise as she waved to them cheerfully.
He turned, then, and his eyes widened ever so slightly as he took in her attire. “You look lovely,” he said, meeting her eyes.
Gwyn beamed. “You don’t look too bad yourself, shadowsinger.” He offered her his arm, and she took it, relaxing as his shadows curled around her. They walked in silence until she caught him giving her a strange look. “What is it?”
“Normally,” he said wryly. “People try and stay away from the shadows.”
Gwyn shrugged. “I don’t mind the dark. Besides, they’re awfully friendly, aren’t they?” One of the shadows twined around the hand she’d placed on Azriel’s arm as if in agreement. He looked bemused.
“I suppose they can be,” he said finally. He stopped them at the entrance to the courtyard. “Ready?” He asked.
Gwyn nodded her agreement, and gently, he placed his other hand on her forearm, before winnowing them away.
They landed next to a river, facing a small, but elaborately decorated temple. From inside, Gwyn could hear the sounds of raucous conversation, and she stiffened, swallowing slightly. This would be her first planned outing alongside a group in years. As if noting the stiffness in her body, Azriel gently squeezed her forearm, causing her to jump.
She’d forgotten that they were standing so close. He dropped her arm immediately, looking regretful, but before he could voice an apology, she tightened her grip on his arm. “No I—I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.” She didn’t want to admit weakness, but she also wanted that terrible look in his eyes to disappear—regret and loathing. You aren’t like them, she wanted to say. I’m not afraid of you.
His eyes softened. “If you want to leave, neither Nesta nor Cassian would begrudge you.”
Gwyn bristled. “I can handle one party. I’m not weak,” she said irritably, before remembering who she was talking to. “Er...sorry.” She said quickly. “I didn’t mean to—” She chanced a glance at him, and was surprised to find him smiling broadly at her, his shadows dancing around his wings.
“I would expect nothing less from a Valkyrie. Titles aside, you are one of the strongest people I know.” His voice was gentle, admiring, and it brought a flush of color to her cheeks. Before she could stammer out a thank you, Mor appeared with Emerie on her arm.
“What’re the two of you doing, loitering outside like this?” Mor demanded, smiling warmly at the pair of them. Stunning as always, she was dressed in a tight-fitting gown of deep red with a plunging vee. It made Gwyn feel as if she, in comparison, with her loose, long sleeved, and high-necked dress was a...well, a priestess in comparison. The thought brought a grin to her lips, and she turned her gaze to Emerie, who, to her surprise, was gazing at Mor with unbridled awe...and something else.
Gwyn’s smile grew wider. “Admiring the scenery,” she said cheerfully, winking unsubtly at Emerie, who flushed and glared playfully at Gwyn.
Mor looked bemused. “Nesta insisted on both of you joining her at the house to help her get ready. I’m supposed to bring both of you up.”
Gwyn sucked in an excited breath, and dropped Azriel’s arm. “Of course!” She said immediately, eager to see her friend before the ceremony.
Mor laughed. “Someone’s awfully eager to get away from you, Az,” she said, as Gwyn grabbed her arm.
Gwyn glanced over her shoulder at Azriel, who watched Mor as something that looked suspiciously like longing flashed over his face. His shadows clung to him, as if shielding him. “Indeed,” was all he said, before he winnowed away.
Mom’s smile froze on her face, and Gwyn got the feeling he hadn’t been talking about her at all. Behind Mor, she exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Emerie. Clearly, something had happened between the two of them.
Mor shook herself out of whatever trance she’d fallen into and gave the two of them a tight smile. “Hold on.” She winked at them, before winnowing them away, but not before Gwyn caught Emerie’s blush.
They reappeared in a richly decorated hallway, lined with portraits. A great window was in front of them, and when Gwyn stepped forward, she saw the river and the temple below them. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, unsure if she was talking about the house, the temple, or the view before them.
“It is,” Mor said gently. After a moment, Gwyn turned to face her and Emerie, who looked mildly uncomfortable with the richness of the environment around her.
“Where’s Nesta?” Emerie asked, moving closer to Gwyn. She understood. It made her a little uncomfortable too, to be surrounded by such luxury. It didn’t feel as if she belonged.
“Right down the hall. She’s the first door on your right.”
“You aren’t joining us?” Emerie asked curiously.
Mor grimaced. “I’m mainly here for Cassian. I’m not entirely sure that Nesta would...appreciate my help.” She dipped her head at them before disappearing from the room.
Gwyn and Emerie exchanged glances. They had known, of course, that Nesta’s relationships with the other members of the High Lord’s inner circle were strained, but the way that even Mor seemed to walk on eggshells around her surprised Gwyn, and made her a little angry on her friend’s behalf.
It seemed to her that no one here had ever really bothered to know Nesta. Then again, it was hardly her place to judge whatever was between them. She loved Nesta and admired Mor, who, a few weeks after she’d settled into the library, had shared her story with her. Both of them were so strong—they reminded her of Catrin—and she hoped that one day, they’d grow to be friends.
“You look awfully fancy in that dress of yours,” Emerie said, nudging Gwyn lightly.
Gwyn laughed, and looped her arm through Emerie’s. “Why haven’t you worn yours? I know Nesta sent you one too.”
Emerie grimaced. “I have it here. I don’t…it doesn’t feel like I should be wearing something like this.” She drew Gwyn’s attention to the bag on her arm.
Gwyn understood. How could she not, when she had spent hours in front of the mirror herself, agonizing over whether or not to wear the dress? She’d thought it too lovely to be worn by someone as wretched as herself. But the fact that it had been Nesta’s gift to her eventually won out over her punishing thoughts. “You know, I used to help Catrin get ready all the time. If you like, I could...that is, I’d love to do the same with you.” She squeezed Emerie’s arm gently.
Emerie offered her a hesitant smile. “Maybe,” she said softly, before tugging Gwyn down the hallway.
She knocked on the first door to the right. It opened quickly, revealing a High Fae female with blue-gray eyes, golden brown hair, and a face so like Nesta’s that she had to be one of her sisters. Upon seeing Gwyn and Emerie, the female’s smile widened, and she beckoned them inside. “I’ve been waiting forever to meet you both,” she gushed, clasping one of Gwyn and Emerie’s hands in her own. “I’m Feyre.”
The High Lady of the Night Court. Gwyn felt her face redden, and she dropped into a curtsy. “M-My lady,” she breathed, feeling her face redden in slight embarrassment. She had not expected the High Lady to be so...nice.
Feyre laughed, drawing Gwyn up. “There’s no need for that.” She slipped an arm around Gwyn’s, and repeated the motion with Emerie. “Nesta’s been anticipating your arrival. She’ll be over the moon to see that you’ve come.”
Gwyn managed a hesitant smile, steadfastly ignoring the surge of nervousness that the High Lady’s words had brought her. She could do this for Nesta. She heard raised voices from behind another door; one had Nesta’s signature sharpness, and the other, though raised, was somehow softer, gentler.
Feyre winced. “That’ll be Nesta, and my other sister Elain. They’ve been arguing over jewlery.” The shrill cry of a child split the air, and if possible, Feyre’s wince deepened. “And that’ll be my son.” She pushed open the door, untangling her arms from Gwyn and Emerie’s and making a beeline for a crib on the other side of the room. After a moment, the cries subsided.
Gwyn and Emerie halted in the doorway, taking in the scene before them in mild shock. Jewels and fabric were scattered around the room, in a manner not unsimilar of the destruction of the Rite.
In the center of the room, Nesta, wearing a dress of white and red, faced off against another Fae with gentle brown eyes. At their entrance, both had turned to face the door in surprise. Nesta was the first to break the silence, a broad smile on her face. “You came!” She cried, throwing her arms around Emerie first, and then Gwyn. “Thank you,” she breathed into Gwyn’s ear as she pulled back, eyes shining.
Gwyn mustered a warm smile. “Anything for my sister.”
Nesta beamed. “Speaking of sisters, it seems you’ve already met Feyre, but this is my other sister, Elain.” She pointed to the sweet-faced Fae, who was watching them curiously.
Gwyn offered her a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.” Elain smiled back, before her eyes caught on her necklace, and her face turned pale and cold.
“I just remembered I forgot something in my rooms,” she said, moving past the three of them to the door. “It was lovely to meet you both.” And then she was gone.
“Did I say something wrong?” Gwyn asked worriedly. Emerie squeezed her hand.
“No,” Nesta said firmly. “Elain’s just been a bit off, these past few days. I think it might have something to do with the presence of...that male.” Her face darkened.
Feyre, carrying her child on her hip, stepped forward, rolling her eyes. “His name is Lucien, Nesta, and really, he’s been nothing but—”
“I know,” Nesta cut in, her jaw tightening. She took a deep breath, and turned away from them, picking up a necklace dripping with diamonds. “What do you think of this one? Too much?”
The tension in the room was near stifling, until Feyre sighed and shifted the baby in her arms. “It’s lovely, Nesta.”
Nesta turned to Gwyn and Emerie. “What do you think?”
Emerie rolled her eyes. “Stop fishing for compliments. You know you could pull off anything.”
“Besides,” Gwyn added mischievously. “You could be wearing rags and it wouldn’t matter to Cassian—he’d still be staring after you with that dopey expression on his face.”
Emerie coughed and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like training.
Nesta frowned at the two of them, while Feyre looked surprised. “I’m really looking forward to getting to know you both.” She said, a slow smile creeping onto her face. “I think we’ll have a lot of fun together.”