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Azriel liked watching her when she was in her element—the confidence Gwyn radiated on the field. Her body had memorized the maneuvers like a melody to a song she’d rehearsed all her life. The blade wasn’t just a piece of metal in her hands, it was an extension of her movements, and it hummed in response. Her motions were as swift as an eight note and pristine as a perfect key. Radiant beams painted the sky with shades of marmalade and apricot as the priestess danced to the beat of a warrior’s tune beneath the warm sunlight.
From where Azriel stood, the rays of the setting sun peaked behind Gwyn like a holy divine, mother-blessed painting. It was almost as if the sky was singing—hymning—a blessing in response to the copper-haired priestess’ prayers. I am the rock. She rotated the blade to lead with the hilt and lunged forward, striking her invisible target. Against which the surf crashes. The sword glistened beneath the daylight as she pivoted and blocked. Nothing can break me.
She was glorious.
“Stare any harder, brother,” said Cassian, “and I just might think you’re not admiring the blade work.” Crossing his arms, the ruby Siphons glistened on his Illyrian uniform against the sun. The corner of his lips twitched, restraining his smirk. Cassian was familiar with the look on his brother’s face, it was one he’d worn not too long ago and one they’d both seen on Rhysand years prior. And much like the scenarios before, only the brothers knew what was hidden beneath that look—the things unsaid.
Without so much as a blink, the Shadowsinger said, “Vanity has never been my thing. I’ll leave the smoldering against a clean blade to you.”
Cassian let out a laugh and clasped Azriel on his shoulder. “Excellent work, everyone. We’ll pick it up again next week. In the meantime, practice the footwork. As much as each combination we’ve practiced is a dance, this isn’t a folk dance. Think of it as a waltz. You’ll want smooth steps rather than hasty.”
Near the other end of the training grounds were Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie all packing up. With training officially dismissed, Emerie took it upon herself to finally ask Nesta her prying questions. Earlier during the week, it had been announced that Cassian would be absent for a couple of days on Night Court orders. His announcement was short, but Nesta’s side of the story had much more to say. Well, until her mate reminded her that their special assignment had the potential to place lives at risk if divulged.
“Is it true you’re leaving with Cassian, today?”
Pouring herself a cool glass of water, Nesta gave her a side-eye. She was not looking forward to the High Lord of the Night Court making an appearance this morning. Nesta was sure that even through the distance, her sister’s mate was still listening with his daemati powers or through the walls somehow.
“I’m only curious to know if you’ll be present at the Starlight festival,” said Emerie. She placed her hands up in surrender, knowing full well there were orders above their ranking. They might have completed the Blood Rite and earned their respective titles, but even Carynthian or Valkyrie were no match to the position of the General Commander.
“Speaking of,” said Gwyn, “do we plan on staying out late? I’d prefer to be back before the witching hour.”
“I thought Nesta was the only witch.”
Nesta chuckled and gave Emerie a playful shove. The water in their glasses spilled on their leathers and on everything within their vicinity, including their bags. The corner of Nesta’s lips turned up. “Planning on starting a séance?”
“A séance? I don’t know the first thing about being a witch. Well, I do, but that’s only because I live in a library,” said Gwyn.
“Please don’t give Nesta any ideas,” said Cassian, appearing behind Nesta. His black shoulder-length hair was tied back, allowing him to study each of their facial expressions carefully. Cassian knew these females had a knack for crafty ideas. He’d just recently gotten some of the Windhaven Illyrians off his back about Nesta being a witch, he didn’t need that to start up again, so he eyed each of them slowly.
“Afraid?” asked Nesta, giving him a wry smile.
“Of you?” Cassian raised an eyebrow, “Yes.”
Her lips formed a full smile at that. “Good.”
Emerie cleared her throat as the priestesses’ voice brought everyone back to focus. “I only meant I’d prefer to be back before midnight.”
“Ah! Well, that can be arranged,” said Emerie. Grabbing her hand towel, the Illyrian female wiped her face. After drying off the sweat from her forehead, Emerie patted the spilled water from her clothing. The small hand towel wouldn’t be enough to leave her in a clean state, but it would be enough to dry off the excess moisture on her before the winter breeze could freeze the dampness. As if on cue, a chilly gust of fresh pine blew against her skin. “Besides, I’ll need someone to fly me back to Windhaven and I wouldn’t want to impose late at night.”
“Speaking of Windhaven, a note was dropped by,” said Cassian. In his hands was a small piece of paper, no larger than a rose petal. Or at least, the note appeared that minute against his rough, calloused hands—hands that had seen one too many battlefields. Cassian handed the winged female the folded piece of parchment, which she proceeded to open.
“Oh, shit,” said Emerie.
Her brown eyes flicked through the note faster than Nesta could turn the pages of a smutty book. Without lifting her gaze, Emerie spoke, “If it’s not too much trouble, could you fly me back home before you head out, Cassian?”
“You’re flying home?” asked Gwyn.
Emerie’s caramel eyes finally glanced up, her gaze landing on her friend. The Starlight festival had been forgotten within seconds. Reaching for the priestess's hand, “Gosh, I’m so sorry, Gwyn. I don’t think I’ll be able to make it tonight after all.”
There was a pause, followed by Gwyn’s voice. “Oh.”
“It seems my cousin cannot take no for an answer.” Emerie let out a sigh. Her breath was now a cloud of condensation in the winter air.
“No, don’t worry about it. We can go next time.” Gwyn shook her head as the corner of her mouth quirked up slightly. The color on her cheeks, a soft, gentle tone similar to the rosy skies.
Nesta and Emerie look at each other. They knew Gwyn was trying not to act disappointed at their unexpected leave, but her teal eyes betrayed her. It wasn’t often the priestess strolled through Velaris. Nesta could count on one hand the number of priestesses she knew who felt comfortable enough to do so. While her friend was one of them, Gwyn never wandered out without company. Nesta knew how important it was to take a breath of fresh air more than anyone, not that the training grounds didn’t provide that, but the festival was an opportunity for Gwyn to continue to see the world beyond just what lies below the House of Wind. For a month, it had been all she’d talked about.
“Azriel…” said Nesta.
From the other side of the training grounds, Azriel’s ear pricked up as he turned his head toward the group. Eyebrows raised at the mention of his name. “Azriel, could go with you, right?”
Tucking a copper strand behind her ear, “It’s okay. Miryam will most likely need me tonight anyway.”
“Myriam knows where every book in the library is just as much as you do. She can get her own books tonight,” said Nesta. Or shove them where the sun doesn’t shine. That’s what Nesta had really wanted to say, but she knew there was a level of respect and boundary that wasn’t hers to cross there.
Azriel made his way closer, his shadows not far behind. It was a wonder how far his shadows could go, him being the Spymaster and all. If they could whisper to him secrets, were they an extension of him? Or did they have a mind of their own? There were many unanswered questions about the Shadowsinger everyone had, even the Night Court’s own Inner Circle, but there was also an understanding that Azriel was a creature of unsolved mysteries. He preferred it that way, or so it seemed, and it was best not to push or pry further on someone who was almost always a closed book.
Emerie looked from the Shadowsinger to Gwyn and back, seeing the opportunity Nesta had seen this for. She bit the inner corner of her mouth for a second before she chimed in, “She’s been wanting—dying to go, actually.”
“No, it’s okay,” said Gwyn. The words spilled out too quickly from her mouth. Her eyes widened, their intense stare at her friend. It wasn’t a look of worry, but one built out of the fear of imposing on someone. Especially someone Gwyn admired.
“I don’t mind,” said Az.
Silence.
All four of them had been too stunned to speak. It was a rarity to see the Shadowsinger so disposed to participate in activities outside his court duties. Even Nesta and Cassian, who lived with Azriel, barely saw him as it was with the exception of meals. Cassian had been too shocked to even blink for fear of missing the moment or confusing it for a hallucination.
“Good,” said Nesta in an attempt to break the silence. “Well, we’ll leave you to plan. We’ve got—”
“To get Emerie home before we head off,” said Cassian. He cleared his throat and glanced at Nesta.
“Y-yes,” said Nesta. Thoughts of their trip were quickly forgotten. Her head nodded a bit too eagerly for someone who’d been voluntold for a mission on Night Court orders. With Emerie’s eyes darting back and forth, they finally landed on Nesta, and they all silently agreed that was their exit before heading out, leaving the priestess and the Shadowsinger to themselves.
Clasping the golden chain to secure her white cloak, Gwyn pulled her chestnut hair through in one swift motion, allowing her long honey almond-scented strands to lay against her robe like a splash of autumn leaves on a blank canvas. She patted the front of her teal gown, the perfect shade to match her cerulean eyes, before giving herself a once-over in the mirror. There were only so many options she had when it came to her outfits. Not that she minded her priestess gown, they were comfortable to move in across the library levels and sublevels. Plus, this particular one had the best pockets. After all, Gwyn had made this one herself.
Any minute now, the Shadowsinger would be waiting for her by the entrance to the library. They’d agreed to meet after sundown, and after they’d both washed off the sweat from their training today. The city lights were also prettier at night, or so she’d been told. And if there was one thing she was looking forward to the most, it was experiencing the light show. Only one of the other priestesses had been to the festival late at night and from the way she’d recounted the gleaming city and the festival's colorful exhibition, it made Gwyn want to see the lights even more.
Making her way toward the library's main floor, her shoes clicked against every step on the stairs. As she reached the top, Gwyn spotted the back of the Shadowsinger. She could recognize his silhouette through stacks of books, and secretly she had. This was something she hadn’t confessed to her friends, not yet. And Gwyn couldn’t bring herself to share this with Nesta and Emerie, she wasn’t even sure what she’d even say.
Velaris residents were encouraged to visit the city, but it wasn’t often that members of the High Lord’s Inner Circle, specifically the General Commander, Spymaster, or the one they called Amren stopped by. Especially since every guest had to be granted access by the library's residents. So, Gwyn was familiar with Rhysand. In theory, at least. She knew his name and could recognize him in a crowd. She’d shared with him along with her sisters in the library, but not on a personal level the way Nesta or the other Archeron sisters did. So, it had been easy to spot the Shadowsinger, or rather his curious shadows, among the stacks of books when his presence had become a recurrent one.
She knew his shadows were curious because of their playful nature. Hiding between shelves, peaking behind armchairs, and quickly retreating only to peak once more. They were almost cat-like. Gwyn hadn’t bumped into him, she’d only spotted his silhouette in the distance. And she hadn’t asked him what brought him to the library these days, mostly because she’d always been busy with Myriam’s book list. Even now, Gwyn wondered if tonight would present itself as an opportunity to ask what he was always searching for, or what mission had sent him here.
Now, he was standing by Clotho’s usual spot, it had been Clotho’s preferred place of work for as long as Gwyn had known. Not to mention, the female was also the High Priestess in Velaris so while her work was similar to all those who lived in the library, her duties also included keeping everyone and everything within the location safe. Hence, why she preferred her spot near the main entrance.
The Shadowsinger seemed to be in conversation with Clotho, but all talk ceased once Gwyn landed on that final step. Both figures turned to lay their eyes on her. That made Gwyn feel a bit uneasy for some reason. She could feel her face warming up and was sure her cheeks were as pink as a cherry blossom.
Azriel’s eyes were focused on her own, as if entranced by her gaze or the shades of sapphire within them. She could have sworn his gaze softened and the corner of his lips twitched with the kiss of a hidden smile beneath. “Ready to go?”
“Yes,” said Gwyn.
Smiling at the pair of them, she couldn’t wait to get to the heart of the city. “We’ll be back soon, Clotho,” she said.
The High Priestess's mouth curved into a smile and nodded. Have a good night.
The Shadowsinger offered her his arm, and for a moment she hesitated. It was one thing to train with Cassian and Azriel, but it was rare for her to actually make physical contact with either of them. Well, with the exception of flying to Windhaven and Sangravah…
Thoughts of Sangravah almost always overwhelmed her, so she paused, took a deep breath in, acknowledged her feelings, and let them go. The Valkyrie techniques she’d learned not so long ago had become part of her daily ritual, and they allowed her to manage her thoughts which often overwhelmed her mind. Regaining her composure and control, Gwyn beamed up at the Shadowsinger and hooked her arm through his.
Azriel dipped his head toward Clotho in respect as they walked past her and toward the winter night. His wings tucked in behind him, almost hidden against the dark clothing and swirling shadows. Opening the door for her, he asked, “Would you prefer to fly to the city? Or the scenic route?”
His breath was now a cloud of condensation in the frozen air. The Shadowsinger’s words were always short and to the point. He never seemed to be one for a long conversation or small talk. He only ever spoke as much as was required of him, Gwyn had noticed. “Aren’t all flights scenic routes? With views from high above, I’d think they’d all be.”
“They are, at least during the day. Ground visibility can be limited after nightfall,” said Azriel.
“I’d prefer to fly tonight, if you don’t mind. Something about flying into the city of starlight during its namesake festival feels poetic, don’t you think?” said Gwyn. She could feel chilly air kissing her cheeks. It was then she realized how grateful she was for the warmth the robes provided.
Carefully, Azriel swooped Gwyn into his arms, holding her close against his warm body. Close enough to keep her secured, but not too up close. “I don’t often read poetry,” he said.
“What do you read when you’re in the library, then?” Her mouth quirked to the side.
“History. On ancient artifacts,” said Azriel.
“Like the Dead Trove?” she asked.
“The Dead Trove, the Cauldron, and all the other mother-blessed items out there,” said Azriel. His shadows peered over his wings at her. They danced freely up and behind his shoulder like a child playing peek-a-boo. The corner of Gwyn’s mouth turned up as she watched their playful spirits swirl. Azriel followed her line of sight and glanced back at her. He couldn’t help his soft chuckle. “Hold on, tight.”
Within a moment they were in the air, high above the House of Wind peering over toward the illuminated Sidra. The city was radiant from the sky, Gwyn could spot buildings decorated with dancing lights. As they drew closer, she could see something being shot into the air from below. It had disappeared from the ground once in the air, yet all eyes still followed its trajectory. A moment later, vivid, glistening colors filled the sky. Gwyn gasped. The illuminations burst above with a pop and then vanished. No trace behind that such shimmer had existed. It was fascinating. Gwyn chuckled and leaned over just a bit away from Azriel and toward the light show.
“It’s mesmerizing,” she said.
Gwyn wondered what it would look like to fly through the illuminated sky. She knew the Shadowsinger wouldn’t let her fall. That’s why she felt comfortable leaning a just bit further outward once more. His hold tightened around her as if knowing the exact thought in her mind. Their arrival above the city took them closer to the display. They were now flying past the Sidra and the Amphitheater, just above the Rainbow of Velaris somewhere near the avenue of galleries.
They glided toward the display of glittering lights as more and more rays of shimmer dispersed into the night sky. They were flying through the middle of the action. Gwyn leaned back into the Shadowsingers chest and let out a full belly laugh as golden stars twinkled all around. It felt like flying through literal constellations, and she imagined this is what it felt like to be a soaring celestial on Starfall. Surrounded by such glittering colors into the beyond.
Within a moment, they were covered in whatever golden dust had shimmered a moment ago. Her hands were glistening, and her white robe was now a patch of glowing snow wrapped around her body. It reminded her of the human tales she’d read about the fae kind and their “faerie dust.” Just children’s stories, honestly. But she figured this is what they were intending to capture in their tales of old, of children flying along the fae into the night. Of magical faerie dust that could grant you the gift of flight in exchange for happy thoughts. If Gwyn was being honest with herself, she’d be happy to exchange a thought for a chance to soar through the night like an Illyrian with wings.
Covered in a head-to-toe golden glow, Gwyn felt as magical as the characters in those tales she’d read about. Her eyes landed on the Shadowsinger who was admiring her child-like wonder. And she couldn’t help admiring him in return. Azriel had always been devastatingly beautiful. Blessed with classical features perfect for tracing and sculpting and capturing through every art medium. And she couldn’t look away from him and the way his facial expressions seemed to soften. Gwyn had never seen this look on his face, yet, whatever it was, it made her heart flutter.
There was a slight smile painted on the corner of Azriel’s mouth. Of wonder and beauty. The priestess's copper hair sparkled in the night like a raging sun. The glowing dust on her face served as an accent to the constellations on her skin—her already present freckles. Azriel couldn’t deny that Gwyn was charming, but she was more than just pretty.
Gwyn was lovely.
Something sparked in Azriel’s chest, and he couldn’t name the feeling. Pop. The sound of another bursting swirl of colors made him blink. Shifting his gaze, Azriel figured they’d lingered in the skies for long enough. With one fell swoop, they landed by the path near Feyre’s studio, which led to the connecting waterways of the Sidra.
Placing the priestess down gently, Azriel cleared his throat and took a step back to give Gywn space. She hooked a strand of auburn behind her ear and patted any wrinkles on her robes away. Now it was time to see who would break the silence first. They stood there awkwardly for a moment.
“We should grab a cup of Rita’s hot cocoa first, I think,” Gwyn said. She motioned toward the lilac cart covered in holiday wreaths. The smell of cinnamon and peppermint swarming toward them. After their cold flight, they definitely need something to warm them up.
The Shadowsinger was quiet for a moment.
“What, you have a cold heart, Shadowsinger?” said Gwyn. Her mouth quirked to the side.
“So, they say.”
“Your enemies?”
“No, my friends,” said Azriel.
Gwyn chuckled.
“Afraid they’ll find out you enjoy the simple pleasures of life, then?” Pure amusement glittered in her eyes.
He snorted. “Something like that.”
She hummed. Her breath clouded in front of her, and one of his shadows inched closer and danced with it. Gwyn headed toward Rita’s cocoa stand anyway, with Azriel trailing behind. He realized a heartbeat later that he should have elaborated rather than have been short with her. “I much prefer tea.”
The young priestess smiled over her shoulder as her copper-chestnut hair caught in the wind. For a moment, Azriel peered over his own shoulder, as if he couldn’t believe her gentle smile had been directed at him. But there was no one behind him.
“You should see the collection we have,” said Gwyn. “The library doesn’t just upkeep manuscripts and store scrolls, you know.”
“You have a section for teas? In a library?” he asked. Azriel narrowed his eyes, studying her.
“Yes, we have a whole section dedicated to teas. Mostly because we have priestesses from all across Prythian and like you prefer tea.” They got in line behind a couple who seemed just as enchanted by the multicolored archway illuminated with fae lights that danced to the beat of the music playing.
It only took a moment for them to reach the front of the line where a young, beautiful female with braids throughout her hair smiled back at them. Her mocha eyes sparkled, “What’ll it be, dear?”
“One hot cocoa,” said Gwyn. Her face beamed with excitement.
“And anything for you?” she asked the Shadowsinger.
“Tea, please. If you have any,” said Azriel.
“For my cold heart,” he added. The corner of his lip twitched as his eyes glanced at Gwyn.
Within a heartbeat, they both held a warm, delicious cup of holiday drinks in their hands. Gwyn couldn’t help closing her eyes and breathing in the sweet aroma of cinnamon and chocolate mixed together. Sweet with a dash of spice. It made Azriel wonder how often the priestess wandered outside of her home. He couldn’t ask. Or at least he knew he shouldn’t.
They made their way nearer to the Sidra where folks were clapping and dancing to folk melodies older than Azriel and his brother's ages all combined. Even the tunes felt older than time, but the music was as lovely as he imagined it had been the day the songs had been written.
“I know you sing, but do you dance, Shadowsinger?” asked Gwyn. Sipping her tea, she gazed at the giddy faces on the dance floor. They were all full of laughter and joy and complete, utter bliss. Not a care in the world. And for a moment, she wanted to be that. Gwyn wanted to be someone who wasn’t constantly on watch or looking back at what was lurking behind her.
“It is an actual title, you know,” he said.
“So, you’ve said. But do you dance?” she asked again.
Azriel had seen the look on her face a moment ago, and he was sure that her mind had been elsewhere. Placing his cup down on the nearest table, he extended his hand toward her. The truth was that he didn’t often dance. He much preferred standing on the sidelines or watching from a distance. But he couldn’t help himself now, having seen that look on her face. Worry. Fright. He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he wanted to ground her, keep her focused on the here and now rather than where ever her mind had been a moment ago. That’s why he was now holding her hand in the middle of the dance floor.
“Keep up, Berdara,” was all he said.
They took their places and waited for the music to begin, as folks stepped off the dance floor and more joined in. Once the tune began, Azriel took a step backward and bowed. Gwyn did the same. With one step to the right, they circled each other, their gazes locked. And with one step forward, Azriel placed his hand on her back. And Gwyn could have sworn one of his shadows had waved at her over his shoulder. Had it been telling her where to place her hands? She blinked again.
One, two, three, and—
With one hand on his shoulder and the other against his, they danced to a jolly beat. Azriel guided her across the dance floor with a step here and half turn there. His eyes were wholly focused on hers, knowing exactly where to guide her. Nothing felt forced, and Gwyn could feel herself relaxing into the music. A smile formed on her lips. Gwyn was half surprised she was dancing with him. She hadn’t expected him to. His hazel eyes were a deep forest green with a dash of cinnamon. When he turned right, she followed. When the music sped up, she followed his lead.
She couldn’t help but smile brightly at him, and surprisingly, Azriel smiled back. And if he was devastatingly beautiful with his smooth and cool demeanor, then this was utterly and completely holy divine. Something tugged in her chest then. Like something inside of her had fallen into place. The way his eyes gleamed beneath the lights, and he allowed himself to be entranced on the dance floor with her, completely lost in the moment, made her wish she was artistically inclined, so she could capture this moment.
Nothing else mattered at this moment anymore, so Gwyn completely let go and let herself be spun across the dance floor. And they continued that way until the music stopped, and they halted in place with their eyes still locked. They gazed into each other’s eyes as they regained their breath. It was like she could finally see him clearly. In this moment, it was only them. Even the sound of the audience's applause had been drowned out. Just them.
His shadows peered over his wings at her, but Gwyn was too focused on him. Somewhere in the distance, a voice announced that the following song would begin playing. That seemed to bring them back into their bodies.
This time, it was Azriel who felt his cheeks warming up. He blushed. He kind of hoped it would be chalked up to their spirited dancing. The Shadowsinger cleared his throat and nodded at Gwyn before guiding her off the dance floor.
“That was fun,” said Gwyn. Her eyes still sparkling.
“And now you know I can dance and sing,” said Azriel.
“I’ll keep your secret,” she winked.
“I hope you do. I can’t have you ruining my reputation of being the cold-hearted Spymaster of the Night Court.” Azriel chuckled.
Gwyn opened her mouth to say something but lost her words. She just looked at him for a moment, almost memorizing him, as if he’d vanish anytime soon. It was like she was painting her own canvas of him in her mind for her to keep. Not wanting to forget this night anytime soon.
“I’m glad you joined me tonight, Shadowsinger,” said Gwyn.
“Azriel,” he corrected.
She hummed.
“Have you ever tried a crêpe, Azriel?” asked Gwyn.
Azriel chuckled. “Yes, I have.”
“Good, then you’ll know a good spot,” she said matter-of-factly before looping her arm through his.