A Court of Whispers and Song

Chapter 29

"Priestess?"

The priestess could barely think through the agony devouring her. The heat flaring with each gasping inhale. But, slowly extending beyond the pain, Gwyn determined her head rested upon something notably solid. Then soft caresses over her sweat and blood-drenched strands. An embrace of cedar and chilled night enveloped her.

"Priestess, please open your eyes."

When had she closed them?

She opened them, discovering Azriel gazing down at her, his greenish-brown eyes wet. Her beautiful male. Though the smooth planes of his bronzed face were harsh. Oh, no. Did he blame himself?

"It was my fault," Gwyn rasped out, grimacing as she hacked, the motion pulling at the gash in her side.

"What?" His shaking hand pressed harder against her wound.

"Before we left...I...I told you if I got hurt." She hissed. "It was my fault."

Azriel tried his finest to act annoyed with her, but she could see the genuine worry. The pain and the panic brewing a perfect storm. His shadows were probably swirling like a small cyclone...

But they weren't.

Gwyn tilted her head as much as she could, curious. The shadowsinger's eyes sharpened and narrowed. A muscle ticked in his cut jaw.

"One of these pricks is still alive. The shadows are keeping him bound. Though, with the faebane in my blood." He paused, listening. "They're faint."

A few of his dim comrades emerged over his right shoulder. They were fuzzy, like the last trace of drifting smoke. One dropped to stroke tenderly on her cheek and, Mother above, the frosty kiss of wind felt like the best thing ever.

Azriel concentrated on the one shadow above his ear and then turned his concern back to her.

"They stabbed you with a blade covered in some new variation of faebane, reducing both our healing abilities. Meaning, no winnowing. No contact. And no flying."

Gwyn finally checked for Az's injuries. One to his thigh. One to his wing.

Azriel held up his gauntlets containing the now barely flickering Siphons.

Oh, no.

Her palm was sticky from applying pressure on her stab wound. They were so screwed. Stranded in the temple, depicted in her worst nightmares.

Without the High Fae and Illyrian abilities to heal quickly?

"We need to stop the bleeding," Gwyn said.

"I know," he replied hoarsely.

An idea snagged hold, a guiding beacon from her past. "Next...two doors on the left...was a healing room." She halted with a groan as pain lanced through her. Azriel leaned forward, his lower lip quivering against her forehead as he kissed her. "We had humans on...occasions take shelter for a short time. Many of them." A wheeze. "When they'd suffer injuries, they didn't want us to use the stones. They feared magic, I think. But...we assembled a bag holding bandages and things for mortals...might work..."

With a swift peck to her cheek, he smoothly lifted her head from his hard thigh, lowering her to the floor.

"I'm going to do a quick sweep. Then I'll look for the supplies, all right?"

She nodded somewhat as he stood.

He shifted his regard to his shadows. "You two stay here and inform me if anything besides her moves in here." Azriel's shadows bobbed, weaving in response as he made his way to the door, his fingers snagging on the jamb, knuckles white.