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Azriel was seriously regretting his decision to fly to the House of Wind this evening. Summer rainstorms weren’t uncommon in Velaris, but the wind accompanying this particular storm was quite aggravating.
He knew he could have stayed at the River House after delivering Rhysand his report from the Hewn City, or even visited the Townhouse, but something about the House of Wind was comforting after visiting that hellhole and dealing with Keir. Nesta and Cassian were off in Windhaven on official business for another day or two, so he’d have the run of the House. Not that the House doted on him like it did Nesta and the Valkyries, but he didn’t need more than a good bath and his bed tonight.
Finally landing near the training ring, Azriel tried not to be startled as his shadows yet again didn’t alert him to another presence as he had made his descent. He knew who it was due to his shadows’ behavior, and he was a little alarmed to see Gwyneth Berdara sprawled out on her back at the edge of the sparring ring. He didn’t detect any one else in the vicinity as he slowly walked in her direction. She didn’t appear to be injured, but his shadows were proving to be useless as he tried to figure out the reason for her current situation.
“Berdara?” He tentatively called over the pitter patter of rain hitting various pieces of equipment and the earthen floor.
The figure tilted their head, but didn’t raise it from the ground. She truly was sprawled out, and appeared soaked to the bone. But she was smiling.
“Shadowsinger!” She greeted, something a little off with her tone as she hissed her s's.
Then Azriel smelled it. The sweet smell of fairy wine mingling with her own scent. He stopped a few feet from her at that realization before pointedly arching a brow at her as he crossed his arms. “Are you drunk?”
She giggled at that, copper hair plastered to her face and the floor of the training ring. “I’m not not drunk.” She turned away from him and stared up at the sky, blinking rapidly as droplets of rain got in her eyes. “Doesn’t the rain feel amazing?”
Azriel inhaled deeply, trying to process what to do with an intoxicated Gwyn. He usually preferred solitude after visits to the Hewn City, but he knew it would be incredibly negligent to leave her out here alone and disappear into the House.
Again, he was startled as he felt someone – Gwyn – tap his boot with the flat side of a dagger. What was the point of these shadows of his if they didn’t even warn him she was brandishing a weapon?
“Berdara,” He tried to fix her with his most exasperated stare, “Why do you have a dagger?”
Again with the giggles as she thwacked his boot with it. “Well,” She inhaled as if trying to gather her thoughts, “I wanted to practice a bit. But when I got to the kitchen, I saw it was raining.”
When she didn’t continue her explanation, Azriel sighed and sat down next to her, carefully tucking his wings behind him so they did not touch her. They were both truly soaked at this point and he had to brush his hair out of his face. “That still doesn’t explain your current state.”
“Ever the interrogator,” Despite the deluge of rain, Azriel could still see the spark of mischief in Gwyn’s eyes as she trained her gaze on him. “Perhaps the Spymaster will have to tie me up to get the full story.”
Whatever he was expecting her to say, it definitely wasn’t that. Azriel couldn’t help the image of her that flashed through his mind for a moment before he buried it down deep inside him. Gwyn. Tied up. In his bed.
“I’m only joking,” She offered after realizing he didn’t know what to say to that. “You know I’m rather chatty. Wine doesn’t change that.” She pulled herself up into a sitting position, close enough to Azriel to not have to yell over the rain, but still a respectable distance away. “I’ve always liked the rain. Catrin and I used to run out and dance in the courtyard whenever the summer rains would come at Sangravah.”
Azriel could see the pain that flashed across her eyes for a moment, before she reined it in quickly and plastered a smile on her face, white teeth beaming in the dark of the evening. His instinct was to reach for her hand at the mention of her twin, but he kept them neatly folded in his lap.
She continued, leaning back on both hands and tilting her face fully up at the sky. “You know I don’t leave the library much. So, I haven’t really been able to take in things like rain storms or snowfall or anything, really. Standing in the kitchen and seeing it falling down, I just felt the pull to come out here. And the House so kindly provided me with a bottle of delicious wine.”
Despite his annoyance at being soaking wet, Azriel couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed with Gwyn. It was such an innocent, simple thing – to find delight in a rainstorm. After living for so long, Azriel found he didn’t often pay much attention to the weather or the changing of the seasons beyond how they impacted his missions. He didn’t vacation in the summer or watch leaves change in the autumn, but he remembered feeling awed by the changing of the weather when he first made it out of his father’s dungeons, and then out of the constant cold of the Illyrian war camps.
He finally spoke, gesturing to the objects lying next to Gwyn, “And now here you are. Dagger and wine bottle at the ready.”
Gwyn uncrossed her legs and nudged the bottle of wine that was now on its side. It rolled, clanking noisily. “The wine has served its purpose. I didn’t dare ask the House for another bottle. I do know my limits, Shadowsinger.”
His mouth twitched upwards in a ghost of a smile as he reached out to touch the dagger lying on the ground. “This is new.”
Her smile was practically beaming as she took the dagger from his grasp and leaned in closer to him, only wobbling slightly. “Isn’t it lovely? Paid for with my very first official Night Court paycheck, I’ll have you know.”
A little laugh escaped Azriel’s lips as he watched her clumsily twirl the dagger. Her dexterity was definitely dulled while under the influence. He was sure there could be a training lesson to be found somewhere in that, but pushed the thought to the side. “It is lovely, Gwyn. And sharp.” He held out his hand, “Perhaps the sober one should handle the daggers for now?”
With an overly dramatic eye roll, Gwyn placed the dagger in Azriel’s palm. He tried and failed to prevent one of his errant shadows from dancing across her wrist as the exchange happened. “Don’t go stealing one of my most prized possessions, Shadowsinger. The blacksmith was quite a grump.”
Realization dawned in Azriel’s mind at her words, “You went to Velaris yourself?”
She gave a small nod. “Yeah. I just – I really wanted to have a say in its design. See the process. You’re always harping on about being ‘connected to our weapon’ of choice. I think I rather like daggers.”
Another laugh sounded out from Azriel as she did her best impression of him. “First, I don’t sound anything like that, Berdara. Finally something you aren’t good at – impressions.” She scowled at him as he continued on. “And,” He swallowed, not the best at compliments, “I’m proud of you for going into the city. I’m sorry I missed it.”
Even in her addled state, she could pick up the sincerity in his voice. She couldn’t tell at this moment if the warmth spreading across her body was from the warm summer rain or Azriel saying he was proud of her. “Thanks,” She offered shyly, wiping her copper hair away from its position plastered to her face. “Cassian flew me down with Nesta a few times while you were gone. Flying was terrifying, but Velaris was charming.”
Without much thought, Azriel absently twirled her dagger a few times, contemplating whether he should say what he wanted to at the moment. “General of the Night Court he may be, but never fly with Cassian. Next time you want to venture to Velaris – or anywhere else – let me know.”
Another bright, genuine smile broke across her face. Even in the rain and the dim light of the fae lights drifting from the House, he could see her teal eyes light up. “Okay! Probably not – not anytime soon. But I would like to see a few more places in the city.”
They sat in silence for a few more moments. It was a comfortable silence, with only the sound of the rain falling filling their ears. Azriel discovered that in the time since he landed on the rooftop, he hadn’t once thought about the Hewn City and all the things he hated about the Court of Nightmares. His shadows even felt at ease, despite their attempts to abandon him and dance around Gwyn. He tilted his head up to the sky, allowing the raindrops to pelt him directly on his face.
Seeing him so relaxed, Gwyn smiled and gingerly brought herself to a standing position. She wobbled a bit, but was able to correct herself. Azriel raised one eyebrow at her as she flung her hand out towards him. “Dance with me?” She cheerily asked, as if it wasn’t the most absurd thing in the world.
“Dance?” He knew he looked as dumbstruck as he felt at her request. “With you?”
A bit of hurt and anger crossed her face at his questions, but she tamped it down as she retracted her hand and crossed her arms. “No need to be rude, Shadowsinger.”
With much more grace than she had, Azriel brought himself to a standing position in front of her. Gwyn wasn’t short, but Azriel had at least half a foot on her at his full height. “Sorry. It’s not –” He pinched the bridge of his nose, “ – it wasn’t the with you part. I don’t dance, Berdara.”
Her gaze softened, before a challenging look fixed itself on her features, “Is this like the singing? You only do it in the solace of your own room? No one to witness if you actually do or not?”
He chuckled at that. She was never going to let this singing thing go. He could easily disprove her skepticism and sing, but that would be too easy. “Spending time thinking about me in my room, are we?”
Gwyn rolled her eyes at his teasing. “I know what you’re doing,” she arched an accusatory eyebrow at him, “Trying to distract me from your subpar dancing skills.”
“Subpar dancing –” He paused, cocking his head as he realized what she was doing. “Nice try, Berdara. You can’t goad me into dancing in the rain.”
“Fine,” At that, Gwyn spread her arms and literally spun away from him towards the center of the training ring.
By some miracle, he was able to prevent his shadows from twirling away with her. He had been in control of his shadows for five centuries, yet they behaved like eager puppies around the priestess; always interested in her antics and happy to hide her presence from Azriel until he was right upon her.
Even if he found the entire interaction ridiculous, there was a part of Azriel that delighted in seeing Gwyn spin around the ring with an expression of unbridled joy on her face as it was tilted towards the heavens. He finally observed her attire and realized she wasn’t wearing her training leathers or her priestess robes, but what appeared to be a now-thoroughly soaked sweatshirt and leggings. Her feet were bare, something he hadn’t noticed earlier. At the rate she was spinning, her hair would have been floating around her head if it hadn’t been raining. As it was, it was plastered to her head and neck, the coppery strands looking dark brown in the storm.
That same part of Azriel that delighted in seeing her spinning happily in the rain must have possessed him to tuck her prized dagger into his boot and make his way to the center of the training ring.
“Fine,” He acquiesced, gently reaching out to capture a spinning limb. He carefully watched her face for any discomfort as his scarred hand touched her sweater-covered wrist. Instead, he received a pleased smirk from the priestess.
“Spymaster,” She attempted an exaggerated curtsey, relieved when Azriel steadied her instead of allowing her to topple to the ground.
“Priestess,” A ghost of a smile danced across his lips as he offered her a nod in return.
“Let’s see how subpar this dancing of yours truly is,” Gwyn teased, taking one of his hands in hers as the other slid up to his shoulder. A few of his shadows wriggled eagerly around their joined hands, and where she was now touching him on his shoulder.
He shook his head with a little more enthusiasm than necessary, flinging extra water droplets on her as he placed his free hand on her waist. She narrowed her eyes at him at that, pinching his shoulder through his leathers. He gave her an innocent look as he flexed the hand currently holding hers, adjusting the hold.
“Try not to step on my toes, Berdara.” He taunted as they began moving to the sounds of the rain in the training ring.
Gwyn let out a rather unattractive snort. “As the barefoot one, I’m a little more worried about you stomping on my feet with those boots, Shadowsinger.”
Azriel huffed in mock-offense. “I don’t stomp. Spymaster, remember?”
She hummed at that, not having a retort off the top of her head. Unexpectedly, Azriel spun her gracefully, before returning her to their previous hold. His crooked grin told her that he was rather pleased with himself at that move.
“You know,” She drawled, tilting her head up to look at him and expose more of her face to the blissful rain, “Some music would make this experience even better.”
“Gwyneth,” He fixed her with a look that screamed ‘absolutely not.’
She tilted her head and hummed again, “I like when you say my name. ‘Gwyneth.’” She again tried to impersonate his low voice.
“Impression skills still need work,” A hint of mischief shone in his hazel eyes as he added, “Gwyneth.”
The way he said her name that second time was positively sinful, and she was pretty sure he knew it from the pleased look on his features. She’d blame the wine – though it was truly wearing off at this point – but she inched closer to him, sliding her hand further up his shoulder.
From Azriel’s sharp inhale, he was definitely affected by her invading his space. But he didn’t pull back. Instead, where his hand had been resting lightly on her waist, it felt a little heavier, as if he had tightened his grip.
After a moment, Azriel broke the silence. “You know,” He made sure to catch her eyes as he mirrored her earlier drawl, “You never call me Azriel.”
Gwyn nodded, before adding lamely, “There are those perceptive Spymaster skills of yours again.”
“Gwyneth,” He spun her again, and if she wasn’t dizzy from the wine or the dancing, the male himself was certainly doing it to her.
“Azriel,” She answered, gazing into his eyes to steady herself as she breathed out his name. The name felt foreign on her tongue, but more than that, it felt intimate. Her mentor in the training ring was the Spymaster of the Night Court, the infamous Shadowsinger. Azriel was the male who so rarely opened up, but she felt like their extra training sessions and interactions in the House of Wind had slowly chipped away at part of that stony exterior.
Azriel tried to keep his usual mask up, but hearing his name from her lips stirred something inside him that he wanted to feel again. “Say it again.”
She barely heard his request as the rain picked up around them, the wind beginning to blow the rain in sideways. “Azriel.”
Their silly dancing had nearly come to a standstill, and there wasn’t much space to speak of between them. Gwyn felt like a spell had been cast over her, and all she could focus on was the male in front of her. The rain or her soaked clothes didn’t matter nearly as much as getting closer to Azriel did.
For a moment, she thought Azriel would break the spell between them when he closed his eyes, as if to refocus himself; however, when he opened them again, Gwyn saw the confirmation in them that she needed. She dropped her hand that was holding his and brought it to his cheek as she leaned up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.
From the moment he heard her say his name, Azriel knew where this was headed. The part of him that felt unworthy, that felt ugly, wanted to break the hold he had on her and retreat into his rooms, but for once, that part of him wasn’t winning. Another part of his brain was telling him that this was right. That this connection was good. Try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to view this as wrong.
His warring mind and drifting thoughts prevented him from immediately responding, and he saw a flash of panic cross Gwyn’s features as she pulled away from kissing him. He dropped his free hand to the other side of her waist so that he was holding her with both hands.
“Gwyn,” He murmured reverently before taking her lips with his. He felt her smile against his mouth, which was all the encouragement he needed as water slipped down their faces.
Azriel wasn’t known for being gentle in any aspect of his life, but he wanted this moment to be soft and gentle. For her. For Gwyn.
Her hand resting on his cheek absently stroked his face as they kissed in the rain. He could taste the wine on her lips, a reminder that she wasn’t fully sober and kissing was all he could allow of himself this evening. That didn’t stop her from surprising him as she lightly nipped at his bottom lip, eliciting a groan from deep in his chest.
He opened his mouth to her, tasting more of her – and the intruding rainwater – and enjoying how her body was responding beneath his hands.
He wanted to tangle his hands in her hair and kiss every inch of her exposed neck and collarbone. He wanted to hoist her up and have her muscled legs wrap around his waist. He wanted more of whatever that noise she just made was.
Want. Want. Want.
His busybody shadows finally sung around him, usually more interested in Gwyn than talking to him in her presence.
When they broke apart, her hand dropped from his cheek to trace the tattoos peeking out from his leathers and curling up his neck. One of his shadows swirled from over his shoulder down her arm, resting at the crook of her elbow.
“I’ve wanted to do that since you helped me cut the ribbon.” Gwyn breathed into the miniscule space between them.
“So that’s the prize you were after,” He teased, referring to when she, Emerie, and Nesta completed his and Cassian’s amalgamation of a Blood Rite qualifier.
“I’ll settle for a few more of those to make up for my previous lack of reward,” She smiled up at him, mischief and desire dancing in her teal eyes. “With interest, of course.”
Azriel shook his head at her, holding in a laugh as he turned to gaze up at the sky. The rain was falling in heavy drops, but neither of them seemed to mind. Refusing to stay in Velaris at either of Rhysand’s homes was turning out to be the best decision Azriel had made in a while.
“Can we stay out here a while longer?” Gwyn’s question pulled his attention from the skies back to the Valkyrie in his arms.
The Shadowsinger nodded, placing a small kiss on the top of her head as he tucked her into his body as they began swaying together in the rain. Her contented sigh against him tugged at something deep in his chest; something he felt deep in his bones, but couldn’t vocalize just yet. No, for now he would just focus on the gentle sway of their bodies as the warm summer rain continued to fall.