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“You only won because my hair was in my eyes,” Azriel sighed, propping himself up on his elbows.
Gwyn smirked down at the shadowsinger whom she had just promptly knocked on his ass with her staff. She extended a hand to him. Azriel accepted and it wasn’t till his fingers wrapped around hers that he noted just how little he cared about his scars around her. A common occurrence with the priestess that his shadows had brought to his attention. Around Gwyn he did not make the subconscious effort to have his shadows mask his bare hands. Around Gwyn they seem content to simply watch and Azriel felt no need to wield them.
She hauled him to his feet with impressive strength for someone so delicate. He found himself standing before her, hands still intertwined and faces only a few inches apart. Gwyn did not break his stare. Those teal eyes danced with amusement and held his own impressively.
Gwyn angled her head. “You know, a broody spymaster once told me that excuses were the crutch of a lesser fighter.” She shrugged. “Something to consider.”
Gwyneth Berdara had always been bold, but ever since Nesta and Cassian’s ceremony last week her bravery had soared to new heights. She’d sung so beautifully, so confidently, so perfectly that it had taken Azriel’s breath away.
And according to Nesta… it hadn’t been planned. She’d simply approached the newly mated pair during the celebration and said that she would like to gift them with a song. She wanted to perform for them. For everyone. And Azriel had watched with that same quiet encouragement, but also… slack jawed.
And during her and Azriel’s private sessions this past week she’d been… flirting?
No.
No, he could not - should not - perceive it that way. Gwyn did not want to be viewed in such a manner by a male.
Did she?
Maybe just by him?
No.
Azriel let go of her hand and crossed to the water station, smoothing his hair back from his sweat-soaked forehead. He looked over his shoulder to find Gwyn twirling her staff and skipping - skipping - lithely about the ring.
“Want a haircut?” she asked, not looking away from her spinning staff.
Azriel nearly choked on his water. His ears burned, a kernel of warmth sparked in his chest. The idea of her cutting his hair… It excited him for some reason.
Azriel splashed his face with the cool water, like it would rinse off his excitement. Like it would calm his pounding heart.
“As in you? Giving me a haircut?” he asked, rubbing some water onto the back of his neck. It dripped down his bare back, just missing his wings.
When he looked back at Gwyn he found that she had stopped twirling her staff and instead held it in both her hands, eyes raking over his bare torso. He fought off the urge to flex as he often did for females he caught admiring his form and shoved down his satisfaction that she liked what she saw.
“Have you cut hair before?” he asked, arching a brow. “How do I know you won’t maim me? Or worse yet, damage my good looks.”
Maybe Gwyn’s cheeks were flushed from their workout or maybe from the crooked smile he threw her way. He decided not to think about it too much.
Gwyn twisted her staff vertical, bracing her weight against it. “I cut a lot of the priestess’s hair.”
Azriel felt a pang of guilt. He hadn’t considered that with her current living situation that she and her fellow priestesses may have to be more resourceful in their remedies for everyday problems.
But there was still the matter of his shadows. Could she stand to be so near to them? Could she stand to let her fingers run through them? They liked her, that much Azriel had learned. But she had yet to touch them or interact with them. Azriel wondered if she’d noticed how his shadows regarded her. Their curiosity and admiration towards her. Sentiments Azriel shared…
He smiled wryly and gestured to the inky black clouds on his shoulders and neck. “These won’t be a problem?”
Gwyn arched a brow, eyes flitting from him to his shadows then back to him. “Can I hurt them? With scissors?”
Azriel chuckled, taken off guard by her concern. His shadows seemed flattered as they wriggled atop his biceps.
“No, I meant… are you averse to touching them, working with them. They’ll linger while you work.”
Gwyn snorted. “Shouldn’t be a problem. I like them. They like me.”
“How do you know that?” Azriel blurted.
Gwyn returned her staff to the rack of sparring weapons. “Don’t they?”
….we do… his shadows sang.
“They… they do actually,” he admitted. “I was surprised you noticed is all.”
“Quit stalling. Where are we doing this?”
Taking her to his chambers seemed inappropriate so instead Azriel shrugged on his jacket and they went to the kitchens. This late at night they were vacant.
Gwyn dragged a chair over to the sink then patted the seat, beckoning the shadowsinger to sit. Tucking in his wings, Azriel settled into the chair.
“I’m going to get a comb and...” Gwyn trailed off as a pair of scissors and a silver comb appeared beside the large sink. She looked up at the ceiling. “Thank you.”
The edge of Azriel’s lip twitched. “It seems that everyone and everything wants me to have a haircut…”
“I can’t stand to look at you, to be frank, Shadowsinger,” smirked Gwyn. She traced a circle in the air with her finger. “Tip your head back.”
Azriel obeyed, his eyes trained on the intricate ceiling tiles. He heard Gwyn inhale, then soft steps as she crossed to the sink and turned the faucet.
Cold water poured onto his head and Azriel cringed. He made a disgruntled noise, then found himself chuckling as Gwyn apologized and fiddled furiously with the temperature of the water.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Azriel looked back at her, grimacing. “I think I’ll survive.”
Gwyn’s forehead that had been creased in concern smoothed, and then, ever so gently, she ran her fingers through his hair. Luke warm water saturated his raven locks and he found himself closing his eyes at the soothing sensation of her nails raking gingerly over his scalp. He fought off the urge to sigh in contentment, not wishing to unsettle her.
“Usually I just run a wet comb through my hair before cutting it,” he said casually.
“You don’t go to a salon?”
The edge of Azriel’s lip curved up. “No. I’m afraid that the employees have reservations about my shadows.”
“That’s irrational,” she muttered.
The shadowsinger opened his eyes. Gwyn’s gaze flitted from his hair to his face.
“Not everyone is so indulging of them, Berdara.”
Gwyn's expression was thoughtful. “It feels sort of like feathers, dragging over my skin. It’s… nice.”
Azriel swallowed hard, fighting off his surprise. It wasn’t often someone touched his shadows, much less remarked on the feel of them. The silence was not uncomfortable, but Azriel pressed forward.
“I think so too,” he murmured. “I’ve never compared it to feathers before though.”
“Well, maybe if you start, people will be more inclined to cut your hair for you…”
“If I don’t do it myself then Rhysand handles it,” Azriel said. “Though he’s been rather preoccupied lately, what with having a son and all…”
“Has the High Lord of the Night Court always been your personal barber?”
Azriel snickered. “No. He learned from his mother. She used to cut his hair, mine, and Cassian’s. Though Cassian was very particular about his length…”
Gwyn laughed softly, then turned off the faucet. She wrung out the strands of his hair then grabbed a dishrag. “Raise up,” she commanded.
When Azriel lifted his head she swiftly draped the rag over the back of his neck and shoulders to catch the falling water droplets before they could dampen his leathers.
Next, she picked up the comb and began running it through the strands of night dark hair. She combed it down in front of his eyes, then grabbed the scissors. With one hand she trimmed his bangs and with the other she caught the falling locks.
Azriel saw the shadows on his shoulders peak out from beneath the rag out of the corner of his eye. They watched her carefully and curiously as usual.
...she is gentle… she is good…
I know, Azriel told them.
He too studied Gwyn’s face. Her narrowed teal eyes and the twist of her lips as she focused on snipping away the lengthier strands.
The edge of his mouth kicked up in a smile.
Her voice was a murmur. “Something amusing, Shadowsinger?”
“You’re just making the same face you do when trying out a new maneuver.”
“Is that an insult?” she asked, a smile in her voice.
“No, I like it,” Azriel blurted.
She paused for a barely perceptible second, then continued her cutting. He could have sworn a faint blush painted her cheeks.
Eager to shift the subject, Azriel cleared his throat. “If you botch my hair you’ll be holding a backwards lunge for ten minutes…”
Gwyn smiled softly, closing her fist around the strands she had caught then tossing them in the sink. “Maybe I’ll ruin your hair on purpose… I think you could do with some humiliation, Shadowsinger,” she said, brushing off her hands. “I don’t imagine you’re familiar with embarrassment.”
He snorted. “That’s not true. At all.”
Azriel felt her set to work on the hair around his left ear.
“Oh, do tell…” she purred.
He was careful not to shift in his seat when he spoke. “I didn’t have the same training as my brothers. They were raised fighting, but I did not join them till I was eleven. I had to learn to fly, learn to fight, I made an ass of myself on more than a few occasions.”
“What took you so long? Shy?”
Azriel debated on telling her the truth. On divulging the story of his hands and his upbringing and the nightmare that was his childhood.
He decided against it. Another time. Instead, he retorted:
“What would you know about being shy?”
Gwyn laughed, the sound making his shadows dance. “Fair enough. But… there was a brief period of time where I was… not myself.”
A muscle in Azriel’s jaw feathered. Foolish of him to prod her about that. He should’ve thought it through before making such a comment.
“But,” Gwyn continued, and Azriel’s brows lifted, “I found my way back. I sought the help I needed.” She crossed in front of him, moving on to the other ear. “And here I am… A Carynthian and personal barber to the Spymaster of the Night Court.”
Azriel found himself smiling, his chest pinching. While he was glad she had such a cheery outlook, he felt guilty for not being as vulnerable with her as she was with him. They were friends now, weren’t they? He should share.
“I wasn’t surprised that you won.”
Gwyn stilled for a moment, then resumed. “Really now?”
“I confess that I was… worried for you three when I received confirmation of what had happened,” Azriel explained, “but when Cassian and I went on our assignment I found it wasn’t difficult to convince myself that you would… that you would be alright.”
And it was true. While his stomach had been in knots until he’d gotten word that Emerie and Gwyn had been victorious, and though his heart hadn’t stopped pounding until he’d seen the priestess in the flesh again, Azriel had found himself oddly calm for the duration of her absence.
“All our private sessions paid off,” she said. “And that story you told me about the fanged forest beast came in handy as well.”
“I like to think that, on occasion, I am a good teacher,” Azriel said with a half smile.
Her response was simple. “You are.” Then she moved to the nape of his neck. “And you’re a lot less serious than I think you’d like to admit.”
“I’d hate to ruin the illusion of the brooding, melancholic shadowsinger...”
“Can a person not be more than one thing?”
Azriel quirked a brow she couldn’t see. “You know, most people are content to accept me at surface level.”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
He chuckled. “Are you nearly done butchering my hair, Berdara?”
There was a rush of cool air on his neck as Gwyn blew away the lingering strands. Azriel felt a tremor that had nothing to do with temperature go down his spine.
...make her stay…
Gwyn whipped the towel off his neck. “Finished.”
Azriel stood from the chair and ruffled his damp hair. Sure enough, it no longer hung in his eyes.
The priestess washed the comb and scissors in the sink, then laid them out to dry. The utensils and the hair vanished. He watched with quiet admiration as she once again expressed her gratitude to the House.
...she is kind…
She is.
Facing Azriel, Gwyn flinched exaggeratedly then shivered. “For what it’s worth, I think you look dashing with a bald patch.”
He laughed, smoothing a hand over the back of his head. “If you aren’t lying then you’re about to be holding a lunge and plank.”
“You’re not as scary as you think you are,” Gwyn scoffed.
Azriel was too dumbfounded by the remark to counter her.
Gwyn sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not even remotely tired.”
Gathering himself, the shadowsinger shrugged. “If you’d like to spar some more I’ll make a proper opponent now... what with my haircut.”
The priestess smiled wryly. “You’re sure you don’t have anything better to do?”
“No, I’ve blocked off all my nights from two to four am for Gwyneth Berdara’s restless training sessions,” he grinned crookedly.
Azriel watched with satisfaction as her cheeks turned pink again. He wouldn’t admit it (not yet), but he loved making her blush, though he did wonder if she was pleased whenever she took him off guard.
“Alright then,” Gwyn said primly. She turned on her heel and started to head out of the kitchens. The priestess tossed over her shoulder, “And no excuses now. If I kick your ass that’s it. You’ve been beaten.”
Azriel followed her eagerly, his shadows stretching out just a bit in front of him as though tugging him along.