A Court of Whispers and Song

Chapter 16

Gwyn's nose scrunched as something stroked it. Once. Twice. She batted it away with a swipe.

Wake up.

A tickle over her bunched forehead and down over her cheek.

Wake up, priestess.

Gwyn's eyelids cracked open, vision blurred with sleep. Every muscle in her body ached, her face puffy from the tears she had cried. Moving her arms above her head, she stretched and stretched until her muscles loosened and her joints popped.

Her bleary gaze landed on her poor excuse for a window, her singly thin sliver into the outside world for so long. Heart pounding, Gwyn shot up in bed when she noticed the sun was no longer streaming in bright shades of yellow. No, it tinted the diffused light cascading across her floor in orange and rose. Sunset.

Cauldron, how long had she slept?

"Mother-fucking-above-shit," she hissed nonsense between clenched teeth, beating her fists into the thin mattress as she pushed up. Like a nocked arrow, she flew out of bed, quickly smoothing out her now crinkled robes and combing the rat's nest of her hair with her fingers.

Gods, a rumpled mess she may be, but there was no chance to fuss over appearances. She had made a promise, one that she intended to keep.

Practically yanking the wooden door off its hinges, she ran as hard as she could as she darted down the hall as a hare would with a wolf on her tail.

"I'm sorry....I'm sorry...Pardon me," she apologized before nearly running over three priestesses who didn't recognize the common courtesy of staying to one side.

Gwyn's legs blazed with a fiery passion by the time she skidded to a stop at the rear entrance of the temple. As she crossed beneath the hallowed stone archway, touching a single drop of sacred water to her forehead, an ominous semi-circle of hooded figures greeted her.

One stepped forward, raising two steady hands to remove her hood. "You're late... again," Merrill hissed, her view sweeping up and down with a dismissive curl to her mouth. "Not that I'm surprised."

Could this day get any worse?

𝄋

Azriel followed Nesta down the stairs in silence, the echo of their heels scuffing coarse stone underfoot the only sound. Further and further, they descended the winding staircase until a large pebbled door appeared ahead. And when he knew where they were headed, Azriel halted.

"No," Nesta said, looping an arm through his, hauling him with her. "We're going."

He exhaled loudly. "I-I don't think I can—"

"You don't need to say anything to her." Yet hung in open. Because he would have to say something to Gwyn, eventually. An apology for being a royal dick. An explanation for his behavior. Perhaps even groveling on his hands and knees.

The first thing he noticed in the library was the absolute stillness—the nothingness. None of the noises of the working priestesses sounded as they passed by Clotho's empty desk.

"They aren't here and before you ask, I spoke with Clotho after I checked on Gwyn." Nesta's face hardened." Clotho permitted me to bring you."

Azriel nodded, too wearied to fight Nesta as she dragged him between rows of tables toward the rear stacks where he'd rarely tread. In front of them stood two massive solid doors of granite so perfectly balanced, Nesta could push one open with a touch of a single finger. They swung wide with silent ease before she drew him inside.

A coyly woodsy scent of spice hit him first. Used to darkness, Az's eyes quickly adjusted to the hazy light, a light mist of incense dimming the glow of hundreds of flickering candles of various colored wax. The peaceful, tinkling noise of flowing water pervaded the air as much as the smoke. Delicate chimes clanged, a mysterious prayerful rhythm resounding off the rounded rock walls.