Chapter Text
* Azriel *
“Kallias is paranoid,” Azriel said from his seat in the sofa in Rhys’s study.
“Of course,” Rhys answered without looking. Standing in the alcove on the far end of the room, he reached up to adjust one of the drifting brass planets before continuing. “He’s a new father. And he’s our ally, and the baby’s naming ceremony is the first formal event Winter has held in decades.” Rhys peered around one of the larger planets to meet Azriel’s eye. “He wants backup, and I want to provide it.”
Azriel made no movement larger than a press of his lips, but he knew Rhys could sense his assent.
Rhys took a measured step around the celestial model to face Azriel, and slid his hands into his pockets. “Gwyn will go, too.”
Azriel’s eyebrows lifted at that. The Valkyries had been clamoring for more field experience. Nesta and Emerie had accompanied Cassian on a few tasks in Illyria; but he knew Gwyn hadn’t left the Library since Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony at the River House.
It’s not that he would mind training her on a simple surveillance run, Azriel thought to himself, mentally composing a diplomatic way to tell Rhys this was a bad idea. He liked the priestess. She was perceptive and committed. Whenever she asked for a late-night training session, he looked forward to it all day; her unexpected questions and sly commentary on her mistakes and his quirks as an instructor always left a smile on his face. The night she landed a strike to his jaw, they both squawked with surprise and elation; he had lain in bed, grinning into the cold compress he held against the sore spot and plotting what other techniques he could show her, how to help her build strength so she could finally conquer the Illyrian bow.
She would be less trouble than Cassian. She certainly smelled better than Cassian.
His shadows had started to converge around his shoulders, a tremor of excitement cascading through them.
His mind conjured up an image of her silently waiting in a dark corner, alert eyes bounded by shadow. She could run and stab and wait and listen as well as anyone. But if she didn’t feel ready…
“I work alone, Rhys.” Azriel said, carefully.
Just then, the study door opened a crack. Gwyn poked her head in, then took a tentative step to bob a curtsy while glancing around.
She caught sight of Azriel, and took another step inside. “Oh, hello. I, ah, was asked to come here?”
Rhys ambled closer to the sitting area. “Gwyn! Good to see you.” His voice rolled through Azriel’s head. It’s barely a mission. More of an errand. A perfect warmup, really.
You haven’t even asked her yet? Azriel scolded through their mental connection.
His shadows answered a question before he could ask. Cassian brought her. She prayed the whole flight. One slunk around the sofa, acting casual. Azriel sent it away, but Gwyn had already paused to let it nuzzle against her ankle like a housecat.
Rhys put on his most charming smile. “As I’m sure you’ve heard, there have been a few occasions for the Valkyries to exercise their considerable talents outside of the House of Wind. And you’re the person we need for…the task that has come up.”
Gwyn’s eyes were wide, practically glowing in the dim study “I am?”
Rhys inclined his head with all the courtly grace he possessed. “Azriel says you’d be perfect for this.”
Azriel growled down the connection. Bastard. Rhys’ inner voice laughed in response, though his face remained serene.
“He did?”
Azriel heard the surprise and cautious hope in Gwyn’s voice. He looked up at her from where he was seated, and told her what he already knew to be true. “You’re ready, Gwyn.”
She evened out her stance and folded her arms, considering Azriel. “I know.” After a beat, she turned back to Rhys. “What is it? And when do we leave?”
* Azriel *
He watched her keep the secret for two days. Along with a set of winter leathers and a trip to the armory, Gwyn had been preparing by reading everything she could find about the Winter Court’s geography, wildlife, and traditions. But when Mor started telling Emerie about her upcoming official visit to Winter during training, Gwyn could hardly pass up a chance to extract a bit of Mor’s first-hand knowledge about the Court.
Gwyn had drawn out detail after detail about Kallias and Viviane and the Court’s armored bears. Between laps around the ring bearing their shields, all the Valkyries had joined a spirited discussion about the appropriate gift to bring for a High Lord’s child’s naming.
Mor’s first suggestion had been a bejeweled rattle. Emerie had wrinkled her nose. “That’s a terrible gift for a baby.”
“Gifts show how rich and impressive we are, they’re not for the actual baby!” Mor said, defensive.
“Even so,” Gwyn insisted. “Embroidered linens are expensive, take just as much craftsmanship, and they’re useful.” She was panting by the end of her pitch.
“Viviane does appreciate attention to detail,” Mor had conceded. “And you can never have too many sheets and things…babies are so messy…”
Cassian had eyed the clock. “I don’t mind the chatter as long as they keep up the pace. Maybe this is a new training strategy…” Azriel had grinned at his brother. Gwyn avoided his eyes; she knew she was getting good intelligence, and didn’t want to give anything away while Mor was all too happy to share what seemed like innocuous gossip.
As the group was dispersing, Gwyn had asked if there would be a ball, and then Nesta wanted a demonstration of Winter Court dancing. Mor had taken Emerie’s hand with a bright smile, and showed them all the steps.
Nesta couldn’t resist, and pulled Gwyn along as Mor called out the moves and sang-hummed a tune until its regal end.
“Wait, once more, I’ve only just got it!” Nesta called out. Cassian, grinning, had abandoned Azriel to bow to Gwyn, asking to cut in.
Gwyn curtsied gracefully, and the mates swept off for another round around the ring. Emerie was a bit hopeless, but Mor just murmured an encouraging word here and there, and kept up the beat even when Emerie stepped on her toes.
Gwyn went to Azriel, arm outstretched, to pull him in to the dance. When he didn’t move from his position leaning against the wall of the ring, she lowered her hand and quietly asked, “Spies don’t dance?”
She was slightly out of breathe, and pressed the back of her hand against her flushed face, swiping at the strands of hair sticking to her sweaty temples. She leaned onto the wall next to him, and started fiddling with the end of her braid.
“Not today,” he said.
“So what do you think a good gift would be?” She asked, dragging out the ribbon from the end of her hair, but focusing her gaze on Azriel.
Azriel took on an extra-serious tone in a way that he hoped betrayed his amusement. “We don’t bring a gift. We are spies.”
Gwyn shrugged, casually rebraiding the lower third of her hair. “We’re going to a party. It’s considered polite to bring a gift to a party.”
Azriel watched her hands dance through the braid, swift and sure, movement that must have become automatic long ago. “We’re watching a party. We’re not going to a party.”
“Still seems rude not to bring a gift,” Gwyn pretended to grumble. “You’re not going to let Mor bring little Winter a diamond-studded teddy bear or something, are you?”
Azriel snorted at the image, then let his tone shift again, just enough to show he was answering sincerely as he gazed out at their twirling friends. “I believe Feyre chose a dozen handmade carpets from artisans around Night Court as the official gift. And personally, she and Rhys are sending the baby toys from the same shop where they found Nyx’s favorites.” He glanced at Gwyn, who had finished retying her ribbon, and gave an approving nod. “If you’re more interested in diplomacy, next time we can send you with Mor.”
She shook her head, no, scoffing a little at the idea. Watching from a safe distance had always seemed more appealing to Azriel, too.
The dancers bowed to each other, and Cassian cleared away a few last pieces of equipment before Nesta called Gwyn over to the stairs. She gave him a last half-smile and nod, trotting over to the group, while he ambled over to Cassian and the water station at the far side of the ring.
How many errands and missions and secret meetings had he run over the years? He’d seen everything. He could run this mission blindfolded. Yet he had the strangest feeling they were embarking on something new.
* Gwyn *
Three days later, Gwyn was back by the low wall on the roof at sundown, sweating once more. She could easily blame the fur-lined leathers and mottled grey-white-green cloak designed to blend in with a wintry landscape, but that wasn’t what had her gripping her Invoking Stone, running her thumb over the domed surface as though an encouraging message would be revealed after a thorough polishing.
She was a Valkyrie, about to go on a mission, like the Valkyries of old.
A secret spy mission.
In another Court.
Accompanied by the legendary Shadowsinger.
“Mother hold me…” she murmured, hoping the words would settle her. “I am the rock against which the surf crashes.”
She didn’t feel like a beloved child, or a sturdy rock. Gazing out at Velaris reminded her she wasn’t even a regular person who could set foot on a city street without wanting to disappear.
Her spiraling mind stopped its revolutions as Azriel swooped overhead.
She watched for her favorite part of his landing. If she blinked, she’d miss it: at a certain height, he’d shift his weight and transform from a bird of prey coasting on the air to a male prowling over the ground on two feet. She had never seen Cassian or the High Lord do it quite the same way. It was as though Azriel needed to remind his body to obey gravity’s rules again, and Gwyn found it…interesting.
He had both feet on the ground now, and those surprisingly warm, hazel eyes were looking right at her. She tried to scrub her mind blank, but it was probably no use. That was the real weapon in Azriel’s arsenal, beyond the strength and speed and chilling accuracy with a blade. He knew too many things, in general, and about her, specifically.
It wasn’t only Sangravah. She could tell when people were thinking about it by now, and pity didn’t live in his eyes when he looked at her. No, he was always composed, unreadable, a study in ice and stillness. When they faced off with daggers he was faster and stronger, and that was fine; so was Cassian, and Nesta at this point. But he also anticipated her every feint and trick and distraction, even things that worked against the others.
That got to her.
It wasn’t fair. She was the one who knew things. It made her itch to poke around his edges, find something worth knowing, find a way to surprise him every chance she got.
She pocketed the Invoking Stone, wiping her sweaty hands off on the edge of her cloak. If the Mother was kind, he hadn’t seen her admire the way his hips moved.
“Ready?” Azriel asked. Inscrutable as ever.
She swept back the edge of her cloak to reveal the spyglass secured in a pocket, and a satchel of gear resting against her hip. “I think so.” She pushed her shoulders back and her chin up. “As long as you’re still sure about the gift.” If she could convince her body to act confident, maybe she could convince the rest of the world it was true. Even Azriel. That was her real mission tonight; could she pretend?
He surrendered the faintest hint of a smile, and held out his arms. “Our presence is gift enough.” She hopped up into his arms as though it were normal, as if she embraced deadly warriors on missions every day of the week. It would only take a few moments to get into the air and above the wards, and then he would winnow them to their site.
His shadows seemed to bloom around them as they lifted off and spiraled up. So close to his face, Gwyn could hear the small, indistinct melody of their murmuring. She was grateful for the sound filling in the gaps between her thoughts, leaving no little cracks for fear and doubt to take root.
She could pretend she was brave, and capable, and wise. She could convince everyone for one night. Even herself.