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Gwyn had never been late for a lesson before, at least not one of his private dagger lessons. If Azriel had to guess, Gwyneth Berdara was never late for a thing in her life. Azriel continued his pacing.
In fact, Gwyn was fiercely punctual. It could easily have been his favorite thing about her. She valued her time and his. It demonstrated respect. It spoke of disciple. He’d met plenty of Fae over the centuries with impressive, even valuable precision and little else to recommend them. Gwyn had plenty to recommend her. Punctuality being the least of the many accolades that bubbled to the surface whenever Azriel thought of Gwyn, which was often.
Little Valkyrie has been delayed following the dusk service.
The dusk service is well over. I heard the music cease thirteen and a half minutes ago.
The word ‘following’ means…
… I know what the word means.
Clearly. You are considered an exceptionally clever male.
Azriel chuckled. The Shadows had been gentle with him as a child, nearly painfully so. They’d developed a flare for mocking, as the centuries saw his prestige grow. Their irreverence was as dear to him, as their company. Irreverence just made him think of Gwyn again, and Azriel sighed. Maybe she wouldn’t show at all. That thought hit Azriel harder than he cared to admit, even to the Shadows, though he suspected that they already knew, given the way they snickered.
The group training sessions had been particularly grueling and any one of the recruits could have understandably gotten overwhelmed with the pace. It would be reasonable for them to need rest. Gwyn wasn’t usually reasonable when it came to such things. Azriel knew that she had additional duties as a priestess and that he shouldn’t pester her, but he felt downright crestfallen in her absence.
It wasn’t that Gwyn hadn’t specifically asked for more dagger lessons, but they had become their nightly habit. A habit that Azriel did not intend to ever break. He looked forward to working alone with her frequently and indefinitely. Not mentioning the lesson meant that Gwyn was planning to attend. He was sure of that. Knowing Gwyn as he did, she would have warned him about skipping.
From the moment her copper hair disappeared down the stairwell that morning, Azriel had been planning this lesson in his head. He’d selected specific skills to show Gwyn, broken them down based on the way he knew her mind worked, and planned the best strategy for guiding her through them based on the way he knew her body responded to his words. His brain stopped functioning at that thought. A bit of self-control was clearly in order.
Clearly.
The night was unseasonably balmy and the night air pressed against his skin. Azriel stripped his shirt with an annoyed huff. If he was going to spend the evening alone, he might as well be comfortable. The less he felt on his skin, the less the world felt like a trap and the more Azriel could relax. He tried to maintain a fair bit of modesty around the priestesses and that had always extended to his time with Gwyn.
Azriel reached for his gloves only to realize that he’d forgotten them. Azriel never forgot to don the gloves. He shrugged. It somehow didn’t matter. He would either be alone or with Gwyn and he was shocked to find that he didn’t need them. He reached high above his head to place both hands on the pullup bar. He could at least sweat away his growing anxiety. After a few minutes of measured movements, his muscles burned nicely. A pleasant distraction.
Little Valkyrie is safe. Little Valkyrie approaches.
Azriel halted briefly as his stubbled chin barely crested the bar.
Could you guys have just… Never mind. Thank you.
Always.
Gwyn hurried into the training ring, mere seconds later, amid a flutter of pale blue robes.
Should I be grateful for any warning?
Exactly so.
‘I’m so sorry. Merrill cornered…’ Gwyn stopped speaking when she saw Azriel still at work at the pullup bar. He had three more to complete his full set. It was bad form to stop prematurely, even if he was the only one keeping track.
‘It isn’t a problem.’ Azriel huffed and continued moving his body with the grace and control for which he strived in all things. He caught sight of Gwyn out of the corner of his eye and she was still frozen in the entryway. Azriel was more than a little pleased to be her entertainment for a few minutes. He finished his set and landed with an exaggerated thud that seemed to shake Gwyn out of her reverie.
Graceful.
Shut up.
When Azriel was nearly halfway across the training ring on his way to greet her, it was his turn to freeze. Gwyn reached across her body and started to untie the long fabric sash that held her robes in place. To his credit, Azriel’s eyes sought hers immediately in question. She had turned only halfway toward him, when her robes dropped to the floor. Azriel was studying the beautiful set of her face in profile, but he felt the movement of the fabric through his whole body. He chanced a glance below her face. She was wearing a full set of Illyrian training leathers. Sexy in their own right, but at least he could breathe.
Why did I think…
Unclear. You are not considered an overly optimistic male.
I’m an idiot.
Exactly so.
Gwyn’s lean body betrayed her youth, though the long lines along her elegant limbs concealed a startling aggressive power. She stretched tall to tie back her sheet of pin straight hair. Low light caught on copper and her large teal eyes trained on him again. His feet remembered to move.
‘Should we get started?’ His voice was shockingly low, but she nodded just the same.
They had been training for hours and experience told him that they had been sparring for thirty minutes past the point when they should have stopped. Both showed signs of exhaustion and distraction. He’d never forgive himself if Gwyn got hurt.
‘Shit!’ She cursed and Azriel hissed. Her dagger had sliced deeply along the length of his left forearm.
‘I’m fine.’ He assured her as he clamped his free hand along the wound and raised his arm above his head by rote.
‘You are not fine.'
‘I’m fine.'
‘You’re bleeding.’ Gwyn’s hands reached for his arm, but then fell. She ran them over the top of her head and shook them before her chest. She was frantic.
‘That happens.’
‘And when that happens to males, they are almost always not fine.' Azriel snorted. He’d had worse injuries, but rarely in training.
‘And yet, here I am, totally fine.’ Gwyn’s eyes narrowed on him. Then she was touching him and he forgot the sting of pain. She placed two open palms on the flat of his chest and walked him backward until his legs buckled against the edge of a low bench against the wall.
‘Stay there.’ Gwyn muttered distractedly as his arm reached eye level for her and she paled. She rose onto her toes and took another closer look at the wound and shook her head in disgust.
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I said that I am fine.’
‘Don’t you dare move.’ A long, pale finger with three freckles appeared shockingly close to his nose, but it was her eyes that held the bulk of her fire. It made him want to push back. He liked her fire.
‘Or what?’
‘Or… even Azriel Shadowsinger, Great Spymaster of the Night Court, will be forced to admit… that he is NO LONGER fine.’
It’s like watching a squirrel try to be menacing.
Do not utter those words aloud.
I wasn’t going to…
You were. You should not.
She’s adorable when she gets all threaten-ey.
Not an actual word.
‘Where are you going?’ Azriel was legitimately curious. If she was going to wake anyone for this, he would be forced to stop her.
‘To get my stone.’
‘You want to heal me?’
‘Yes.’ Gwyn watched him and he really tried not to laugh.
‘And if I move before you get back here with the stone, you’ll just decide to maim me instead?’
‘Oh. Most definitely.’
‘You are certifiable, Berdara.’ He thought she might be offended, but she just smiled.
‘Believe it. Fear it. Act accordingly.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of stopping now.’ Azriel muttered and he was sure that she hadn’t heard him as he watched her copper ponytail bounce its way back across the training ring to her pile of robes in the corner. Why was he always watching her leave?
You are fine.
I know I’m fine. I told her I’m fine. You heard me tell her that I’m fine.
You did the sad face though.
What sad face? I don’t have a sad face.
No. What you do not have is a modicum of self-awareness.
Azriel frowned.
Sad face.
Whatever.
Gwyn was across the ring in seconds. A moment later, she was pulling her Invoking Stone from a small pocket buried deep in her robes. How many pockets did that thing have? She was breathing rapidly when she returned, though all of their earlier fatigue seemed forgotten for panic.
The stone glimmered and Azriel tried to forget the last time he’d seen her wear it. He’d seen healing done plenty over the centuries. Though, he’d never seen it done by Gwyn, and never with the stone being held instead of being worn. The pale stone glowed briefly and his wound slowly cinched closed with a mild itch. It was an amazing thing to watch. A true miracle. He was immediately grateful, and he wanted to do something for her in return. To show her how much she mattered to him. To heal her in return. Perhaps that was why he said what he said next.
‘You do know that you can wear your stone. You are no less than any other priestess.’
‘What do you mean?’ Gwyn seemed wary immediately, but he’d already spoken. Once raised, this issue would need to be resolved between them.
‘Nothing that has happened to you makes you undeserving of that stone.’ Azriel grabbed her wrist as she started to turn away. He held her with his eyes. She needed to know this truth in her bones.
‘Nesta Archeron has a big mouth.’ It was a growl and Azriel should have heeded it.
‘She just loves you.’
‘Well. Why wear a stone, when I can wear a ribbon?’ Gwyn was walking away now and her voice was a valiant attempt at cavelier.
‘The two are totally separate things. You could wear them both, Gwyn. You’ve earned them both.’ He stressed the words equally and he wasn't’ sure which one sent her spinning back to glare at him.
‘Earned? Do you know what the stone is? Do you know how it works?’ Gwyn’s query was calm, but her eyes flashed again.
‘It is like a siphon.’ Azriel shrugged.
‘Yes. No.’ She matched his shrug. Matched or mocked? ‘Your siphon is fueled by your power. The Mother fuels a priestess's stone. We are told we cannot use them for harm, just for healing. We are told that the stones shield us. We are told lies.’
‘Gwyn… that isn’t a lie. You just healed me with that stone in your hand. It was a miracle.’
‘A miracle? You’d have healed by morning. You know that I’m right. My stone saved you an inconvenience, nothing more.’’
‘So. You don’t believe in miracles now? What about Feyre?’
Why was he arguing with her about her own life, about her own stone, her own power? She was free to believe whatever she wanted, but for Azriel this was just too much. Gwyn was a miracle and the idea that she would discount any of it was offensive to him. More than that, it rocked something basic inside him. He would defend unto his death, even from herself.
‘Nesta paid for that miracle with more than she will ever admit. It was bartered magic. Nothing more.’ Gwyn was shockingly calm and Azriel was the one who hissed and swore.
‘The Blood Rite? The Mother watched over you.’ It came out as an accusation.
‘Emerie thinks so. Nesta thinks so.’ Gwyn just shrugged.
‘But…’ He was yelling now. ‘You’re so religious?’
‘Who told you that?’ That was when Gwyn laughed at him.
‘You never miss a service!’ Azriel knew he was grasping at straws and his Shadows had gone deathly quiet. None of this made any sense.
‘The services are beautiful. I don’t see how that changes anything about my stone.’ Gwyn started to pace. ‘Anything more than attending the services though…’ There was another shrug. ‘At the temple, we communed directly with the Mother through movement. I don’t dare do those anymore. Instead, I come here. I worship with you now, at the altar of self-preservation.’
‘Because you don’t believe in the Mother?’
‘Because I hate her.’ She whirled on him.
‘Gwyn!’ Azriel sucked in his breath and drew back as though he’d been slapped.
‘What? You’d rather hear that I think I’m filthy? That I am unworthy of her love? I know Illyrians are very religious, but what good is her love to anyone.’ Something in her tone chafed. More than the tone, Azriel was hurt that Gwyn would casually lump him in with the rest of Illyria. Worst still, was that she was right.
‘I see. You think you’re the first person to have existential rage?’ He took a step toward her rage and it seemed to surprise her. Had she expected him to balk? To run?
‘I didn’t say that.’ She whispered. ‘Well? What do you do with your rage?’ She was asking for help and he knew what that cost her.
‘I don’t think you want to know what I do with my rage.’ His laugh was all pain. He had to offer her more than what his life was, more than his pathetic truce.
‘Let's assume for the sake of this argument...’ Was it an argument anymore?. ‘... that I’m not going to fight it out and that I’m not going to fuck it out. So. What else have you got, Spymaster?’
‘I mean… We could…’
‘Stop talking.’
‘I’m just saying…’
‘Stop talking.’
‘Fight! We could fight. Damn, Gwyn.’ Azreil needed to calm down and be logical. ‘Do you think people of faith aren’t allowed to have doubts?’
‘Faith?’ She spit the word as though it felt rancid on her tongue.
‘Faith. It is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things unseen.’
‘Did you read that in a book? It sounds like something you read in a book once and now you say it at parties to sound smart.’
‘It is in a book and I don’t say things at parties.’
‘Well. I came here for dagger lessons, not a lecture in theology.’
‘You’re getting both.’
‘I think I’d prefer neither.’
‘Happy to oblige, Priestess’ Why had he said that as an accusation? Azriel started to rise. Maybe he needed to just walk away. To put some space between them.
‘Okay. Okay.’ Gwyn was reaching for his newly healed arm. She must have sensed his frustration. ‘Look. Only one of us can be a dick at any given time.’
‘I know. I’m just not used to it being you.’
That got her. At that, Gwyn actually laughed and he could breathe again.
Can you get her to stop saying dicks and fucking. I’m trying to be a good friend here.
You’re doing fine. For once.
Dammit. Can’t you just gimme the win?
Apparently not.
Azriel tried not to smile. None of this night was going as he expected.
‘Why are you laughing?’ Gwyn’s voice was more curious than accusatory.
‘I don’t think you can count that as a laugh.’ Azriel rarely laughed, but that had been changing lately.
‘When it is you, I can. So spill.’
‘The Shadows are heckling me. They have no respect for the severity of the moment.’
Liar.
She studied him. ‘I guess I should warn you about something.’
‘Should you?’
‘If you’re to be my training tutor, my friend, and my spiritual advisor.’ Azriel spit water down his chest at her words. The Shadows were laughing too. He reached for a towel and noted that her smile was smug. Her eyes stayed on the water.
‘Your spiritual advisor?’
‘You’re the one speaking in proverbs. Not me.’
‘Fair enough.’ Azriel was laughing too. ‘I weep for your future though. What should you warn me about?’
‘I can tell when you lie.’
‘Can you really?’ What a horrifying prospect?
‘I think your Shadows know exactly what this moment is.’ Then they would be the only ones.
‘And I think…’ Azriel said carefully. ‘That you’re distracting me from our conversation.’ She rolled her eyes and turned away.
‘You think I have doubts.’ Gwyn spoke to the empty side of the room and she set her shoulders for a fight. ‘I don’t have doubts. I know what I know.’
‘That’s easily the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.’
Shit.
Gwyn’s growl promised immediate violence. ‘Are you still so sure you don’t want to hit something, Gwyn?’ Maybe he’d meant to mock himself or the moment, but her eyes dropped to his lips and he thought she might bite him. Her body hummed with rage and it frightened him. It frightened him for her.
‘You spoke of evidence.’ She stepped into his body and glared up past his chin. ‘I have evidence, Azriel.’
‘Of what?’ The fight was out of him. He’d unlocked the cage that he’d imagined her in and now he wasn’t sure he could survive the beast prowling from the shadows.
‘Evidence of how useless it is to wear a stone. I saw her, Azriel. There were dozens of stones in that temple. Dozens. Shit! This stupid stone doesn't even protect the head it sits on. Much less anyone or anything else.’ Her voice burned with the chill of heartless death.
‘You…’ He never finished that sentence. Gwyn punched him squarely across the face.
Finally.
Finally.
Azriel was the one who tasted iron across his tongue, but he knew he'd need to check her hand after a punch like that. Then Gwyn continued to swing on him. When she tired of reaching up for his face, she pressed her forehead to his chest and pounded her fists into his middle. She roared her rage against his body, across the ring, and into the night.
He would let her have her rage, but he’d managed to deflect most of the punches. She wouldn’t thank him for getting hurt. Azriel couldn't’ be sure how long they stood there like that. It felt like ages before her body slowed. Then she stopped. She just leaned into his massive frame and buried her tear stained face against his skin.
Azriel placed one hand between her shoulders, but otherwise, he didn’t dare move. He just held her there to him. ‘You’re okay. I’m here. You’re okay.’ She didn’t speak and her legs started to shake, then they gave out and Azriel slid to the training ring floor with her in his lap.
‘You can let the hate go. The ones who deserve it are long dead and you deserve to live without it.’
‘How?’ She croaked and he’d never heard a more heartbreaking sound.
‘You can just decide it is time. The Mother can’t control the evil in this world. You’re right to fight. You’re doing everything right, but you don’t need this hate. You’re worthy of living without this pain.’
‘Is that what you do?’ Gwyn pulled back from his shoulder to look him in the eye.
‘Be better than me, Gwyn.’ Azriel offered her a sad smile and he knew it was a conversation they would return to one day. ‘And if you can’t do it for you, do it for them.’
Azriel motioned gently with his chin toward the stairs that led to the library. ‘If I didn’t understand what it meant, then there are others who do not understand. If even one priestess thinks that you consider yourself unworthy of grace, what do they think you believe of them? Think about that. Think hard about that. You don’t owe anyone anything, but you deserve better than this. That much I know.’
Azriel reached down and took the stone from her hand. ‘Now. I’m going to hang on to this and you should sleep. Do you think you can sleep?’ He knew she was spent, when she nodded her head. ‘I will meet you in the cavern before the dawn service. Wear it. Don’t wear it. It will always be your choice. Make it a choice about your future. Make it one about love.’
Gwyn nodded. Then she placed a small kiss on his cheek. He knew it was the softest touch he'd ever felt on his skin, but the weight he felt on his heart shook him. She nodded again. Another conversation for another day. Gwyn stood on unsure legs and smiled. 'I will.'
As promised, Azriel was waiting for Gwyn in the cavern a few hours later. He wordlessly held out her stone, which he’d fashioned into a clasp and thread along a white Valkyrie ribbon. It was an offer. Perhaps a bit melodramatic for his tastes, but this female inspired him and those tastes were clearly changing. All Gwyn had to do was reach out and take it. She nodded and turned. Azriel tied the ribbon around her beautiful head and the stone tools its place on her brow.
‘Thank you.’ She muttered through a throat tight with emotion.
As he found a place in the crowd, Azriel was not surprised to see Nesta in the front row. For once, he joined her there. He saw the moment she caught sight of Gwyn, because her lip trembled.
‘How did you get her to wear it?’ Nesta was apparently incapable of whispering.
‘Easy. I let her kick my ass.’ That was all Azriel would ever offer anyone when it came to what happened that night.
‘You know I’ve got this low self-esteem…’ Nesta couldn’t even finish her joke, before she was chucking through a sob.
‘Quiet, Smartass. Look.' Azriel pointed. 'Gwyn is about to sing.’ Azriel couldn't help the smile across his face. Nesta studied him and then she just shrugged.
‘Only for Gwyn.’ Nesta’s voice actually managed a reverent whisper.
‘Only for her.’ Azriel breathed.
Only her.