Chapter 1 - I'll See You Later
Prologue
(Part of Azriel's Bonus Chapter)
…he found himself at the Library beneath the House of Wind, standing before Clotho as the clock chimed seven in the evening.
He slid the small box across her desk. “If you see Gwyn, would you give this to her?”
Clotho angled her hooded head, and her enchanted pen wrote on a piece of paper, A Solstice gift from you?
Azriel shrugged. “Don’t tell her it came from me.”
Why?
“Does she need to know? Just tell her it was a gift from Rhys.”
That would be a lie.
He avoided the urge to cross his arms, not wanting to look intimidating. He blocked out the memory that flashed—of his mother cringing before his father, the male standing with crossed arms in such a way that made his displeasure known before he opened his hateful mouth.
“Look, I…” Az searched for the words, his voice becoming quiet. “If there’s another priestess here who might appreciate it, give it to them. But I’m not taking that necklace with me when I leave.”
He waited for Clotho’s pen to finish writing. Your eyes are sad, Shadowsinger.
He offered her a grim smile. “I lost the snowball fight today.”
Clotho was smart enough to see through his deflection. She wrote, I’ll give it to Gwyneth. Tell her a friend left it for her.
He wouldn’t go so far as to call Gwyn a friend, but… “Fine. Thank you.”
Clotho’s pen moved once more. She deserves something as beautiful as this. I thank you for the joy it shall bring to her.
Something sparked in Azriel’s chest, but he only nodded his thanks and left. He could picture it, though, as he ascended the stairs back to the House proper. How Gwyn’s teal eyes might light upon seeing the necklace. For whatever reason…he could see it.
But Azriel tucked away the thought, consciously erasing the slight smile it brought to his face. Buried the image down deep, where it glowed quietly.
A thing of secret, lovely beauty.
Chapter 1 – I’ll See You Later
-Azriel-
Azriel returned to the Library a couple of days later, seeking confirmation from Clotho that she had given Gwyn the necklace, though he was confident that she had—Clotho was anything if not dependable, and he trusted that she had followed through. He hadn’t seen Gwyn wearing it when he saw her the past two days, though perhaps she chose to remove it for training. That was probably it, but for some reason, he had to know she received it.
He came to the desk where the High Priestess usually stationed herself with her enchanted pen doing her bidding but found it empty.
Just as well, he thought. Asking about the jewelry would only make Clotho suspicious of his intentions with Gwyn, something that even he didn’t know the answer to.
Turning back to make his exit from the Library, his footsteps halted upon hearing the soft voice from behind him. “Why didn’t you seek me out?”
He turned to find Gwyn standing next to Clotho’s empty desk, her pale robes draped around her, her pin-straight crimson hair spilling around her shoulders, those unique teal eyes narrowed at him.
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You said you would see me later, Shadowsinger,” she said with a hint of ire. “I asked you if I would see you again, and you told me you would see me later.”
It took him a moment to realize what she was talking about, his lips parting when he finally caught on. She was talking about the night they met—the night he rescued her from Sangravah.
…
After wrapping his cloak around her trembling shoulders, he’d carried her out of that kitchen in his arms, cradling her against his chest. His shadows had been slowly inching closer to her, sliding over his shoulder and near where her head rested against him. He'd commanded them to retreat, which they did, albeit reluctantly.
Once they were outside, he'd led her to Mor, who was standing by to winnow survivors to the House of Wind. He remembered it vividly: This frightened, copper-haired priestess with a smattering of tan freckles across her high cheekbones and pert nose, her hands holding the cloak closed around her small, trembling frame. When he’d first seen her face, he could immediately tell that she was not all High Fae, though it did nothing to diminish her beauty. Her eyes were just a tad larger--barely imperceptible, really--and her irises were the most striking teal color, one he had not seen on any High Fae. It reminded him of the waterfalls in the lagoons of Adriata, and he wondered if that’s where she was from—though the Fae there tended to have turquoise eyes like the High Lord. Plus her hair color didn’t really match that of the Fae he knew to inhabit the Summer Court. It was more reminiscent of Autumn.
The hand he rested between her shoulder blades was barely a perceptible touch, only meant to urge her forward to where Mor waited. He wasn’t sure why, but he wished he didn’t have to let her go, especially after witnessing what they’d done to her. He knew that he needed to keep looking for other survivors, though.
He stopped a few paces behind the trembling priestess, who continued forward towards Mor. Azriel gave his blonde comrade a quick nod, which she returned, a silent understanding: Get her to Velaris.
As he turned to go back inside the temple, his hand was suddenly seized by a warm grip, the strength of the hold stopping his retreat. His eyes flew to the young female’s face, his eyes meeting those beautiful teal ones that brimmed with tears. His shadows seemed agitated at the contact as well, ebbing and swirling around his shoulders and wings. He wanted them to stop, afraid they would frighten her, but…she wasn’t afraid of them. Wasn’t afraid of him. She held his hand firmly still, and there was no way she couldn’t feel the rippled and raised skin of his scars, but she didn’t seem bothered by those, either.
His shadows continued their frantic swirling as they tittered with…concern. But not concern for him, but rather for her. As though they felt her emotions like they were their own, and it upset them.
“What’s your name?” she asked in a choked whisper.
He glanced down, cringing at the sight of her soft, delicate fingers forced to touch the marred flesh of his hand. His hands, that no one ever touched willingly, especially females like this one. Looking back at her tear-streaked face, he realized she too was looking at where their hands touched, and he searched her face for some sign that she was repulsed by what she saw, for some kind of recognition to dawn that her skin was touching something grotesque. To his surprise, though, she did not loosen her grip or flinch in the slightest.
Swallowing thickly, he said, “Azriel.”
She nodded, those pools of teal splendor staring back at him. “Azriel,” she repeated, like she was trying out his name to see how it felt on her lips. Hearing the gentle timbre of her voice when she repeated his name caused a small feeling of pressure in his chest, though it eddied away as quickly as it had come on. “I’m Gwyneth Berdara.”
He nodded, but he was at a loss for what he was supposed to do or say next.
“Will I see you again?” she asked.
Watching her lower lip wobble as she tried to hold back her sobs nearly split his heart right down the middle. “Yes,” he told her. “I will see you later.”
…
Coming back to the present, his eyes snapped back to hers, so full of that teal fire. “I…I don’t know, Gwyn,” he said, his usual mask of indifference eluding him. He looked down at his shoes like a wayward child. “I guess I wasn’t sure that you wanted to see me again after…that.”
Her eyes narrowed even further, her nostrils flaring. “How’s that? I ask you if I will see you again, and you—what? Take that to mean that I don’t wish to?”
“Gwyn, I—”
She stopped him with a raised hand. “Don’t bother, Azriel. I think it’s you that didn’t want to see me again. The poor, weak priestess that couldn’t stop those soldiers from destroying the temple, from killing her friends, her sister, from…” She trailed off with a shuddered breath, before appearing to steel herself. “From raping her. Damaged goods, right?”
Azriel practically choked on air. “No, Gwyn, that’s absolutely not fucking true.”
“Oh, spare me, Spymaster. I saw how you flinched that day when I touched your hand. You were repulsed.”
THE PRIESTESS REMEMBERS SEEING YOU RECOIL AT HER TOUCH. SHE MISUNDERSTANDS.
No shit, Azriel replied to his shadows’ less-than-helpful assessment.
He kept his voice low and steady when he spoke to Gwyn. “I flinched because you touched my hand.” When she looked at him like he was insane because that was exactly what she had just accused him of, he clarified. “My scars. No one…no one ever touches my hands, Gwyn. Ever. Because of my scars.”
Gwyn’s gaze softened, her lips parting in astonishment. “Oh.”
“I assure you, I have never considered you anything other than brave, strong, fierce, and loyal. I know what was taken from you that night, but I also know that what you did saved all those children. Those children are alive because of you.”
Gwyn’s lower lip trembled as she absorbed his words. “Then why, Azriel?” she rasped. “Why didn’t you come find me after?”
He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “I thought you were only asking if you’d see me again to, I don’t know, thank me or something. Which I didn’t want because it wasn’t necessary. I thought…I thought that seeing me would just bring back memories of that day, and I didn’t want to be the reason for your pain.”
For a few moments they just stood there, regarding one another, not sure who was supposed to speak next and what was to be said. Finally, Gwyn said quietly, “I don’t think of what happened to me when I see you, Azriel. I think of where and who I am today because you saved me. If you hadn’t come, they would have…” She hesitated, seeming to try and find the right words. “They would have kept taking from me, Azriel. I never told anyone—not even the priestess that counsels us in the Library—but after I came here, I wanted to die. I really did. I almost…I almost did it.”
He froze at her confession.
“I almost ended it all. The pain of losing Catrin, of having my innocence stolen by that commander—I didn’t want to feel it anymore.” She hung her head then, and he saw a single tear drip to the floor. “I went to the top of the House one night. I was going to…”
He sucked in a breath as his chest fucking tore open at her admission. She didn’t have to finish her sentence; he knew what she had gone up to the roof to do. He felt the moisture gathering in his own eyes, though he somehow managed to suppress the tears that wanted to fall.
“But, when I got there, I…I saw you, Azriel.” Her words were barely audible as her own emotion threatened to overtake her. She raised her eyes up to meet his, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. “I got to the top where the training pit is, and you were there, in the ring, practicing your sword technique, and I…I just watched you, completely mesmerized by the way you moved with such a careful, controlled grace but also with this raw, primal ferocity. It was the most magnificently beautiful thing I’d seen since I came to the House of Wind.”
There was that strange pressure in his chest again; the same one he had first felt in Sangravah.
How did I not know she was there watching me?
SHE DID NOT WISH FOR HER PRESENCE TO BE KNOWN. SHE DID NOT WANT TO EXPLAIN WHY SHE HAD GONE TO THE ROOF.
“I knew then,” she went on. “I knew I couldn’t let what happened at Sangravah pull me under, to drown me. You saved me, Azriel, and if I’d stepped off that ledge, everything you’d done to help me would have been in vain. Even though I was angry and hurt to realize you were there at the House of Wind but hadn’t looked for me, I knew that you had done at least some good—stopped those men and brought me to safety. If you hadn’t come, they would have kept taking turns at me, and, truthfully, I doubt I would have survived that.”
Azriel inhaled a shaky breath, his heart bleeding out into his chest and wings quivering with sorrow. They didn’t know each other well, but something about Gwyn having not been there, right then, in that moment with him, completely gutted him. He wanted to fall to his knees before her and wrap his arms around her legs and beg her to never attempt anything like that again, to run to him when she was feeling low. Instead, he just ran a hand through his hair, and exhaled his feelings into the space between them, imagining them as warm breath exhaled in cold weather, tendrils of the white wisps vanishing into nothing. He quietly told her, “I’m sorry I didn’t get there soo—”
“No,” she cut him off, swiping her hand through the air. “No, Azriel. You don’t ever go there; you don’t ever place one speck of guilt on yourself for what happened to me. Ever. Do you understand me?” Those teal eyes were blazing with so much fervor that it made him wary of her, at least a little.
So, he swallowed his guilt down his throat like dry bread and nodded.
“And just so we are clear, Shadowsinger,” she went on, causing his eyes to snap to hers. “Your hands are the most beautiful hands I’ve ever seen or felt.”
BEAUTIFUL. SHE CALLED YOUR HANDS BEAUTIFUL.
A lump formed in his throat. “I…don’t think that’s how most would describe them.”
“I don’t care,” she said, her chin rising in defiance and crossing her arms. “They are to me. To Hel with everyone else.”
The words that spilled from the fire-haired priestess’ lips hit him like a blow to the gut, warmth spreading throughout his torso and creeping up his neck. He was sure that he was blushing, something he never did.
“What happened to your hands?” That question was like a bucket of ice water being dumped on his head. She must have seen the pain that etched in his face, for a look of regret had washed over hers. His shadows hesitated too, freezing in midair while they waited to see if their master would tell her.
“That’s a story best saved for another time, Priestess.”
She didn’t insist he disclose the details of one of the most horrific experiences of his childhood, only nodded in acceptance.
As their unspoken words lay between them, scattered at their feet like fallen leaves, the sounds of the priestesses’ rustling robes and shuffling feet permeated the silence. Finally, Azriel said quietly, “I guess…I’ll go now.”
A puzzled expression took over her pretty face. “Weren’t you looking for Clotho?”
He shook his head. “No, I…it wasn’t important. I’ll try again tomorrow.”
She nodded, her arms uncrossing and some of the tension between them fading. He turned to leave, his hands clasped behind his back, wings raised up to keep from dragging on the floor. His shadows withered in disappointment, like they weren’t ready to say goodbye to her.
He stopped when he heard her honeyed voice say, “Azriel?” He turned to see her soft smile, aimed at him, and it made something in his chest tighten. “I’ll see you later.”
The small smile he returned faltered as soon as he saw her graceful fingers ascend to just below the base of her throat, where they began toying with the delicate glass rose charm of a necklace. The necklace.