Chapter 21 - We're Alright
Chapter 21 – We’re Alright
-Gwyn-
“Your eyes are really pretty,” Iris beamed at Gwyn.
Gwyn smiled warmly at the small girl. Her membranous wings were still tucked in tight, not yet as mature as Azriel’s or Balthazar’s. There was a delicate fragility to them that reminded Gwyn of Nyx’s young wings.
Nemiah, meanwhile, had undone Gwyn’s braid and was carefully styling her copper-colored hair into an elaborate updo. The braid was wrapping around her head like a crown—reminiscent of the style Nesta often wore. Iris had gathered wildflowers and was strategically weaving them through the plait, giggling softly as she worked.
“Thank you, Iris,” Gwyn said gently. She tilted her head slightly, taking in the younger girl’s honey-brown eyes. “I noticed your eyes are a little lighter than your siblings’ and your mother’s—does your father have the same eyes as you?”
The question seemed innocent enough, but Gwyn realized her mistake the moment Iris froze. The little girl’s gaze dropped to the ground, and her small shoulders hunched as though she were ashamed. Nemiah’s hands stilled in Gwyn’s hair, the energy in the moment shifting.
Gwyn reacted quickly, reaching out to lift Iris’ chin with a single finger, drawing the girl’s gaze back to hers. “Hey, Iris,” she said softly, her voice laced with care. “I’m sorry if I said something that upset you. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to, alright?” Her focus remained on Iris’ wide, uncertain eyes. “All I meant to say is that your eyes are lovely, too.”
A beat of silence passed before Nemiah leaned into Gwyn’s peripheral vision, her expression mischievous. “What about me?” she asked, poking her head out from behind Gwyn where she had been diligently creating the hairstyle.
Gwyn turned her head slightly, catching sight of Nemiah’s mischievous smile. “You,” she said, her tone teasing, “have the prettiest hands, because look at this incredible braid you’ve made. I feel like a queen.” She touched the crown of her hair lightly, marveling at the intricate work.
Nemiah beamed, clearly pleased with the compliment. “It’s not done yet,” she announced, reaching for one more wildflower to tuck into the braid. “Hold still.”
Iris giggled, her earlier hesitation melting away, and she leaned in to help her sister. “Your hair is so soft,” she added, twirling a loose copper strand around her finger.
Gwyn’s heart swelled as their small hands worked deftly together. The moment felt almost...normal. Peaceful. She glanced over at Azriel, catching his gaze as he leaned silently against a nearby shed, his expression unreadable. But his wings, relaxed and folded loosely behind him, told her enough. He was watching her—watching them—and she could feel the tension easing from him, little by little. A bit further back, Balthazar and Olla stood close, their heads bent together in what seemed to be a hushed conversation.
“You’re both very talented,” Gwyn said, her voice warm. “I should let you do my hair every day.”
Nemiah and Iris laughed, their innocent joy filling the air. For a moment, it seemed as though the weight of their questions, the gravity of why they were here, could wait just a little longer.
“So, Nemiah,” Gwyn began, her voice gentle but steady. “I was hoping you could tell me what it was that you and Iris found in the forest this morning.”
The girls went quiet, though they didn’t freeze as they had when she’d mentioned their father. Nemiah glanced at her sister before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was a male. A Fae male. He was wearing a blue jacket with ‘V’ on each lapel.”
“His pants were black,” Iris added, her small voice chiming in.
Gwyn listened intently as the sisters described the clothing and features of the male they had found—light brown hair, green eyes. The details matched the vile male who had aggressively propositioned her at the reception the day before. Her stomach churned at the thought, but she kept her expression calm, her focus on the girls.
She asked a few more questions, her tone careful and measured. What time had they found him? Did he seem to have any injuries? What position had his body been in? The questions felt odd, almost wrong, to ask children, but the girls didn’t seem uncomfortable. Gwyn supposed that the harshness of Illyrian culture had already exposed them to such grim realities. The thought made her heart ache, a dull pain settling in her chest.
“What’s this?” Nemiah asked, her small fingers brushing against the chain of Gwyn’s necklace as she worked on her hair. Gently, she lifted the chain, revealing the delicate stained-glass rose charm hidden beneath Gwyn’s high collar.
Gwyn smiled, reaching up to hold the charm between her fingers. “It’s a necklace,” she explained, tilting it slightly so the sunlight caught the vibrant hues of the rose. Both girls leaned closer, their small fingers tracing the intricate design with fascination.
“Did your husband give that to you?” Iris asked, her wide eyes filled with innocent curiosity.
Gwyn laughed lightly. “No, I don’t have a husband.” The soft chuckle caught in her throat when she felt an intense gaze fixed on her. Looking up, her eyes met Azriel’s. He was standing against the shed, his posture rigid, his face just a shade paler than usual, his gaze watching her handle the rose charm. The golden brown of his complexion seemed muted, almost as though he were holding his breath.
Nemiah’s voice pulled her back. “Where did you get it?” the girl asked, her fingers still gently brushing the charm.
“Ah,” Gwyn stammered, the question momentarily catching her off guard. “I don’t actually know. Someone left it for me at my home last Winter Solstice.”
“Wow,” Iris said, her face lighting up with delight. “That’s romantic.”
Gwyn smiled again, the warmth of the memory softening her voice. “I think it was more of a gesture of friendship than love. But yes, it was a lovely surprise.”
As the girls continued to marvel at the charm, Gwyn sneaked a glance back at Azriel. His expression remained unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders told her enough. For a fleeting moment, she wondered what he was thinking, the silent intensity of his stare lingering in her mind.
Once Gwyn was certain the girls had no more answers to give about Roderick, she stood and hugged them both. Their small arms wrapped warmly around her, and she smiled as she led them to the edge of the garden. She urged them toward their mother, who stood watchful at the back door of the house. Olla’s expression softened when Gwyn smiled at her, and the girls darted off, rushing into their mother’s protective embrace.
Balthazar, who, and some point during her conversation with Nemiah and Iris, had climbed to the roof to resume his work—apparently interrupted when Azriel first arrived—watched his sisters run to their mother before his dark brown eyes shifted to Gwyn. She looked up and gave him a warm smile, gesturing for him to come down.
Suddenly, Gwyn felt a warm presence at her side. She turned to see Azriel standing next to her, his intense hazel eyes locked on Balthazar. His stance was rigid, his gaze fixed as the other male descended gracefully from the roof with a single wingbeat, landing effortlessly before them.
“Well?” Azriel asked, his voice low and clipped. “Did you find out what we needed to know?”
Gwyn nodded. “Yes,” she replied, her voice softer. “They’re the sweetest girls. It’s clear they look up to you.” Her compliment was directed at Balthazar, and the male’s cheeks tinged faintly pink.
“I was hoping to speak to you next—about what you saw when they came to get you,” Gwyn continued, gesturing to the shade of the tree where she had been sitting with Nemiah and Iris earlier.
Balthazar tilted his head, his lips curving into a flirty grin. “Of course, Gwyn.” His tone was smooth, and the look he gave her drew a sharp, muttered curse from Azriel.
“Excuse us for a moment, Balthazar,” Gwyn said with a polite smile, her words laced with a hint of steel. “I need to speak with my associate before we talk.”
Balthazar nodded, smiling at Gwyn before striding towards the back door of the cottage. “I’ll go get something for us to drink—it’s rather warm out here.” He shot one last glare at Azriel before he disappeared inside.
Gwyn turned her gaze back to the Spymaster, who was practically bristling beside her. Once she was confident that Balthazar was out of earshot, she grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the tree while hissing, “What is your problem, Shadowsinger?”
-Azriel-
He knew exactly what his problem was. His problem was Balthazar—flirting with Gwyn while she seemed blissfully unaware.
“Don’t have one,” he lied, shrugging with forced nonchalance as they approached the tree.
“Bullshit,” she snapped.
He stumbled over a tree root and his jaw nearly hit the ground. He’d never heard her swear before.
“I'm not even talking about your attitude towards me when I got here—or maybe I am, if that wasn't all just an act." She crossed her arms and lifted her chin defiantly and glared at him. "I'm referring to how, when I got here, you were trying to take him into the woods for a 'chat'—" She paused to make air quotes. "—while wielding Truth Teller. Then, you had murder in your eyes when he said only I could talk to Nemiah and Iris.” She jabbed a finger right at the blue siphon settled at his sternum, her voice lowering into a hiss. “And don’t think I didn’t hear you snarl at him—twice. And now? Now you’re cussing because he smiled at me.”
“You mean when he flirts with you?” he shot back, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
She reeled back, crossing her toned, bare arms over her chest. A slow smirk spread across her face. “Oh… so this is what jealousy from you looks like?”
Azriel scraped the toe of his boot against the dusty ground, his hands dangled at his sides. “I just… I want…” He trailed off, the words tangling in his throat; she was right, of course, but he didn't want to admit to being jealous. “I had just wanted the next time I saw you to be… different.”
Her expression softened, the tension in her stance easing as her arms relaxed slightly. “Different… how?”
“I… I wanted to be able to talk to you about… this morning,” he stammered, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "I didn't want to have to act like the Spymaster of the Night Court in front of you or have to interact with you the way I did."
She sighed, the weight of the moment settling thickly between them. “We will talk, Azriel. Just… we have to finish this assignment first.”
He nodded, though the tightness in his jaw betrayed his frustration. “Alright,” he murmured, exhaling heavily. “But I’m not leaving the two of you alone.”
She snorted, her lips quirking into an amused grin. “So, you are jealous.”
He turned his gaze toward the house, where Balthazar was still nowhere in sight, though that didn’t mean prying eyes weren’t watching from the windows. Centuries spent as a Spymaster had taught him one thing above all else: never reveal your weaknesses to anyone.
Taking her hand, he gently guided Gwyn to the other side of the tree, shielding them from view. Once concealed, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs lightly brushing her cheekbones. She didn’t pull away—a small but significant mercy.
“Why did you come, Gwyn?” he asked, his voice low, steady, but not without an edge of concern.
“I told you,” she replied, her hands coming up to grip his forearms, anchoring them both. “You were told to bring me, and you didn’t. I should be here.”
“Well,” he countered, his hands leaving her face and falling to his sides, “to be fair, it was more of a suggestion than an actual instruction.”
“Semantics,” she shot back. “You didn't tell me that Rhysand wanted me to come with you. Why?” Her teal eyes, clear and unwavering, fixed him in place.
He stepped closer until their foreheads touched, the space between them shrinking as the weight of his unspoken fears settled in. Taking her hands in his, he said, “It’s dangerous here, especially for you. I don’t think you understand just how much unrest has been brewing in Illyria since the Blood Rite. Not only did three females survive, but two emerged as Carynthian warriors—one of whom isn’t even Illyrian.”
“Mor suspected that’s why you didn’t tell me,” she said softly, as though piecing the puzzle together herself.
His brows furrowed. “Mor? Is she the one who brought you?”
She nodded. “Yes. She and Emerie came to see me at the Library. She let it slip that Rhysand told you I should come, and said you probably didn't tell me because you were worried about my safety.”
"Well, she was correct," he mumbled.
Her smile was small but radiant, lighting her face with warmth. She released his hands and instead placed hers on either side of his face, her touch light yet grounding. “You can't protect me from everything, Shadowsinger. You’ll have to trust me—to believe that I’m capable of facing what comes.”
“I do trust you, Gwyn,” he insisted, narrowing his eyes as his gaze bore into hers. “I swear, I do.” A quick glance around the tree confirmed that Balthazar still hadn’t appeared, though Azriel’s instincts told him their time was running short. Returning his focus to her, his voice softened. “It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s everyone else.”
Her gaze softened. “Balthazar doesn’t want to hurt me,” she said firmly. He couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy at the sound of another male’s name on her lips. “He could have ended Nesta and Emerie during the Blood Rite if he wanted to, but he didn’t.”
Azriel scoffed. “I think you underestimate just how difficult it would be to kill Nesta Archeron.”
A smile teased her lips. “Be that as it may—he’s only trying to protect his family. I think… I think that their father wasn’t a good male.”
He inclined his head. “I got that impression too.”
She exhaled, her breath a blend of patience and exasperation. “So please, try to keep your attitude in check—especially this territorial streak of yours.” Her lips curved into a playfully daring smile before her gaze shifted to the shadows swirling restlessly around his shoulders. She shot them a mock glare, pointing a teasing finger at the inky tendrils. “You too, little troublemakers.”
Her attention returned to Azriel, her teal eyes radiant with warmth. Sunlight caught the tiny flecks of gold in her irises, making them gleam like secreted treasures lying beneath ocean waves.
Like hidden riches at the bottom of the sea, he thought, mesmerized.
“I think, deep down, you know he’s not a threat, Shadowsinger,” Gwyn continued, her voice gentle but firm. “He’s just trying to protect his family. So please… play nice,” she added, her wink equal parts charm and challenge.
He grumbled something unintelligible, and she broke into a laugh—a soft, lilting sound that made his chest tighten. “I suppose that’s the best I can hope for,” she teased.
Reaching out, he brushed the pad of his thumb across her plush lower lip, his voice catching. “Are we… are we alright, Gwyn?” His swallow was audible as he added, “I’ve been going insane since you left this morning. I can’t… I can’t…”
She silenced him with a kiss—gentle, decisive. His hands moved instinctively to cradle her face, his heart thrumming with relief. When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against his, her voice soft but unwavering. “Yes, Azriel. I’m still frustrated with you—but we’re alright. I promise, we’ll talk once we’re finished here.”
His shadows stirred, whispering their warning as Balthazar’s return grew imminent. He pressed another quick, tender kiss to her lips before moving back around the tree just as the male emerged from the house, carrying a pitcher and three glasses.
Gwyn followed, stepping past Azriel with an amused glint in her eye. As she passed him, he murmured, “Don’t drink the water until my shadows have checked it out.”
She rolled her eyes. “Seriously?” she whispered.
“First rule of being a Spymaster,” he replied, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Is it really?” Her tone carried a hint of genuine curiosity, as though she almost believed him.
He winked in response, and that fucking perfect rosy blush that he loved so much bloomed across her cheeks, making him smile.