Chapter 25 - Revelations
Chapter 25 - Revelations
-Gwyn-
As the meal progressed and conversations flowed, Gwyn found herself gradually easing into Lilah’s presence. Azriel had been right—though she wouldn’t presume to think his mother loved her already, she could sense the genuine interest the female had in her. Still, an uneasy thought lingered in the back of Gwyn’s mind. Had Azriel told his mother the truth about their first meeting—in Sangravah? She tried to push the discomfort of that possibility aside, unwilling to let it taint the lovely evening they were sharing.
“Oh! Azriel! That reminds me!” Lilah suddenly exclaimed, her voice breaking through Gwyn’s swirling thoughts. “I’ve finally got a new glass panel to replace the cracked one in the roof of the greenhouse.”
Gwyn turned in her chair, glancing out the window behind her. In the backyard stood a charming greenhouse of moderate size, its sides framed by rippled, green-tinted glass. Through the panels, she could make out the vibrant shapes and colors of leaves in various sizes, their outlines softened by the distorted glass.
“Finally?” Azriel teased, his chuckle warm.
“Yes, well, it took Jostin longer than usual to forge it—it is a custom piece, after all,” Lilah replied with a playful grin. “Since my son insisted on getting the very best greenhouse for his mother.”
Gwyn’s chest filled with warmth as she glanced at Azriel, touched by the care he showed for his mother.
“You haven’t been out there, have you?” he asked, his tone mock-stern as his eyes narrowed slightly. “Because from here, it looks suspiciously tidy and well-kept.”
Lilah’s eyes went wide with mock indignation, a hand flying to her chest in exaggerated offense. “Me? No! I would never go against your perfectly reasonable instructions.”
Azriel rolled his eyes, though his lips curved into a faint smile before his gaze shifted to Gwyn. “There’s been a cracked glass panel in the roof of her greenhouse,” he explained. “I told her to stay out of there until it was replaced. I didn’t want it shattering and falling on her while she was inside, messing around with her herbs.”
Gwyn smiled. “I see you have a lot growing in there—what kinds of vegetables do you raise?”
“Oh, I don’t grow any of my own food,” Lilah replied, taking a sip of her water. “No, it’s just my herbs out there.”
Gwyn frowned, her gaze flicking back to the greenhouse. “Oh, so you just grow herbs for seasoning the food that you buy then?” It seemed rather large for only growing herbs.
“Did Azriel not tell you?” Lilah asked, casting a pointed glance at her son. She rattled off something rapid and sharp in another language, one Gwyn recognized as the same tongue Balthazar had used with his family. A blush crept up Azriel’s cheeks, the telltale sign of a scolding.
“I’m the healer here in Boulderhearth,” Lilah explained, her tone softening. “Different from the Fae healers you’re familiar with in Velaris. I don’t have healing magic—or any magic, for that matter. But I provide medicines and general health services to the village. Most of them pay me in—” she gestured broadly to the remnants of the meal they’d just enjoyed, “—food and other goods.”
“Oh!” Gwyn exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. “That’s… that’s really amazing. No, he didn’t tell me you were a healer. In fact…” She turned a mock scolding look on Azriel. “…I knew you lived in the western part of Illyria, but I had no idea this was your village until we were already here.”
Lilah gasped, her hand flying to her chest. “Azriel! You ambushed this poor girl with meeting me?!” She launched into another rapid-fire string of words in that language, her tone sharp. To Gwyn’s surprise, Azriel responded in kind, though his blush deepened, and he wore the unmistakable expression of a chastised child.
Despite the heated exchange unfolding before her, Gwyn found herself smiling at their bickering. Lilah was undeniably a force of nature, her fierce energy eclipsing Azriel’s usual composure and strength. For all his stoicism, he was utterly outmatched by his mother. Their squabbling was a whirlwind of animated gestures, voices rising and falling unpredictably, and tones laced with exasperation and sharp frustration—most of it coming from Lilah. Azriel’s replies, by contrast, carried a desperate, almost sheepish quality, as though he knew anything he said in his defense would not help him.
At last, Lilah ended the argument with a commanding phrase, delivered with finality as she pointed emphatically toward the greenhouse. Azriel muttered something under his breath as he stood, his displeasure evident in the small pout he directed at Gwyn. She watched, trying to hide her amused grin behind her water glass, as he sullenly trudged through the back door, his shoulders slumped, wings drooped, and eyes aimed at the ground. She nearly laughed out loud when, through the window, she saw him grumpily kick at a clod of soil like a petulant child.
“Gwyn, I must apologize on behalf of my idiotic offspring,” Lilah said, folding her hands primly on the table, watching her over 500-year-old son glumly plod towards the greenhouse.
Gwyn giggled, the sound light and genuine. “I have no idea what you two were saying, but if I had to guess, I’d say you won?”
Lilah smirked. “Oh, naturally, my dear!” Her expression softened, a flicker of contrition crossing her face—the first hint of submissiveness Gwyn had seen from her. “I also apologize for speaking in Old Illyrian in front of you. Sometimes I forget my manners when I’m in a tizzy, especially when it comes to that boy.”
Gwyn smiled warmly, reaching across the table to place her hand over Lilah’s. “No need to apologize for any of those things. I rather liked listening to you both speak in your mother tongue—it’s beautiful. Besides, you chewed him out better than I ever could have.”
Lilah chuckled, her eyes twinkling. “Ah, yes, well… I still fully support you giving him Hel when you get home.”
Gwyn grinned. “You got it. Now, may I help you clear the table and do the dishes?”
-Azriel-
Azriel begrudgingly lumbered outside to replace the broken glass panel in the roof of his mother’s greenhouse, his mind replaying the scolding he’d just endured in Old Illyrian.
…
“Azriel!” his mother snapped; her tone sharp enough to cut through steel. “What is the matter with you? How could you blindside her like this?”
“She wasn’t even supposed to be here!” he blurted out before realizing his mistake.
“Pardon?” Her voice dropped, dangerously calm.
Realizing he’d just royally fucked himself, he scrambled to backpedal, rubbing the nape of his neck nervously. “I mean, well, uh, you know she’s a little—”
“Azriel,” she said, her tone a clear warning.
He sighed, knowing there was no escape. “I… I didn’t, um, tell her that Rhysand wanted her to come with me to Boulderhearth.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “So, how did she get here if she didn’t come with you?”
“She… well, uh, she just kind of showed up at the place I was at. Apparently, our friends told her where I’d gone and that Rhys had told me to bring her, and one of them winnowed her here. I still don’t know how she figured out exactly where in the village I was—”
IT WAS US, SHADOWSINGER. WE SHOWED HER.
He groaned inwardly. Of course you did.
“Azriel!” his mother barked, snapping him back into the verbal beating. “So, you mean to tell me that you not only lied to her, but also tricked her into coming here to meet your mother?”
“Alright, first of all, I didn’t—”
“Azriel, don’t you dare try to justify this!”
“I’m just saying I omitted! It’s not exactly the same as lying!”
“You imbecile!” she hissed, throwing her hands up in exasperation.
“Secondly, I didn’t trick her! I planned to stop by and see you before she even showed up!”
“I’m shocked I saw you two kissing and caressing each other’s faces instead of opening my door to find her kneeing you right in your balls.”
“Classy, mother.”
“No, she’s classy. You’re the idiot who’s going to lose her if you don’t wise up. Now, march your behind out there and replace that panel!”
…
His mother was right, of course. He knew that. He found it hard to reconcile all the mistakes that he’d made with Gwyn, all of the strife caused either directly or indirectly because of him. The worst part was that he still had yet to tell her about the necklace.
One thing at a time, he reminded himself as he inhaled a deep breath.
THE LONGER YOU PUT IT OFF…
I’ll tell her! I just think there are more important things we need to sort out.
HOW ABOUT YOU JUST TELL HER EVERYTHING ALL AT ONCE? JUST SIT HER DOWN, AND JUST GET IT ALL OUT.
Why? So, she’ll walk out as soon as I’m finished pouring out the first of my many fuck-ups before I can even get to the rest?
SHADOWS CAN RESTRAIN HER.
What? No, that’s not—no.
He scrubbed both hands down his face, the day finally wearing him down. If Gwyn weren’t with him, he would probably just stay the night at his mother’s. After the verbal beating he’d just gotten from his mother, he wondered if he’d even be welcomed back.
Probably not without Gwyn, he thought.
IT’S SETTLED. THE PRIESTESS GOES WHEREEVER WE GO FROM NOW ON.
Ignoring his shadows, he silently formed a list in his head.
Alright so, to break it down, we need to talk about: A. What happened this morning with her flashback; B. My not telling her about Rhysand’s request for her to come with me to Boulderhearth; C. Reassure her that my behavior towards her earlier was only to maintain my image as the Spymaster of the Night Court; and, finally D. The necklace.
AND E. TELL HER THAT YOU LOVE HER.
Yeah, I’m not doing that until she—
OR, TELL HER THAT FIRST, AND PERHAPS SHE WON’T BE AS UPSET ABOUT EVERYTHING ELSE.
That’s not…actually, that’s not a bad idea. He gave his chin a little scratch as he considered it.
OR, PERHAPS YOU SHOULD SPACE IT OUT A LITTLE.
He threw his hands up in the air. Make up your Godsdamn minds!
Azriel set to work, carefully replacing the cracked panel in the greenhouse roof as the sun dipped lower toward the horizon, casting the world in hues of gold and amber. He appreciated the longer days—more time under the soft glow of daylight. The rhythmic motions of his task gave him a rare moment of calm, though his thoughts occasionally strayed to Gwyn and his mother inside.
When the job was done, he wiped his hands and gathered the tools, putting everything back in its rightful place. Glancing back at the greenhouse, now whole again, he allowed himself a small breath of satisfaction. But as he turned toward the house, his mind wandered to Gwyn. He could only hope his mother’s fiery energy wasn’t proving too much for her to endure alone.
Who am I kidding? Gwyn can handle anything. And my mother clearly loves her, right?
THEY ARE TALKING ABOUT YOU.
…in a good way?
…DEFINE “GOOD”.
Azriel let out an exasperated growl, running a hand through his hair. Deciding he needed a few moments longer to clear his head, he lingered outside, taking in the peacefulness of the countryside. There was something cleansing about this place that Velaris could never quite replicate. He loved the city dearly, but the countryside offered a quiet simplicity that he cherished—it was why he maintained his own cabin as a place of respite for him to retreat to.
Despite the challenges of the day, he had truly enjoyed the time spent with Gwyn away from their usual circle of friends. While their late-night meetings in the training pit were something he treasured, there was something refreshing about spending time with her in the daylight.
He sighed, preparing himself mentally for the conversations that awaited them back in Velaris. Exhaustion tugged at him, threatening to claim him, but he knew they needed to at least talk about what had happened that morning—about the thoughtless words he’d spoken that had thrust her into the depths of her worst memory.
As he made his way back toward the house, the melodic sound of Gwyn’s laugh reached his ears, followed by the hearty, rich laughter of his mother. The warmth in their voices brought an unexpected ache to his chest—one of gratitude and love. Hearing the two most important females in his life enjoying one another’s company soothed some of his lingering tension.
He especially appreciated that Gwyn was getting to see his mother as she was now—the strong, resilient female she had become—not the skittish, shadowed version of herself that he had rescued from his father’s estate all those years ago. The memory of those dark times crept unbidden into his mind. His mother, beaten, degraded, and held under his father’s thumb, had been a ghost of herself. She had endured unthinkable suffering as a servant in his father’s estate, all because Azriel—the son she bore as a result of rape by his father—had been used as leverage to keep her there.
Even after being sent to Windhaven at age eleven, his father still managed to control his mother using Azriel—threatening to pay other males to beat him bloody, to take him back and throw him back in that cramped cell, to forbid him from living with Amerie in relative comfort and safety. It wasn’t until years later, when he was able to extract her and take her to the Dawn Court, that she’d finally begun to heal. The physical and emotional scars ran deep—years of abuse, humiliation and terrorizing had nearly broken her—but with time, care, and the extraordinary healers of Dawn, she slowly found her strength again. Their work had inspired her to want to heal others, igniting a spark of purpose that he hadn’t seen in her before.
When she was finally well enough to leave the Dawn Court, Azriel had tried to persuade her to live in Velaris, offering to get her an apartment or even a room at the House of Wind. But she had refused, her resolve steady.
“All of the courts have Fae healers with magic to help others,” she’d told him. “I want to help others, son. I can do that in Illyria.”
He’d forbidden her from going to any of the mountain villages or war camps, knowing they were no place for her. Instead, Boulderhearth became her sanctuary. At the time, a skilled healer there had agreed to take her on as an apprentice. Azriel ensured the old healer was well compensated. The woman had been brassy yet kind, with a sharp wit and a way of drawing his mother out of her shell. It was from her that his mother’s fiery spirit truly emerged. Azriel rarely thanked the Mother or the Cauldron for anything, but he often found himself grateful for that healer.
He had purchased the cottage for her, choosing a location on the outskirts of the village to provide privacy and security. He wanted her far from prying eyes, ensuring she would remain safe and unnoticed as the Spymaster’s mother. Over the years, he had helped her restore and maintain the property. Seeing her flourish into the strong, independent female she was now filled him with pride.
Entering through the back door, Azriel followed the sounds of laughter toward the kitchen. A smile was already spreading across his face as he rounded the corner, finding Gwyn and his mother at the sink, washing and drying dishes together. As if sensing his presence, Gwyn turned her head, her teal eyes meeting his with a warmth that made his heart swell.
Then, he halted dead in his tracks.
Oh, Gods.
It wasn’t immediately apparent upon entering the room. At first, it could have been dismissed as a trick of the faelights reflecting off the walls, or the soft glow of twilight streaming through the windows. But when Gwyn turned fully to face him, as she absentmindedly dried her hands on a dish towel, there was no denying it.
An ethereal, golden thread shimmered in the air, glowing softly as it flowed from his chest to hers, unbreakable and undeniable.
The edges of his vision blurred, the world around him fading into insignificance. Only she remained—Gwyn, vivid and striking at the center of his focus. Her leather-clad figure, fiery hair, oceanic eyes, and the radiant curve of her smile were sharper than anything else, as if the universe had stilled just for her.
Sounds became distant, muffled to nothing more than a low hum. The only discernible rhythm was the steady cadence of her heartbeat and the frantic, thunderous beat of his own.
Her scent enveloped him, drowning out everything else—the lingering aromas of dinner and the faint smell of dish soap that had greeted him upon entering the house. All of it was gone, replaced by her unique, intoxicating fragrance—waterlilies and citrus—one that reached deep into his very soul.
He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t think.
Except for one word. One truth.
Mate.