Gwyn's heart was overflowing. She'd somehow convinced Nesta and Emerie to waste their entire afternoon making friendship bracelets. Gifts for the new Valkyrie recruits, symbolizing that none of them were alone. Not anymore. Proof they were now all part of an ever-growing sisterhood, bonded through tears, sweat, and blood. All of which Gwyn would gladly spill for her friends, especially for her two sisters at her side.
"Nes, how in the actual fuck am I supposed to do this," Cassian muttered to his mate. Curiosity, it seemed, had gotten the best of the mighty Illyrian General, who ended up at their table—crafting. The things that a bold male would do for his mate.
Gwyn dared a peek from the wristband she was braiding. Her eyes went wide. What the? She tilted her head, her hair sliding over her right shoulder. How—how was it even possible?
How the General bound his middle and index finger together with the black strings went beyond her comprehension. She shrugged, biting her lip to squelch her laughter.
"Stop pulling, you Illyrian baby!" Nesta sighed in frustration, her fingers working at the knot. "You're making the damn thing tighter!"
Cassian pulled. Nesta's eyes narrowed, shooting him a withering stare that would have shaken the knees of a death god. "You are worse than a child, Cassian."
The large Illyrian male pushed out his lower lip in a pout. Clasping her mate's cheeks between her palms, Nesta leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Her teeth caught his protruding lip as she pulled away. Cassian's large body shuddered. A deep groan rumbled from him that made the tips of Gwyn's ears turn pink.
"Get a room," Emerie muttered, smirking, as she pretended her project was the most important thing in the room.
Nesta snorted. "It's my House. I get every room."
"Damn straight," Cassian muttered, kissing his mate again.
"You are ridiculous." Nes smiled against his mouth. Another soft peck. "And don't feel bad. Honest to gods, I don't know how to make these damn things either. Gwyn must wield magic because hers always turns out too perfect," Nesta huffed, swatting her mate's now free digits. "I mean, look at this mess."
Nesta reached over, unveiling her bracelet of indigo, eggplant, and magenta intended for Roslin. It arced into an S-curve instead of a straight line. And several sections were wider than others. But it still made Gwyn smile widely. A little piece of Catrin survived in that bracelet, woven into this tradition.
Gwyn needed to see this. Especially today.
Violet over rose. Rose over marigold. Marigold over violet. The strings crisscrossing over the other. It was for Lortcia, a priestess who originally hailed from the Spring Court. Until the war with Hybern.
Hybern. That man. Those soldiers.
Gwyn's hand trembled.
She'd worked so hard—so damn hard to leave those memories entombed in the temple brick. But on this specific date, this damn day, the memory of him ...
Them.
Her.
Fear took her, seized her, coiling around her ribs like a serpent.
I am the rock...
You are here, and she is not...
"Gwyn?"
I am the rock against which...
"Gwyn, honey?"
You should have left. All you did was stand there...
I am the rock against which the surf...
"Berdara!"
Gwyn blinked, pulled from her spiraling.
"Are you all right?" Nesta asked, her forehead creased.
Nesta knew what today meant to Gwyn. But did the rest of them? Is that why Cassian joined?
She leaned forward, a curtain of copper hair covering her flushed cheeks. Gods, would it kill them to stop staring?
"I'm fine," she answered with a tight smile, her fingers absently twirling the threads in her lap.
I'm fine. Her mantra during those lost months after the attack. After she pushed herself out of bed. Forced herself to eat. Found her voice. When everything she lost weighed Gwyn down like rocks in her pockets as she waded into a river. Where each I'm fine was a potent lie of stone. Each hollow word added one more rock, dragging to the bottom. Drowning her in grief.
It wasn't until Gwyn mustered the courage to add her name to the sign-up sheet and started training that things slowly changed. Through routine and effort, gaining control of her breath and body. Then one day, those heavy stones became pebbles. Then, one by one, she removed a rock. Now, most days, her head was thankfully above water.
But today? She bore the extra weight. As a reminder. As penance.
While the others chatted, she tied off the end of Lortcia's gift. Done. Gwyn grabbed three more colors to begin anew. A cobalt blue. A slate gray. And a black as dark as midnight.
She loosed a long sigh. Gods. She missed the Shadowsinger.
It had been two long weeks since Azriel took off to parts unknown. Not that she'd been counting. Gwyn missed him. Their outings. His help at training. How Azriel challenged her, and she pushed right back, smirking at her triumph.
She missed him. His hazel eyes. His intensity. The way he tried to hide his smiled and laughs from her—and failed.
The corner of her mouth quirked up.
Cauldon, that beautiful mouth of his. Mother, help her, Gwyn wanted to kiss Azriel. And when the realization sank in, it was like observing a red sky at sunset. Knowing clear skies were in the future. There was hope for a safe journey on calm seas. Hope.
The doors to the various roof decks were open, allowing the sweet floral breeze to sweep through the room. Her gaze locked with the wide doorway to the training deck, as if she could wish him to appear. What she wouldn't give for him to be here, especially today—
Her heart kicked up swiftly.
As if summoned, Azriel strode into the House. The smile on her face slipped as quickly as it had spread. Something was...off with him. Body as taut as a bowstring, hands shoved deep in his pockets, he marched by where their group sat at the dining table.
"Az," Cassian greeted. "Good to see you back." No response. Az kept walking, jaw set tight enough to break teeth. "Well, then."
Gwyn didn't think. Jumping up from the table, her feet moved under their own power, drawn to him until her hand rested upon his back. And just like that—he stopped, his breathing ragged under her palm.
"It's good to see you back, Shadowsinger," she said, voice soft, nervously rolling the shades of blue, gray, and black in her free hand. "Why don't you sit and join us?"
Azriel's shoulders slumped.
"Uh, Gwyn, maybe we should let Az get to where he needs to go," Cassian started before she forged on, not caring if they had an audience.
No. This was more than his usual mask. Her hand rubbed circles over his shoulder blade, his back muscles tensing as he stared straight toward his bedroom.
"Azriel, what's wrong?" she whispered, loud enough for only his ears. "Please tell me."
Not one word. Not even a glance over her shoulder. Her stomach dropped.
Cassian studied his brother, brows drawing together. She heard rustling as he moved to stand.
Gwyn came around, walking until she stood directly in front of Azriel. If she could only see his face, then she could... Gloss glazed over the muted gold. Pain. That was raw pain in his stare.
Her eyes darted over him, taking in what she could see. Was he hurt? Injured? No visible cuts from what she could see, thank the Mother. But, if anyone knew that wounds didn't just fester on the body, it was her.
His hands opened and closed in his pockets.
An idea sparked in her mind like a ball of fae light at dusk. Maybe he needed what she needed today. A happy distraction. Family and friends.
"Come on, Shadowsinger, I'll teach you how to make these." Gwyn offered a smile, holding up the bracelet she was working on. Only then did Azriel acknowledge her presence, regarding what dangled from her fingers.
His head turned, eyes skimming over the chaos strewn across the table, the rainbow of colored thread covering the surface. Of his friends and family gathered. When he turned back to Gwyn, he watched her work the strings in her hands, crossing the colored cords with her deft fingertips.
His head dropped, the dark onyx hair brushing against his forehead as he shook his head.
"I'm tired, priestess," he sighed, long and deep.
"It won't take long. It's easy," she said, her voice soft as if to soothe a frightened animal. "I already started this one for you. Maybe you can make one for me." She smiled. "I'll show you."
"Not today, Berdara," he answered, his voice rough, eyes sealed shut. He moved to go around her, his pace quick as he stepped down the hall. But Gwyn was quicker. She ran after him, gently grasping his upper arm.
"It's simple. You're a trained warrior. I'm sure you can make a simple bracelet," she tried to tease.
After what felt like an eternity, Azriel pivoted around. His eyes snagged hers, flashing ochre. "I said no ."
"Gwyn, maybe we should leave Az—" Cassian interjected, his voice closer now.
No, she told herself. Azriel needed her. He shouldn't be alone right now. And...Gwyn needed to help him like he'd come to her aid that day...
"It's just a little fun, Azriel. Come sit with me."
His entire body jolted, hands balling into fists. Shaking, he ripped his arm from her hold.
Azriel erupted. "I said no, Gwyn! No!" He backed away, tugging his hair with both hands. "What fucking part of NO don't you get? Leave. Me. Alone."
Gwyn's lips parted on a shuddering inhale, hand splayed over her heart. She jerked back as if he'd struck her with a physical blow. It may as well have been because it knocked the wind out of her. Everyone had to have heard the devastating cracking in her chest.
Azriel swore and grunted, turning away.
Tears blurred her vision. No. No, she would not fall apart in front of him. Let him see how he'd hit home.
She gulped, tears burning the backs of her eyes. "All right," she uttered, her voice faint and breaking. Azriel closed his eyes. "I-I have to get ready for the evening service, anyway." She cleared her throat. "I'll—see you all tomorrow."
"Gwyn," Nesta called after her. But Gwyn was already on the move. Beyond the door, down the first flight of stairs to the library below. The walls of the stairwell rattled, echoing as a door slammed somewhere above. "Gwyn, stop!"
She didn't stop. Not as her friends pleaded. Not when their footsteps echoed her own. Not when her tears finally slipped free. Not until she was curled in her bed behind a locked door, still clutching the unfinished strands of blue, black, and gray.
𝄋
What the fuck had he done?
The weapons mounted on his bedroom wall swayed from the slam of the door.
Godsdammit, he should have listened to his gut and gone to his apartment across the city.
Azriel paced across his room, haunted by her crushed expression. The sorrow in those amazing teal eyes of hers. Fuck. He'd done that. To the female he'd missed dearly. Looked forward to seeing her every damn day he was away. Wanted to run home to—which was so ridiculous, it made him laugh.
But he should have fucking known better. He always required space. Space to decompress. To get drunk. To forget.
The darkness of the Hewn City oozed into his veins like poison. The brutality of the kill lingered long after, the screams often stalking Azriel in his sleep. Usually, he'd head over to his secret apartment in Velaris—alone to collect himself. To come back to life. Because tasks Azriel was charged within the bowels of the Court of Nightmares? They even caused his shadows to disappear.
Gods-fucking-dammit, Azriel should not have gone to the House first. He dragged his hands through his hair, kicking the trunk at the foot of his bed, denting the side as the metal scraped across the floor.
Ariel sank onto the mattress edge, elbows resting on his knees. He'd been so exhausted. Too drained to winnow after checking in with Rhysand at the River Estate. Running into Elain certainly didn't help the situation. And the Elain issue would need to be rectified. And fast. So after briefing his High Lord, he got the hell out of there.
It was better this way, Azriel thought. Gwyn finally saw him for who he was. The cruelty. The rage.
It was better this way. She was better off without...
He shook his head, swallowing hard.
The place where Azriel's heart should be was hollow. A gaping hole beneath his ribs. But he'd driven that knife into his own chest. And he was the one who twisted. And kept twisting. Until there was nothing left.
Az stared at his open palms, transfixed by the uneven terrain of his skin. Turning his hands over and over. His lips curled in disgust. And Gwyn wanted him to create something of beauty—when he still had blood under his fingernails?
The blood of someone he had tortured. Slaughtered and disposed of a little less than a day ago.
Azriel had to give the prick credit. The bastard lasted longer than most—four grueling days. In the end, the outcome was the same. Azriel got what he needed. And the male begged for the suffering to end. Death was one gift the Spymaster could return.
The darkened line of dried sanguine mocked him, reminding him of how incredibly unworthy he was to even think of the priestess, let alone touch Gwyn...
Stroke her cheek. Brush her copper hair off her face. Hold hers...
When they had sliced. Stabbed. Taunted. Strangled. Carved. Gutted. Killed...
Bile rose, burning the back of his throat.
Unclean. He needed to wash again. He stumbled over to the sink in the bathing chamber. Grabbing the soap, he worked at the line of crimson and scrubbed. And scrubbed. Scoured until the surrounding flesh was raw and the stains were removed from his body—but there was clean the death from his soul. That brand would always stay. They all did. Every single one.
"Fuck!"
His palms slammed on the porcelain sink, his fingers curling around the edge until his knuckles were white. Leaning forward, Az rested his forehead against the mirror, his panting breath fogging the glass.
He'd yelled at Gwyn. No, he'd fucking screamed at her. Taken his anger, his frustrations, and turned it on her. And his choice of words? Gods. No wonder she fucking ran out of there like someone yelled fire.
Azriel found his reflection, hating who he saw. Hated that he'd even been capable of snapping at her. Hated that something as stupid as insignificant pieces of string pushed him over the edge. But seeing them, the simple task that he could never do? Never share with her? It flipped a switch.
You. Ruined. Everything, his stepmother had hissed in his ear before throwing him to the cold darkness.
His father and stepmother were right. He was a waste of breath. A burden. Worthless.
His fist shattered glass. Blood rushed over his knuckles as his chest rose and fell unsteadily.
"Well, brother, I came here to beat the shit out of you, but it looks like you've got it covered."
𝄋
The pounding on Gwyn's door had been relentless for the last half-hour.
"Please let us in, Gwyn!" Emerie begged from the other side.
"Gwyn, open this damn door!" Nesta ordered.
"I'm fine," she said, her voice only somewhat wavering.
The banging started again, heavy and strong from Nesta's insistent fists.
"I swear to all the death gods, I will break down this damn door with my bare hands, Gwyneth Berdara! Open it now." A pregnant pause. "You shouldn't be alone today," Nesta said, her voice breaking. Gwyn's chest constricted. "Please, let us be with you."
"I'm fine."
"Gwyn—"
"I'm fine."
After an hour, the knocking finally ceased. Gwyn embraced the silence, letting it wrap around her like a quilt.
"All right, we'll leave you be." For now , left unsaid. "I'll see you at the service."
A tear slipped over her heated cheek.
"I'm fine," she whispered as sleep swept her into sweet oblivion. Where Catrin survived. Where Azriel's words hadn't cut her so deep. Because Gwyn knew the meaning of the word no. And on this day, three years ago, she'd learned that word hadn't mattered.
No.
Not at all.
𝄋
Cassian crossed the threshold to the bathing chamber, eyes hard as flint meeting his in the spider-webbed mirror.
"I was expecting Nesta to be the one to threaten me," Azriel hissed, his hand throbbing. Still, he let it bleed.
His brother watched as drops splattered onto the marbled tile, arching a brow. "Well, Nesta's going to be even more pissed if you stain the grout. But she's got other things to deal with. She went after Gwyn."
Azriel slammed his eyes shut at the name.
"You know," Cassian continued, swearing as he grabbed a towel from the linen closet, tossing it over to Azriel. Az caught it, wrapping it around his fist. "The redheaded priestess you yelled at in the dining room like a fucking lunatic."
Fuck.
"The female who has been taking the time to get to know you," Cassian went on, a muscle twitching in his hard jaw. "To know the real you. Who saw what I saw when you walked in the door. Recognized your tells and tried to help in her own way."
Azriel huffed, wincing as he squeezed the towel around his fist, blood quickly soaking through the terrycloth. "Well, if you know me so well, you know exactly what set me off."
Cassian crossed his arms over his broad chest. "I do. But, since you never talk about it, they don't. So just you seemed like a bigger prick than usual."
Azriel's chest started to cave in on itself.
A waste of breath. A burden. Worthless...
Cassian ran his hands through his long black hair, clasping the back of his neck. "I should have fucking warned her how you need... distance afterward..." He swore.
Azriel stared brazenly into his brother's eyes. "After I ripped that asshole apart for information before I executed him? Yeah, I'm sure a priestess whose job is to heal people would understand that," he spat, sarcasm flowing through each word.
"I don't think you give her enough credit, Az. At all."
A dark, sardonic laugh slithered from his hollow center. "No, Cass, I give her all the credit. Which is why this probably worked out for the best. Because I shouldn't have anything to do with her." His chest cracked with every truthful word. But every word was accurate, loaded with five hundred years of reality.
A waste of breath. A burden. Worthless...
Cassian stepped forward, leaning his shoulder against the wall. "Do you like her?" Silence. "You know, I've noticed how you've been with her. How you've been carving out time for Gwyn. You have never done that for...well, anyone. But you have been for her, Az."
Silence. He clenched his fists. A muscle worked in his jaw.
"It doesn't matter, Cassian." He waved his good hand through the air. "I'm done chasing after things I don't deserve. I'm just...done."
"Then you are a damn fool," Cassian snapped, taking a breath to rein in his temper. "You know, I really wanted to punch you. But now? I think you're doing a good enough job of kicking yourself in the nuts."
Azriel was about to toss his brother's ass out when Cassian said, "Do you remember that day Nesta told you that at training? That you were Gwyn's new ribbon?"
Cauldon, how could he forget? Az had adorably pissed Gwyn off, insinuating the girls weren't going to get through the Blood Rite qualifying obstacle course. Deep down, he knew she would. Gwyneth Berdara was a spitfire. Never giving up. Never submitting—no matter what.
"Yeah," Az answered, throat bobbing. "And did you forget what she did with the first ribbon? She sliced it right in half."
Shit. He didn't mean for that to slip out. That it wasn't just his fear of dishonoring her just by being with her—but of it hurting him. And, gods, he probably deserved it, but he couldn't deal with one more blow. He just couldn't.
Recognition dawned on Cassian's face, softening the General's features. "She did. But, better to be the ribbon that was sliced, Az. The one remembered. The ribbon that meant something. The one she kept. Don't be the ribbon left alone blowing in the wind. Untouched and forgotten."
Azriel's shadows smoothed over his shoulders as he slid the mask over his features, though he couldn't stop his hands from trembling. Or the burn behind his eyes.
"Nesta wasn't easy. Still isn't. Hell, I'm no picnic either," Cassian chuckled, though his eyes were lined with silver. "She kicked and screamed, clawed every fucking step of the way. But it didn't change how I felt about her, not for one damn minute. Never will. Every cut and mark was worth it if it led us to where we're at now. I wear every scar as a badge of honor. And I would do it all over again, Azriel. "
Azriel's throat worked on a swallow. "That's because you have a big heart, brother."
"So do you under that crunchy shell," Cassian's mouth turned up at the edges in genuine amusement. "If you'd only let others see it."
Someone cleared their throat. Nesta stood in the doorway, wearing a simple long navy dress, tears rolling down her face. "I was all ready to come in here and kick his ass," she pointed to Azriel. "But I didn't want to interrupt. That was..." She swallowed hard, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. "That was beautiful, Cassian."
Cassian strode over to his mate, cupping her face, tilted her head back. "I meant every word, Nes. You will always be worth it."
Dropping a soft kiss on his mate's mouth, Cassian winked and left the room, leaving Azriel alone with the eldest Archeron, who looked inclined to declare war. She remained in the doorway, hands braced on either side of the threshold, effectively blocking his escape. A slippered foot propped to prevent him from shutting her out.
"You fucked up." He couldn't deny that. "I know something is going on with you, but what you said to Gwyn was uncalled for."
His jaw set.
"So here's what's going to happen, Azriel. First, you idiot, you're going to bandage your damn hand. Then, you're going to get dressed and join me."
"Do I even want to know where we're going? Already have a place to dispose of my body, Nesta?"
She snorted, her gray-blue eyes narrowed into slits. "Don't even tempt me, Shadowsinger."