"Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet."
- Jean-Jacques Rousseau
Song: New Girl - FINNEAS
The next day, Gwyn's health had improved significantly. So significantly that she grew suspicious.
Memorizing the ingredients and scents of the tonics on her nightstand, Gwyn showed herself to the river house's private library.
Much like yesterday, her morning among the books went mostly undisturbed. At one point the twins whose names were Nuala and Cerridwen delivered her a breakfast tray.
Her appetite not fully restored, Gwyn had picked at her food, her focus mainly on the book in her lap.
The text informed her that the ingredients of the tonics she was taking were in extremely rare supply.
Another book on the history of the economics of the Night Court indicated that not only were these ingredients scanty, but as such, were very, very, very costly. So costly that her jaw dropped.
Just be grateful, Gwyn.
Gwyn shut the book, shaking her head. "I would heal just as well with more reasonably priced tonics. Slower, but just as well," she grumbled, pushing herself to stand.
Gwyn tucked the book beneath her arm and left the library, heading towards the staircase that led to the floor where the High Lord's study resided. She knew he was there. She'd heard his pacing above her about an hour ago. Rhysand had to know that spending so much coin on her recovery was absurd. Especially when more reasonably priced medicine would be just as effective.
Facing the stairs, Gwyn paused. She did not have Azriel to help her with his shadows now...
Gwyn chewed her lip and looked down the corridor. The shadowsinger's guest room was at the very end but he'd told her just last night that he was making one final trip to Windhaven today and wouldn't be back until lunch. She could imagine the crease in his forehead if he saw her standing at the foot of the stairs. The silent offer he would make to help her, or the encouragement in his eyes to push herself even if he was worried.
Imagining the latter, Gwyn forced her aching legs up the steps. The pain in her thighs was surprisingly minor, as though she'd just finished a particularly arduous workout. But her lungs were another case altogether.
Her breath came in exhausted pants as she climbed and climbed and climbed. Her chest was burning and her arm shook as she gripped the mahogany railing.
Feeling slightly dizzy and more than a little fatigued, Gwyn lifted her chin and began striding down the hallway to the High Lord's study.
When she arrived at his door, she took a deep shuddering breath to steady herself, then rapped her knuckles against the wood.
"Come in."
Gwyn silently marveled at how someone could sound so bored and charming at the same time, then stepped inside.
The High Lord looked up from a stack of papers on his desk. "Gwyn..."
"High Lord," Gwyn panted, shutting the door behind her.
"Rhysand..." he corrected slowly. The High Lord studied her posture as she approached his desk on wobbly legs. "Are you alright?"
"Fine," she nodded, though her ragged breaths betrayed her. Gwyn set the book on Rhysand's desk.
He glanced down at it, arching a brow. "Thank you?"
The priestess shook her head and started to speak, but found herself too winded. She gestured to one of the chairs adjacent to Rhysand's desk.
"That would be preferable to you fainting..." he drawled.
Gwyn tried to gracefully seat herself but only succeeded in practically collapsing, her shoulders hunched. Rhysand still eyed her cautiously.
"The tonics. The medical care," she wheezed, shaking her head again. "It's too much."
Leaning back in his chair, Rhysand tilted his head at her. "You mean monetarily? Or dosage wise?"
Gwyn had a feeling that he was toying with her a bit, and exhaled as her breathing finally evened out. "I think you know what I mean... um-High Lord."
"Azriel was right. You are very surprising."
Her first instinct was to smile. Azriel. Talking about her? To his brother? Obviously the male liked her, but every confirmation of that made her stomach squirm pleasurably.
"One moment you're insisting on calling me by my title and the next you're berating me." The words were blunt but his tone hinted at amusement. "Gwyn, not to insult you, but you're essentially my employee and you were injured during an assignment that I put you on," said the High Lord with a shrug. "I underestimated the odds and as a result, you were hurt. I'm only fulfilling my duties in seeing that you are healed."
"There are less costly medicines that would do the trick just as well, only with a slower recovery rate."
Oh. A slower recovery rate. She hadn't considered that perhaps her presence here was a burden. An extra person to house, an extra mouth to feed, an extra guest to be seen to by their staff.
"Oh, forgive me," Gwyn sighed, bowing her head. "I didn't think about... how it may also benefit you to see that my recovery is expedited. I... apologize."
When she looked back up Rhysand met her gaze with a slow blink. "You think I'm in a hurry to be rid of you?"
"Well, that's a rather candid way to put it but... yes."
The High Lord appeared to fight off a grin as he rubbed his jaw contemplatively. "While I do stand to benefit from your quick recovery, it isn't to have you out of my home. It's to put you on another assignment. You proved in Windhaven that you are a valuable asset and it is wise to invest in your healing."
The remark nearly made her beam. To hear that she was of value as a Valkyrie. That she wasn't just some priestess who practiced in her spare time. She was a "valuable asset" to the High Lord of the Night Court.
"In regards to your lodging here, ask anyone in this house, your room is yours. You can make use of it whenever you wish," he said with an errant wave of his hand. "Come and go as you please, if you please."
She could see the understanding in his eyes and his meaning behind the sentiment. He knew what she'd been through and just how much courage it took for her to leave the library after two years of it being her only view of the world. But what was that he had said?
"...your room is yours."
It wasn't her room though. It was a guest room. Morrigan, Elain, Nesta, and Azriel and the rest of his family had rooms here. She was only visiting...
Gwyn's brows furrowed and she wondered if she was over analyzing his words. Perhaps this was a thought better kept to herself.
"If you're unhappy with anything in your room, that's my mate's fault," Rhysand murmured with a grin. He was lazily picking at the papers on his desk now. "She made many presumptions on your behalf. I told her to ask Nesta or even you for—"
"I thought it was a guest room."
Rhysand's eyes flitted up from his reports, a single brow lifted. "You're a guest."
"But you said the High Lady made it with me in mind..."
Again, the High Lord angled his head at her. "I did."
"But you barely know me. Why would I have a room here?" Gwyn's heart was beating faster for a reason she couldn't identify, but it felt like the part of a mystery novel where the main character would put together pieces of the puzzle. "Does Emerie have a room here?"
"She may very well, one day."
"Why design a room in your home for a priestess you hardly know."
"Nesta knows you. Azriel knows you. Cassian knows you."
"They know many people, Rhysand, and not all of them have rooms here..."
The corner of his lip curved up. "Questioning my generosity again?"
She ignored his taunt. "What do you stand to benefit from my having a room here?"
"What makes you think that I'm the one who benefits?" he countered.
"Who benefits then?"
The High Lord's eyes glinted wickedly. "Who do you think?"
Gwyn's heart raced. Did Rhysand know? Was he aware of her suspicions? Did she have a room here because she was Azriel's...
No. The High Lord was just ridiculously wealthy and using his funds to do something considerate for her. And she was responding most ungratefully. Gwyn should be thanking him. Feyre had said that they had more rooms than she knew what to do with. She'd simply made use of a spare one.
"I want to blame my boldness on the tonics but after doing my research on them, none of the symptoms list saying every little thing that pops into my head," the priestess grimaced.
Rhysand chuckled. "I appreciate those who speak their mind. Don't apologize."
"I spoke my mind a little too frankly I think..." Gwyn glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly time for their briefing. "Would you mind if I... waited here? I don't really want to make another trip down the stairs."
Returning to the papers on his desk Rhysand nodded. "Makes my life easier. I'm sure I wouldn't hear the end of it from Azriel if I put you in any sort of peril. Stairs or otherwise."
Eventually Emerie, Nesta, Morrigan, Feyre, and Cassian arrived. As they filtered in she noticed that the seat beside her was left vacant. Were the others leaving it open for Azriel? She knew that everyone here was at least vaguely aware of her feelings for the shadowsinger - after all, each of them had been stuck in between Azriel and Gwyn in some way or another over the past few months.
"You look much improved, Gwyn," Cassian remarked, leaning on the edge of Rhysand's desk. He tucked his wings in as he studied Gwyn closer. "Not anywhere as awful as you looked a few days ago."
"Oh?" Gwyn smirked.
"You were positively haggard."
"Cassian," Morrigan growled, shoving the male's arm. "Honestly."
"No, let him keep talking," said Gwyn coolly. "I've learned that Illyrians aren't all that hard to take down. Especially the arrogant ones."
Cassian only laughed, shaking his head.
The door to the study opened and Azriel entered, his eyes scanning the room. When they landed on Gwyn, she saw his lips thin just slightly. Something that only someone always eyeing his mouth would have noticed...
The male's shadows seemed to point in her direction, and as though doing their bidding, Azriel crossed to the desk and took the seat beside her.
"I see you made it up the stairs," he said pointedly. "Did you have help?"
Gwyn shrugged innocently. "No."
She could tell he was concerned and that part of him wanted to admonish her for pushing herself. Hells, he was probably right...
But it didn't matter, because Azriel resigned himself to a nod. "I'm glad you're feeling better."
And that was that.
Rhysand started by welcoming Emerie and Nesta, then giving them the same speech he'd given Gwyn. That he was interested in investing in the Valkyries and wanted to offer them opportunities that put them in the field.
Nesta took in the news with little to no reaction, but Emerie's brows lifted slightly.
Recognition from the High Lord of the Night Court may be a common occurrence to the eldest Archeron, but to Emerie and Gwyn it was news.
"It's nothing too dangerous. Just some minor recon. You'll be setting off in pairs," Rhysand said, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Nesta with Cassian. Gwyn with Azriel. Emerie with Morrigan."
Unable to control her impulse, Gwyn's head snapped in Emerie's direction, a smile threatening to break out on her lips.
Surely the priestess hadn't been the only one to notice the way Emerie looked at Morrigan, or how Morrigan laughed way too loudly at the Illyrian female's jokes. Emerie fixed Gwyn with a warning look and the priestess quickly averted her eyes, focusing back on Rhysand and Feyre.
Suspicions confirmed.
"Feyre has ideas on where to begin," the High Lord said looking to his mate who sat perched on the corner of his desk. "Mor and Emerie, I'll ask you to go through the Spring Court's village. There are a lot of citizens from various courts helping to restore the town so your presence won't be too suspicious. You can have a look about and go relatively unnoticed. Try to keep interactions to a minimum. Ideally you'll simply observe and report." The High Lady looked to Nesta and Cassian next. "You both will visit the human lands. Try to stay out of sight. Look for any signs of camp or any suspicious gatherings." Next she focused on Azriel and Gwyn. "And then you both will scope out the forests. Look for any cargo or weapon's caches. Potential hideouts."
It was laughable to assume that the humans who attacked Azriel and Morrigan would linger in the Spring Court. Gwyn didn't need five hundred years of field experience to realize that. And if there was any doubt in her mind, it was soon assuaged when Azriel hurriedly nodded his head, eager to accept such a tame assignment. Happy to put her out of harm's way. Her mission with Azriel was essentially more of a hike...
But how could Gwyn argue with such a thoughtful plan? Morrigan was charming and lovely. She was a perfect choice to drop into the thick of the Spring Court - more than apt to talk her and Emerie out of a sticky situation.
And Nesta had experience with the human lands and Cassian was... well, he was Cassian. They were obviously the best option to confront the threat head on.
It wasn't fair for Azriel to be sidelined though. To be put on some sympathy mission because of Gwyn.
"There's one more thing," Feyre said, her gaze shifting to the delicate hand she'd laid upon the desk. "Avoid alerting Tamlin. If he's behind the attack we don't want to lose our edge."
Gwyn saw the High Lord's fingers slide across the desk, laying over Feyre's. His face remained a cool mask, not a hint of his obvious concern for his mate betrayed. "That said, if anyone happens to run afoul of Tamlin, tell him that you were sent by the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court and that if he'd like further information as to why you are there, he can arrange to speak with us personally. We'd be more than happy to pay him a visit and explain our reasoning. Nothing more. Nothing less. Understood?"
Silent nods of agreement were exchanged and Gwyn suddenly realized just how much politics were involved in defending the Night Court. How did anyone here think straight?
It didn't matter though. Of the three parties being dispatched, she and Azriel were the least likely to run into the High Lord of the Spring Court.
"In the event that any of you do find traces of the attackers, report back. Don't interfere. You are meant to observe and report. Keep interactions with others to a minimum," Rhysand said evenly. "You leave in one month from the House Wind, then you'll have a week to complete your assignments as inconspicuously as possible and report back. There should be no blows thrown, no weapons drawn. At the first sign of trouble you leave."
Quiet looks and murmurs of agreement filled the moment.
And Gwyn was left wondering why no one had to get a bargain mark like she had on her first mission...
After everyone had vacated Rhysand's study (except the High Lord and High Lady who with sly smiles placed a silencing charm on the door the moment they'd all left...) Gwyn's mind was clouded with every realization, every epiphany, every jarring truth she'd come to accept in the past few weeks:
She wasn't dangerous. If she was part lightsinger, obviously she had control over it.
She had only herself to fear - not the monster potentially in her blood, but rather her own paranoia.
She wasn't afraid to leave the library any longer - in fact she'd left multiple times now with little to no apprehension.
She had become more than a trainee - she was on her way to being a real Valkyrie.
She did not shy from human touch anymore - in fact those smutty books had made her want more of it.
And the pull she felt towards Azriel wasn't malevolent... but maybe more significant than she realized...
Maybe it was her sore muscles, or maybe it was the staggering amount of realizations, but Gwyn had to lean against the corridor wall to remain steady.
Everyone else had begun to make their way downstairs for lunch in the pairs Rhysand and Feyre had put them in. Gwyn couldn't help the way her eyes lingered on Cassian and Nesta's intertwined fingers, or the how Morrigan had linked her arm through Emerie's. The urge to speak with Azriel and tell him her suspicions grew stronger, the news nearly tumbling from her lips as he shut the door to the study and strode over to her.
"Are you alright?" he asked, brows knitting together.
Gwyn nodded, and realized how uneven her breathing had become as Azriel's shadows began to ebb in time with the rise and fall of her chest.
"Let me take you back to your room," he said softly. "I'll have your lunch brought to you."
"No, no, I feel fine." And Gwyn did, she was just overwhelmed. "A lot has happened and I'm... I'm processing."
The shadowsinger's expression fell and Gwyn had a sneaking suspicion as to why. He had likely planned on discussing the breakthrough she'd had the night they attacked the camp.
"The sooner we accomplish our mission, the sooner we can discuss this sudden realization further. Alright?"
And they had finished their mission. The tattoos on the backs of their hands were gone.
Gwyn pursed her lips, momentarily distracted. "Why didn't everyone get bargain tattoos for this mission? I thought Rhysand said that was the standard..."
Casting a sidelong glance at the study door, Azriel sighed and leaned his shoulder against the wall so he faced her. "Rhysand sometimes makes bargains with those new to his defense. It's not common though. I'm fairly certain he only made you take the deal to rile me up..."
"Rile you up?"
"Yes. He knows how much I..." the shadowsinger trailed off and hung his head. Gwyn saw that his cheeks had turned pink. "Don't concern yourself about it."
She wouldn't press him this time, and she didn't want to. Not until she knew more about... about what they could be.
When they had this conversation, this conversation about them and that pull and the wrongness they felt of denying each other, Gwyn wanted to have her facts straight. She wanted to approach the situation with as much information as possible, as she usually did when things were beyond her control.
"I need a favor."
Azriel raised his head. "Anything."
"I need you to take me back up to the library in the House of Wind... to do some research."
"Didn't Madja say you needed a few more day's rest?" Azriel asked, worry creasing his forehead.
"Not for work." It wasn't a lie. "I just want to be prepared for our assignment." Also not a lie. "I have some research I want to do."
His eyes studied her, as though he could detect she was hiding something. She saw the shadow that was curling by his ear and wondered if it was telling him she was behaving suspiciously or that her answers, while they weren't lies, were half-truths.
Eventually, he relented, sighing. "Very well. But not till tomorrow. Deal?"
"Deal."
A tingling sensation spread on her wrist. She looked down, inhaling sharply. Starting at the heel of her hand and going down her forearm was a series of thin, black, waving lines. Azriel held out his own arm, pulling back his bracer to reveal a matching one.
Gwyn snorted. "You did that on purpose."
"No, I swear I didn't!"
"You missed our matching marks from Windhaven..."
Azriel chuckled. "On my honor, that was a complete accident."
Don't pretend you don't love it, Gwyn...
I never said I didn't...
Gwyn held up her hand, admiring the markings approvingly. "I've got no qualms. It just means that you can't back out."
For the rest of the day Azriel did not mention their conversation from the forest or her weeping in his arms. Part of her was relieved and the other part a little disappointed. Gwyn could tell he cared. She could tell he was still interested, and that the idea of his "waiting" being over so soon (probably much sooner than he or she had expected) excited him. It seemed as though they were doomed to be in this state of "waiting" for one another.
Him waiting for her to come to her senses about not being a monster.
Her waiting until the assignment was finished.
Her waiting until his report was complete.
Him waiting until she was fully recovered (and researched).
Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.