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Her heart beat a powerful thump beneath her robes as Gwyn snuck out of her sanctuary and down the steps into what one might call a dream, a mix of dread and sadness creeping in. This was not the way she had wanted to step into the city. This version of Gwyn, a broken, soul-tired woman, was not what she wanted to present to people with. No, she wanted her first time to be a happy one. One of excitement, chatter, love, and all those emotions she had always imagined she would feel whenever she envisioned this moment. She wanted her first time to be memorable, a good one that would tie her further to the land of the living.
Not this.
Never this.
Gwyn was unsure of her exact emotions, only that whatever it was, it made her want to lock herself up in the library and shut off from the world forever. She was not Gwyneth, the Valkyrie, now. No, she was Gwyneth the priestess, so shattered by others that she didn’t unfold from her cocoon until years later.
Still, this has to be done. She has already wasted enough time on herself.
Gwyn watched people milling about, laughing about whatever their companions were saying, oblivious of her dark presence. Fae with different semblances than hers — some she recognized, some she did not — walked past her in no hurry or worried that the day was coming to an end. The scent of delicious food wafted to her nose on the slight breeze. White marbled establishments decked with bold writings and delicate chairs littering around them with colorful decorations beckoned people in. Vendors called out their wares to the passersby.
Everyone seemed to be in a jovial mood.
Well, everyone except Gwyn.
If this were any other time and Gwyn was with her friends, she would have joined the wandering people. Would have tasted everything Velaris has to offer. Would have made every moment worth it. But it wasn’t the time for that.
A pang hit Gwyn for darkening the city’s cheerful essence with her mere presence.
Guilt.
Envy.
Sadness.
She didn’t heed the commotion happening around her. Instead, she pushed her emotions down beneath her skin, forcing them to seep inward until they vanished into her soul. She can feel the emotions later. When nobody was there to witness her sobs, hear her hitched breaths, and answer her pleas to make it stop. When the waves rose high enough to drown even the rocks.
The sun’s light had dimmed to a pale orange, as if echoing the darkness slithering inside her. Still, the city looked vibrant. Children rushed past her, laughing, the elder one screaming no at the younger one’s painted hands.
No
What a beautiful, magical word.
Simple. Merely takes a twist of your tongue, yet so powerful.
Powerful enough, it could destroy bonds or forge fresh paths. Powerful enough, it could turn a kindred soul into a stranger. Still, it couldn’t stop the soldier from taking her from herself. Maybe she didn’t seal enough power into it. After all, all magical things would only work if you poured your soul into them. It was the first thing Merrill had taught her when she began working for the white haired priestess. If you need something to happen, you must put your soul, your will, the very things that make you into it.
Maybe she didn’t try enough.
Gwyn continued, brushing past the laughing children as she started towards the hidden section of the river she knew few visited. She knew this part of the river was lonely. Some old stories about river creatures luring and snatching people whenever they come close to the bank. She almost laughed at the idea. No water being would ever satiate itself with the taste of the land creatures. Their skins tasted like the rotten water of the bog. She would know. They were her friends growing up.
Looking sideways to ensure no one was watching her, she drifted forward, trying to be as invisible as she could, summoning every bit of her Valkyrie training. Still, the feeling of eyes had her hastening her steps until she was nearly sprinting. Eyes turned toward her. She knew what vision she painted. An unknown cloaked figure clutching things that looked like she was simultaneously en route to worship a demon or fight one. It wasn’t that she was afraid of being spotted by others. No, she conquered that particular fear some time ago. Months ago, in fact, when she met these beautiful women she now calls her sisters. No, this time it was different. This time she did not want anyone to know. Or follow. The questions that might arise…
No, this is something she had to do herself.
Gwyn obscured the clock, nearly covering her face, and went out toward the river she had been eyeing for months. The dead leaves crunched under her boots, as if echoing their own failure to cling to their home, just as she had failed to cling to hers.
Do they too mourn the warmth of what they once knew? Desperately wishing for a different outcome but unable to fight destiny and time? Do they too wish for just a moment more? A single moment to savor what life has given them before they bid farewell?
Today was the cursed day. The doomed day Gwyn desperately wanted to forget, but still clung to. The day when she last saw both her sister and her old self. Her last day at Sangravah.
The day they came.
The mere whisper of them in her mind had the memories shaking free from their cage and striking her. Gwyn’s mantra of being a rock against the rock withered under their ambush. Catrin’s sweet voice. Her song that she would sing with Gwyn every evening. The laughter of the children when she tickled them. Clunk of armor. Slap of flesh. The rotten stench of lust, of mock laughter. All of it hit her senses without forewarning. Gwyn tried to drown it all, let it drown her. Try as she might, she was still not adept at separating her emotions.
The gentle hum of the currents saved her from the panic that was clawing in. She again cast glances around her to make sure that no one was there to witness what she was about to do before pulling down the cloak from her body and setting her things on the grass. Sitting down on the edge, with the water soaking her ankles, she pulled out the oiled paper they used in Sangravah specifically for this purpose and began cutting and folding it as she once used to observe. She then stacked them on top of each other until it resembled an open Endrborin flower, which was believed to guide the souls to peace and a better life. She made three such flowers before putting them on the small disks made of Kyrr wood. Kyrr wood would keep it afloat.
Or so she hoped.
The ones they had in Sangravah were a bit different from what she made, and they were carved and polished in such an intricate way that not even a strong wind could tip them. Catrin has always said that they would perform the ritual together after they learnt. She was supposed to start the carving process next week when the soldiers came.
Gwyn attached the flowers to the disc using starch and paused to inspect her craft. It wasn’t an exact replica of what they made in the temple, but it was sufficient. For now, it was good enough.
It could work.
The disc seemed hollow enough to hold the flower and whatever she might place. If not, well, what’s one more to her long list of failures.
She gingerly placed the disc in the water and, when it didn’t immediately sink down, sighed a relief. Lighting the miniature candle, she pulled the blue and black bracelet Catrin had made for her onto the disc; she then started praying to Mother to give her Catrin a good life in the next. She repeated the action with the other two ones, which held items she felt attached to, and gently pushed them forward.
The three discs — memoria, as they called it — started ahead. One behind the other, just as she would instruct the children to go to the evening ceremony. A small kernel of joy and sadness went through her as she remembered how it used to be. How Luna would always grumble when she wasn’t the one in front. How Durga would always wander off when she thought no one was looking, the soft chimes of her anklets giving her away. How she used to shriek with laughter when Gwyn would sneak up on her and pick her up with one clean swoop. They were the best things in her life. They and Catrin.
Gwyn’s lips tipped up.
And crashed down the next moment as she watched as one disc — Catrin’s — got caught in the branches of the nearby tree. She watched as it struggled to be free of the branches while also fighting to stay afloat. And seeing that, seeing the memoria grappling, broke something inside Gwyn.
Fate couldn’t even give her a good farewell.
She couldn’t give her a good farewell.
Her hands fisted.
Her chin quivered.
And finally sobs left her lips, and her eyes started overflowing with tears.
“Please, please, Mother,” Gwyn chanted as she tried to come up with anything to free the disc.
“Please don’t let my Catrin suffer here too”
Sorrow was now streaming steadily from her eyes, and Gwyn didn’t know what to do. She could not help her sister then. She could not help her sister now. She has failed in everything. Each heaving breath took her to a new plane of existence where only pain was her companion.
“Please, let her have this happiness”
She prayed and prayed for something, anything, to help her Catrin sail smoothly. Surely something would. All her life, Catrin had always tried to uphold her priestess vows. Sure, she was a bit wild in nature, but she never wavered from showing people kindness.
She was trying and failing to wipe her tears and snot when a hand appeared in her blurry periphery. She knew immediately whose hand it was. As if she could forget whose it was. Those hands and their owner had saved her from the soldiers and then repeatedly saved her from her inner demons. Azriel clutched a cloth in his open hands, face so open it was an effort not to launch into his arms right then and there. She didn’t react as he sat down next to her and gently wiped the cloth across her face. Starting from her tear-stained eyes, his determined hands and gaze went to her nose, puffy cheeks, and finally came to rest against her quivering lips.
He had found her.
Of course, he had found her.
She didn’t know how he had; she suspected his shadowy companions. Meddlesome cute creatures.
And now he was witnessing her epic meltdown. The one thing she didn’t want others to witness, and here’s Azriel getting a front row seat. This won’t do it.
This just won’t do it.
This was moving onto territory she was not comfortable discussing. Azriel was her close friend. Hel she even had a crush on him. But that does not mean she would turn into one of those heroines, clutch his arms and voice out all her deepest, darkest secrets to him. This was not a romance book.
Placing a smile even when her chin wobbled, she crooned, “Have you been following me, Shadowsinger?”
She knew which picture she was painting. Tired eyes, puffy cheeks, wane hair, wrinkled clothes. She looked like a mess.
She felt a mess.
Azriel said nothing, just continued to stare at her with an emotion she dared not say aloud. Gwyn trembled under that stare. Sometimes it felt like Azriel saw her. A little too much for Gwyn’s liking.
“Maybe,” a soft whisper had her looking at the enigmatic man in front of her. Maybe? So he was following her? Gwyn didn’t know how she felt about it. Or rather, didn’t want to admit the spark that lit up inside her upon that admission. So she did what she did best. Tried to deflect it with her humor.
She tried, although she knew Azriel was seeing through her deflection. “That confirms it, though. You have been following me. And don’t you dare deny it. Does that mean Azriel, the infamous spy of the Night Court, the one and only Shadowsinger, has taken a fondness to me? Should I prepare myself for a proposal?” She tossed a wink that she was sure looked ridiculous with her red trimmed eyes. And when he still looked at her in that way of his, Gwyn sighed and turned to watch the memorias float.
She didn’t know what she was doing.
What was she doing?
Her sister’s memoria was still stuck, struggling to move, and here she was getting all fuzzy with Azriel. The emotions she was feeling before came rushing back.
Gods, she was indeed a mess.
“Gwyn?”
She didn’t reply.
A moment passed.
“Are you alright?” His voice, when it came, was gentle, a murmur in the breeze. It was enough to quiet the storm inside her.
She couldn’t speak without revealing how much it was affecting her. Thus she simply pointed to floating discs, hoping he could realize on his own. His eyes followed her hands until they settled on the dimly lit beams — on the one still struggling. They narrowed for a second before flinging to her face.
She couldn’t face him. Couldn’t bear to see the pity she knew for sure would be there. Sure he wouldn’t blame her, but pity — that was worse. So she just stayed silent, trying to take subtle breaths to ensure no other tears flowed its former path. She could feel his stare boring into her, could feel the words forming in his mouth. He was going to say something. Something like It wasn’t her fault. She did everything she could. Sometimes things happen.
Gwyn was tired. So godamn tired. She didn’t know how she was going to hear it without hurling at him or the grass. She just wanted to rest. Close her eyes for a bit and take some time to regroup. She couldn’t do a single thing right. It was all for naught. Her entire existence was for naught.
Warm, calloused hands lightly gripped her chin and forced her teal eyes to meet the hazel ones. Gwyn’s breath got stuck somewhere between her nose and chest.
His eyes were so beautiful.
She has always found a person’s eyes to be the most beautiful part of them. Something about them was so mesmerizing. The way they widen when they see something astonishing. The way they lower when they glimpse the person they love.
Faces revealed beauty.
But eyes? They revealed the soul.
And his eyes?
They were the most beautiful of them all.
He gave her a small smile, not one of pity like she had feared, but one of understanding. “What if I help?” Gwyn gave him a quizzical look.
Help her how?
He could have read the question in her eyes for the next moment, the hand that was caressing her chin was turning her head sideward.
Towards Catrin’s disc.
Towards the shadows that were now gently propelling Catrin’s memoria towards the other ones.
Gwyn’s breath caught for a wholly different reason. The shadows — Azriel’s shadows — were making sure the discs stood afloat as they flowed with the current. Gratitude, such tremendous gratitude and love surged in Gwyn she almost folded under their force. She did not stop her tears nor what she was feeling as she returned her eyes back to her friend, this magnetic man who never let her down. And seeing him still smile at her had her launching across from where she sat into his arms as words of gratitude and sobs filled the air. She felt powerful arms encircle her as she buried her face into his neck; soft words—such soft words coming from his mouth. Azriel’s heart beat faster under her hands, and Gwyn wasted no time winding her arms around him.
“Thank you,” Gwyn didn’t think he could hear with how her voice strained and wobbled, but his arms tightened around her regardless. And in that moment Gwyn didn’t feel the day weighing her down; she didn’t feel the ever present dark clouds darkening her mind.
No.
Her soul was happy. Her soul was shining. She wanted to sing her happiness to the world.
To him.
This beautiful, beautiful person she had the honor of calling friend.
Detangling him from her chokehold, Gwyn pulled back to watch Azriel. He was still watching her with a smile, glad to lift her spirits. His hands still around her. Her hands had crumpled his tunic, and her tears had left a stain. Good. She hoped it stayed that way. Just as he had stained her soul with his kindness.
His compassion.
His friendship.
Him.
Gwyn knew she would never forget this as long as she was alive. Hel she would not forget what he had done, even after she was dead and in the warm embrace of the Mother. She felt it easy to express. “I will never forget this, Azriel, as long as I’m alive I’ll never forget this kindness. Thank you,” Gwyn’s voice broke. “Thank you so much.” Azriel just shrugged in return, and Gwyn’s smile grew at the flush on his cheeks.
She liked seeing him flustered.
Maybe she should do it more.
Before she could enact on her thoughts, Azriel moved his eyes towards the floating disks. “I know the last one is Catrin’s.” His voice changed at Catrin’s name, sorrow and rage for not coming sooner to Sangravah clear in his voice. “Who are the others?”
It was Gwyn’s turn to shrug. Swallowing, she turned her head toward the river. “The leading one is my mother’s. She was a lesser fae from the Autumn Court. We lost her in my sixteenth year.”
Silence
Azriel’s stare was piercing when it came to her. “And the other?”
“Myself”
More silence.
Even the wind stopped.
Azriel’s entire body tightened, just slightly so Gwyn wouldn’t have known if she wasn’t still half pressed against him.
Gwyn’s hands fisted her skirts. “Catrin is not the only one I lost that night.” Gwyn has lost herself too. She might be healing, recovering now, but that part — that wild, free, naïve part — Gwyn didn’t think she will ever get it back.
Scarred hands, void of their usual siphons, covered hers. “I wish I were there sooner.”
She did too.
Every second of every damn day.
However, one can’t change the past. No matter how much one prays.
She shook out her thoughts. That’s enough gloom for one day. Right now she had her friend with her, looking as miserable as her thoughts swirling inside her mind. She needed him to come out of it.
He doesn’t get to be sad. It’s her turn today.
He can mope another day.
“So,” she started, wiping her eyes. “I never knew the spymaster of the Night Court would be here, and that too without siphons? My my, you must really trust me,” Azriel’s cheeks colored, lashes lowering ever so slightly. Gwyn almost melted on the spot.
“My previous words still stand. Should I prepare myself for a proposal?” Gwyn drawled, her charm — irreverent charm, as he likes to call it — dripping from every word.
He stayed still.
Gwyn snickered and went back to watch the floating disks, which were now almost out of her vision range. A sense of peace settled over her. As if her sister were happy now that she had done it.
She had done it.
Thanks to Azriel and his shadows.
As she stayed there to watch the disk go out of range, she felt him shift. He was probably still flustered by her question.
He did that a lot these days.
She didn’t expect or want an answer. Although what she asked was what had been on her mind for months, it was only so that Azriel would get flustered and leave. But the wind carried a word, nevertheless. A whisper spoken so low that even she, with all her nymph heritage, had trouble hearing it.
“Maybe”
Something settled inside her. Something warm and bright that almost tasted sweet.
Maybe
That was her new favorite word.