Chapter 29 - Debriefs and Disclosures
Chapter 29 – Debriefs and Disclosures
-Azriel-
“So, the investigation is at a standstill then?” Rhysand asked. He was seated behind the massive desk in his study, one hand rubbed his forehead as though trying to fend off an impending headache.
Two days had passed since Gwyn and Azriel’s return from Boulderhearth, and he had hoped to delay this briefing with Rhys a little longer. But with the mounting pressure on the High Lord to provide answers to the King and Queen of Vallahan, there was no avoiding it any longer. They had found nothing—not even Roderick’s body—and every moment without progress only tightened the noose.
He also hadn’t seen much of Gwyn other than briefly at training. With Cassian still away with Nesta, it was up to Azriel to run the sessions with the Valkyries. Gwyn and Emerie helped out, taking over the more novice priestesses while he worked with the ones that had been attending trainings longer. Other than a few stolen glances or a brush of fingers when they “accidentally” reached for the same weapon, their interactions were strictly platonic.
Azriel stood in the study, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall with the window to Rhysand’s left. Gwyn, Mor and Amren were also there, seated on the various pieces of furniture comfortably, though their faces were etched with the same tension that mirrored Azriel’s. Feyre had been present earlier, but she had been called away to tend to her infant. Normally, she wouldn’t miss these meetings; Elain often took over with Nyx so the High Lady could remain involved. Today, however, the middle Archeron sister was seemingly unavailable. Azriel didn’t know where she was, nor did he particularly care to ask.
His gaze flicked to Gwyn, perched on an overstuffed armchair, her posture tense as she fidgeted with that damn necklace—the delicate rose charm swaying slightly with each twist of her fingers. Her teeth grazed her plush bottom lip, a nervous habit that betrayed the storm of emotions within.
Azriel liked everything Gwyn wore, whether it was her leathers, her priestess robes, or even the charming pajamas the House gifted her. Today’s attire, though unassuming, was something new for her—a look that was tactical yet perfectly suited for the early summer warmth. She wore light grey, loose-fitting pants adorned with buckles and deep pockets, their utilitarian design lending her an air of effortless capability. A dagger rested securely in its thigh sheath on her right, a subtle yet striking reminder of her readiness for whatever came her way. That sight alone was enough to make his cock stiffen and twitch in his pants, imagining himself on one knee before her, helping her fasten—or unfasten, it didn’t really matter—the sheath around her thigh, placing a gentle kiss on her knee and sliding his hands up the outside of her legs, over her hips, into the dip of her waist, looking up into her hooded, blue-green eyes as arousal took over her expression.
That hadn’t happened, of course—he hadn’t even been on the same floor level as her when she’d dressed that morning. But the fantasy of what it would be like to help her don her attire and gear and undress her was so erotic it made his head spin.
Her shirt didn’t help quell his impure thoughts either. Short-sleeved, forest green, clinging snugly to her frame, it added a softer, more feminine note to the ensemble and harmonized beautifully with her palette. Though Azriel tried to avert his gaze, he couldn’t help but notice the outline of her breasts beneath the fabric, and his breath hitched against his will. Sturdy black boots completed her outfit, grounding her with a sense of purpose and resolve that he found as admirable as it was alluring.
On anyone else, such an outfit might have been wholly unremarkable. But on Gwyn—his mate—it radiated an undeniable allure, and Azriel found it breathtakingly sexy. Her soft copper hair was woven into two braids, one hanging over each shoulder. She was effortlessly beautiful and intimidating all at once—and he loved it.
The night they returned from Boulderhearth, he bailed on the chance to come clean about the necklace. They had stayed nestled together in the window seat of “her” room—the one the House had so obviously crafted for her. The ghost of her fingertips had danced lazy patterns along his forearms and chest as he held her close. He had buried his face in her hair, breathing in her soft scent, pressing gentle kisses to the crown of her head. Her smile had brushed against his chest each time his lips met her skin, and he hoped—quietly, desperately—that she had felt his smile in return, pressed into her hair. When her gentle touch had stilled and her palm came to rest flat against his chest, he listened as her breathing evened out, her body melting into slumber.
As much as he had wanted to stay and drift off with her, the weight of his lie pressed too heavily on him, causing him to feel unworthy of holding her while she slept. Carefully, he had scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed, laying her down and tucking the covers around her. The sheets were warm beneath his hands as he settled her in—no doubt the House’s doing, ensuring she wouldn’t startle at the shift from his warmth to the cool bedding.
He’d lingered, watching as she snuggled into the pillow, her copper hair fanning out like a halo against the fabric. When he was certain she was lost to sleep, he’d leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek, savoring the smooth warmth of her skin beneath his lips. “I love you, Gwyn,” he mouthed silently, the words too sacred to speak aloud even in the quiet of her slumber.
He’d retreated to his own room, and though he’d tried to settle into sleep, the truth he had yet to tell her gnawed endlessly at the edges of his mind. Rest eluded him entirely that night.
Now, here they both were, summoned to the River House to debrief the others on their findings—or lack thereof—in Boulderhearth. Azriel had already laid out the key points of the investigation with clipped efficiency, while Gwyn remained silent, only nodding or shaking her head to show her agreement with him as he spoke.
He felt the weight of a gaze on him, sharp and unyielding. Turning slightly, he met Amren’s narrowed stare. Her focus felt almost intrusive, as though she was studying him with a precision that went beyond simple observation. Though her powers were supposedly gone, Azriel wasn’t entirely convinced. There was something about her—an aura, an ability to sense—that left him wary of what secrets she might uncover.
He kept his expression carefully neutral, refusing to waver under the small female’s piercing glare. Feyre’s return shattered the tension, her hurried steps carrying her to Rhysand’s side behind the desk.
“Sorry,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair back into place. “Nyx has been especially fussy. Nuala and Cerridwen have him now.”
No one questioned why the two faeries were tending to the child instead of Elain. Her absence drew no comment, no flicker of unease in the room.
“You didn’t miss much, Feyre darling,” Rhys said smoothly, his tone calm despite his obvious stress, placing an arm around her waist and giving a gentle squeeze. “I was about to inquire about Gwyn’s thoughts on the investigation.” His violet gaze shifted to Gwyn, who visibly tensed under the weight of his scrutiny.
Azriel felt protectiveness surge within him, an instinctual, almost primal urge to shield her from his brother’s assessing stare. He straightened, uncrossing his arms, ready to step in if necessary, his shadows growing restless on his shoulders. But then his attention snagged on Amren’s sharp gaze, her expression unreadable—watchful, as though she were waiting for him to make a move and give confirmation.
How could she know?
SHE DOES NOT KNOW—NOT FOR CERTAIN. SHE ONLY SUSPECTS THAT THERE IS SOMETHING BETWEEN YOU AND OUR PRIESTESS.
How? Why?
THE TINY SHE-DEMON IS OLD. EVEN WE DO NOT FULLY UNDERSTAND HER CAPABILITIES.
Perfect.
YOU DID TELL THEM ALL THAT YOU HAD FEELINGS FOR OUR PRIESTESS AT THE CEREMONY.
Right. He remembered that, but the sense that Amren was aware of more than what he'd shared with everyone nagged at him.
His internal musings were cut short as Gwyn cleared her throat. “I don’t have much to add,” she said softly. “Azriel covered basically everything.”
“I say good riddance,” Amren muttered, drawing every eye as she inspected her nails with casual disinterest.
Mor’s frustration had been slowly building, and at Amren’s flippant remark, her temper flared. “Do you even realize how much this complicates the treaty talks with Vallahan?” she snapped.
“Were you truly close to striking a deal?” Amren asked, her tone glacial. “Somehow, I doubt it, Morrigan.”
“We were closer than we are now!” Mor shot back. “Their Queensguard captain was sent here as an sign of goodwill, and now he’s dead—on Night Court lands, no less.”
“Perhaps you should’ve waited to report his death until the body was recovered,” Amren said coolly.
“We were trying to get ahead of it,” Mor countered, exasperated. “There was no reason to think the body would just vanish!”
“Could animals have taken it?” Feyre interjected, her question slicing through the rising tension.
Azriel’s voice was steady as he answered. “There were no signs of disturbance at the site, nor in the surrounding area. A predator would’ve needed to be pretty large to drag away a grown male. It would’ve left tracks or drag marks—something.”
Feyre nodded, frowning thoughtfully. “And what have the King and Queen said about the missing body?”
“They don’t know yet,” Rhysand admitted. “We’ve only told them that recovering the remains has been...challenging.”
“But it’s been two days,” Feyre pressed, concern evident. “Surely they don’t believe it takes this long to retrieve a body?”
“Which is precisely why I called this meeting,” Rhysand said sharply, turning to Azriel. “I wanted to have this meeting as soon as Azriel and Gwyn returned from Boulderhearth, though my Spymaster was apparently unavailable to meet until today. We need answers. Quickly.”
Azriel gave a brisk nod. “I’m working on it.”
Rhysand’s gaze shifted back to Gwyn, a feline smile forming on his face. “How was it working with the famous Spymaster, Gwyn?”
Gwyn’s eyes widened, and Azriel stiffened, glaring at his brother. Rhys ignored him, waiting expectantly.
“I believe we worked well together, High Lord,” Gwyn said at last, her voice steady despite the nerves flickering in her eyes. “He’s an excellent teacher. I would gladly work with him again.”
Heat rose to Azriel’s face, pride swelling in his chest—why, he wasn’t sure, since he didn’t feel like he taught her a damn thing in Boulderhearth. If anything, she had been the one to teach him.
Rhysand’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Very well, Valkyrie. You’ll remain partnered with my Spymaster for now. He is your commander, and you’ll report directly to him.” His gaze flicked to Azriel to ascertain his reaction to this.
Azriel nodded curtly, though unease churned beneath his calm exterior. He would protect Gwyn—always—but the arrangement felt fraught with risk. He should be elated to spend more time with her, but somehow it felt like it could lead to trouble between them.
“Excellent,” Rhys said. “The two of you will return to Boulderhearth to continue the investigation.” His smirk was pure mischief. “I’m sure your mother will be thrilled to see you again so soon, Az.”
Azriel rolled his eyes but didn’t bother to respond.
Rhysand stood, signaling the end of the meeting. “Amren, Mor—we’ll talk privately later.” He turned to Azriel. “I’d like a word with my Spymaster. Alone.”
The others filed out. Gwyn paused on her way, her lips curving in a secretive smile. “I look forward to the next assignment, Spymaster,” she teased, adding a cheeky wink before disappearing.
Azriel’s gaze lingered on her retreating figure until Rhys’s pointed clearing of his throat drew his attention back. He turned to find both Rhysand and Feyre watching him, amusement flickering in their gazes. Feyre excused herself with a kiss on her mate’s cheek and a smirk tossed at Azriel, leaving the brothers alone.
Rhys leaned back in his chair, sharp violet eyes fixed on Azriel. “So,” he drawled, his tone thick with curiosity, “care to share exactly what’s transpired between you and Gwyn these past few days?”
-Gwyn-
After leaving the High Lord’s study, Gwyn wandered aimlessly through the River House, uncertain of her next move. Walking back to the House of Wind was an option, though the thought of that long trek made her hesitate. She could ask Mor or Feyre to winnow her just outside the Library’s wards, but Mor had already vanished, and Feyre had disappeared up the stairs the moment she trailed out of the study after Gwyn—likely to tend to her son.
With no clear plan, Gwyn’s mind started to digress. The Library had been her refuge for the past two nights, but the room the House of Wind had prepared for her lingered in her thoughts. Gwyn couldn’t help but assume the sentient building had crafted it specifically for her—for her stay in, it would seem. And, she wanted to stay there—sleep in the bed, read in the window seat, bathe in the bathroom—she wanted it to be hers.
She figured that Azriel had come to the same conclusion about the House’s influence on the bedroom design once he’d seen it. However, she hadn’t been able to tell how he felt about it—or predict how he might react to her being just across the hall from him, and that was what held her back from claiming the room.
Her gaze caught on the garden outside the window—the same one that had hosted Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony mere days ago. She drew in a shaky breath as memories of the last time she’d been near the garden surfaced—when she’d overheard Elain’s harsh words.
The sting had faded, though traces of hurt remained. Gwyn understood that Elain was grappling with upheaval in her life, and had the cruel remarks not been about her, Gwyn would have extended the olive branch and offered to talk with Elain. She had always been adept at listening, offering counsel when needed—she’d done it many times for the priestesses. Sometimes, all it took was lending an ear; other times, they sought her advice, and she poured her heart into helping them.
But now, things were complicated. Gwyn’s budding involvement with Azriel added a fresh layer to the already strained dynamic. Whatever title their relationship held was unclear, but she worried it would only further stir resentment in Elain—who clearly still held affection of some sort for the Shadowsinger.
She ventured into the garden, resolute in her effort to shake off the heavy memories tethered to the space. The scene before her was undeniably stunning; many of the blooms from the ceremony remained, their vibrant hues as brilliant and alive as ever. A dazzling array of colors spread across the garden like a living tapestry, radiating effortless charm. The late-morning sunlight streamed through the trees, casting a gentle, golden glow that heightened the serene atmosphere.
As she wandered further, Gwyn noticed what had been hidden during the ceremony—the placement of the altar had obscured the view beyond the far edge of the garden. Now, as she approached, she saw the land slope gracefully into a lush, grassy riverbank. The gentle murmur of the water blended harmoniously with the soft chirping of birds and the quiet rustling of the surrounding vegetation, wrapping the space in peaceful melody.
Gwyn drifted towards a rose plant, her fingers tracing the delicate pink petals. Their velvety texture offered a fleeting comfort, but her thoughts wandered elsewhere—to Azriel, and the conversation unfolding between him and Rhysand. Had the High Lord noticed the shift between her and the Shadowsinger? Had Mor said something?
Moving on, she paused before a patch of delphiniums, their towering blue spires immediately evoking thoughts of Azriel’s siphons. Gods, was she destined to be reminded of him in every corner of the world? A wry smile tugged at her lips, but it faded as her musings deepened.
Perhaps she should’ve spoken up to Rhysand about the new relationship between her and Azriel, but she had held back, afraid that the High Lord would change his mind about them continuing their partnership in the investigation. The thought of working closely with him brought a quiet thrill, yet also uncertainty. Azriel’s expression during the meeting had been unreadable; she couldn’t tell if he was pleased—or displeased—by the prospect of her reporting directly to him. The possibility of his disapproval gnawed at her, a thought she tried to push aside as her fingers idly toyed with the rose charm around her neck. Could this new arrangement jeopardize what was blossoming between them?
A soft, feminine voice broke her reverie. “I wondered if you would ever make your way back here.”
Gwyn startled, turning sharply.
Elain.
The middle Archeron sister was irrefutably beautiful, but, at this moment, she looked positively worn out, reminding Gwyn of a flower in the early stages of wilting. Dark circles smudged the delicate skin beneath Elain’s eyes, giving her an almost haunted appearance. Her hair, polished to perfection when Gwyn had seen her before now, was unruly—wisps of it escaping the loose braid she had hastily secured with a lopsided ribbon. Her posture seemed withered, as though the weight of unseen burdens had pressed her shoulders down. Even her dress, though still lovely, hung less gracefully on her frame, as if her exhaustion extended to every facet of her being.
“Oh,” Gwyn squeaked nervously, her cheeks flushing. “I... I apologize. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Elain shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself as if bracing against a chill, though the early summer sun bathed the garden in warmth. “You’re not intruding.”
An awkward silence lingered between them, and Gwyn scrambled for something to say. She dipped her head, her gaze dropping to the ground as she nervously dug the tip of her shoe into the earth. “How... how are you, Elain?” The question felt feeble, even to her, but it seemed the only polite thing to ask, given the female’s state.
Elain huffed incredulously, rolling her eyes. “Please. Don’t pretend you care about my well-being, Gwyn.”
Gwyn met her gaze directly. “You don’t look well, Elain,” she said softly, her voice tinged with concern. “I do care.”
Elain’s eyes narrowed sharply, her expression hardening. “Why? No one cares—not after what happened at the ceremony,” she challenged, her tone icy and clipped. Then, as though the weight of her own words dragged her down, her voice dropped to a whisper, “I…I certainly don’t deserve your concern.”
Gwyn sighed softly. “Elain, I... I don’t know what to say. I won’t speak for how anyone else might feel after what happened.” She stepped closer, her fingers instinctively fidgeting with the rose charm on her necklace—a movement that seemed to draw Elain’s attention. “But for myself, I can say that I have been thinking about you—and, seeing you now, I am concerned.”
Elain’s posture softened slightly, her gaze flicking away. “I’ve been thinking about you too, Gwyn. I...” She hesitated, looking down as though searching for the right words amidst the grass beneath her feet. “I owe you an apology.”
Though every instinct urged Gwyn to tell Elain it wasn’t necessary, the weight of what had happened between them stopped her. Elain needed this—for her own peace of mind. So, Gwyn remained silent, only nodding to encourage her to continue.
Elain exhaled shakily. “Becoming Fae has been... excruciatingly difficult to accept.” She rubbed her hands along her arms, her movements restless. “To be ripped away from my mortal life like that—to lose everything, everyone...”
Gwyn recalled what Azriel had mentioned about Elain’s human fiancé and could only assume that is who Elain was referring to.
“The moment I was thrown from the Cauldron, a Fae male I’d never met declared me his mate,” Elain said, the word falling from her lips as though it left a strange taste.
“I can’t imagine how frightening that must have been,” Gwyn said softly, meaning every word. “And how challenging everything has been for you since then. While I didn’t know you when you first came to Velaris, I did have a front row seat to Nesta’s struggles—at least, when she first came to work in the Library. I know…I mean, I saw how hard it was for her, so I can only assume it was the same for you.”
Elain only nodded.
Gwyn went on. “And, the added confusion of having a mate as soon as you were turned Fae—Gods, Elain, that must have been so terrible.” She quickly added, “Not that Lucien is terrible, I mean. He’s…well, I know things are still complicated between the two of you.”
“He’s not terrible,” Elain sighed. “It’s just…I don’t know him.” She looked out at the river, her arms still snug around her torso. “I barely had choices in my mortal life, and I felt blessed to be engaged to Graysen—he was kind, gentle, and seemed to adore me—all before I was turned Fae, that is.” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Once I emerged from that Cauldron, I had no choices. I got this body, these powers—which I still don’t understand—and I had a mate. Mating bonds are not a concept easily accepted by humans, and they’re apparently not completely understood by the Fae either, from what I’ve read.”
Gwyn perked up a little at that. She could engage with anyone when the subject was knowledge or books.
“Azriel…he was the first choice I made after I became Fae,” Elain continued, her voice quieter now. Gwyn stiffened, forcing herself to listen despite the knot tightening in her chest. “He and I became friends. I thought things between us were changing—evolving into something more.” Her glistening eyes met Gwyn’s. “Last Winter Solstice—”
“I know, Elain,” Gwyn interrupted, her tone sharper than she intended. She softened it quickly. “I mean, Azriel already told me everything that happened that night.”
Elain blinked, surprised. “He... he did?”
Gwyn nodded. “Yes. And, before the ceremony, I had no idea something had been... transpiring between you two before.”
“It wasn’t. Not really.” Elain shook her head, a faint, humorless laugh escaping her. “Maybe we were gravitating toward each other, but it was nothing more than stolen glances and wishful thinking.” Her lips pressed together briefly before she added, “I’ve resented Azriel—for breaking things off, for stopping whatever might have been. Then, at the ceremony, when I saw you two holding hands, I just...” She trailed off, her expression tightening.
“You got jealous,” Gwyn said bluntly. Honesty felt necessary, like ripping off a bandage.
Elain nodded solemnly. “What I said about you...it was horrible. I’ve been absolutely sick over it. And I didn’t mean any of those things that I said.” Her arms tightened around herself, her voice trembling. “I’m truly sorry, Gwyn.”
Gwyn exhaled softly. “Thank you, Elain. I appreciate your apology. I hope, in time, we can move past this.” She paused, her voice gentler now. “I can’t claim to understand what you’ve endured, but I do know what it feels like to have your life completely uprooted. I sympathize with that.”
Elain offered a small, tentative smile. “Perhaps someday, you can share your story with me.”
Gwyn hesitated but returned the smile. “Perhaps. Someday.” Elain already knew about Catrin, but clearly the female sensed that the death of her twin was only part of the tale.
Elain’s gaze dipped to the charm on Gwyn’s necklace, which Gwyn was still fidgeting with. “Are you...are you and Azriel…together?”
Gwyn chose her words carefully. “I’m not sure what we are yet. More than friends, but beyond that... I don’t know.”
Elain nodded; her expression unreadable but free of anger. “I’m glad we talked, Gwyn.” She sighed, her gaze wandering to a cluster of pastel flowers nearby. “I’ve been dreading it, but I knew it had to happen.”
“I get that,” Gwyn said with a quiet laugh. “It wasn’t exactly at the top of my list of fun things to do, either.”
Elain chuckled softly before turning serious again. “I swear, nothing happened between Azriel and me. The last time we...shared anything was Winter Solstice—and he told me it was a mistake.” Her eyes flicked back to the necklace, and her voice lowered. “That’s why I gave the necklace back. I barely saw him after that, until the ceremony.”
Gwyn froze, her movements stilling as her brows furrowed. “What?”
“I mean, I guess I wouldn’t say we shared anything—” Her attempt at making light of the situation faltered under Gwyn’s sharp gaze. “You… you said Az told you everything that happened on Winter Solstice,” she repeated cautiously, her voice growing quieter with each word.
Gwyn narrowed her eyes slightly, her tone slow and deliberate as she replied, “He told me that you almost kissed. That Rhys caught you. That he told you it was a mistake.” Her brows furrowed as she pieced out each detail, her mind racing to connect them. “But… what necklace are you talking about, Elain?”