Chapter Text
Gwyn gazed up into the sky above the House of Wind. One hard swing of Emerie’s blunted practice sword threw her off balance, knocking her onto her back against the hard packed earth of the training ring. The dust from her fall had long since settled but Gwyn remained staring face-up at the midday sun as the crisp mountain air moved through her lungs; inhaling and exhaling with the mind-stilling rhythm she learned from her Valkyrie books. One by one her worries deflated inside her head. Merrill’s constant harping on her research progress? Not a problem. Was she available to entertain Nyx at the River House while Feyre got some work done? Sure. He’d only be young once. Why was Azriel always looking at her like that? He was assessing her form, surely. Alone in her mind all her questions had answers. There were no doubts about the outcome. Together her and her artificial sense of eternal peace would overcome any obstacle.
“Seriously, are you sure you’re okay?” Emerie’s voice grated against her ears. “You’ve been lying there for like five minutes. I know I didn’t hit you that hard.”
Gwyn sighed, “I’m fine Em. I needed a minute to gather my thoughts is all.”
Emerie stared down at her from above, the hems of her breeches raised to show off the tattoo of Ramiel inked above her knee. Four and a half years since completing the Blood Rite and Emerie built up an array of highly customized leathers that could rival the wardrobe of any wealthy High Fae socialite and wore them with confidence abound. Her armor against the harsh bounds of Illyrian femininity.
“Well you’d better get up soon before-”
“Everything alright over here?” Azriel appeared beside them faster than Gywn noticed him coming. Summer was going out with a vengence and the heat drove Azriel to abandon his leathers, exposing his undershirt already translucent with sweat. The novices at the other side of the ring swiveled their heads around until they located their instructor and their confusion turned to whispers and giggles. Taken by him, just as she was. Nesta and Cassian were the only ones immune, lost in their own intense sword fight that erupted into grunts and growls as they circled one another at the center of the ring. “You don’t look like you’re sparring.” Azriel crossed his arms in front of his chest after neither of them offered an explanation.
“We were just getting back to it,” Gwyn mumbled, taking Emerie’s outstretched hand to pick herself up. “Emerie hit me and I fell over. I needed some time before trying again.”
“Do you need to sit the rest out? There’s only one more round left for the day. Take the extra time if you need it.” Azriel’s hazel eyes glinted gold in the sun and for a moment she swore she saw genuine sympathy in them. All the more reason not to take the break.
”I don’t need to sit out,”Gwyn said as she brushed some dirt off her pants. “I’ll go one more round.” Azriel nodded at her and disappeared back to the group of priestesses as quickly as he’d appeared.
“What was that about?” Emerie asked.
“What was what?” Gwyn replied.
“That.” She gestured across the ring in the Shadowsinger’s direction. “Since when is Azriel okay with one of us skipping out on training over a stumble? He had you out here the day after we won the Blood Rite using water jugs as weights while Nesta and I ran laps.”
And though Gwyn hated to decieve her friend, she shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe he finally respects us enough now to know our own limits.”
The truth was too embarrasing to let on. It started three months ago. One day she awoke feeling sluggish and barely completed their morning warm up laps around the ring. A week later the balance obstacles nearly bested her. It was easy enough to play off to Nesta and Em but Azriel noticed. Easily. And offered to help her in the form of one-on-one lessons. At first she told him no, but one night she went to the roof alone for a training session and confirmed a sneaking suspicion. She could no longer cut the ribbon.
She descended the stairs back down into the House of Wind wallowing in the prospect that she’d never regain what she lost when she came upon Azriel climbing up in the opposite direction. They stared at each other, unsure of who should move to the side, and before she knew it she was accepting his offer for private instruction.
They’d been meeting after regular lessons for two months now but without much improvement. According to him it was a mental block that would take time to work through. Nothing to be ashamed of. But all things considered she was ashamed. Cutting the ribbon was what made her a Valkyrie. She should be able to stand up with her sisters and claim it instead of hiding for fear of getting left behind. The shining stars over Ramiel weren’t meant to fade into the night sky.
Gwyn picked up the practice sword she unceremoniously cast aside and assumed her resting stance opposite Emerie. “Come on, one more time.”
*
Gwyn and Emerie sat at the outermost edge of the training ring trying to enjoy the cheese sandwiches and soup the House prepared for lunch, but unlike the priestesses Nesta and Cassian hadn’t stopped at Azriel’s whistle, so Gwyn and a few of the other students hung back to spectate as the match came to a fever pitch.
In Nesta’s hands Ataraxia sliced through the air at breakneck pace, a trail of silver streaks the only indication of its path. Her pursuit of Cassian was relentless. Despite the fake outs and directional changes Cassian matched each of her steps forward with one of its perfect opposite, binding the couple into an endless circle of combat. Nesta’s approach was always to attack first and ask questions later, but Cassian seemed more interested in trying to outlast her rather than actively fight back. His sword laid at his side as he dodged her swings with his whole body, only bothering to raise it to block the would-be fatal blows. They were positively feral.
Near the bottom of their soup bowls Emerie leaned into Gwyn and said in a low voice, “Do you think it’s a sex thing?” Gwyn chuckled hard enough that soup almost shot out her nose, but before she could respond a different unexpected voice answered Emerie’s question.
“Oh, it most certainly is!” Cassian shouted over the clang of metal. He turned to wink at Emerie and in that instant Ataraxia flew toward Cassian’s neck and the sword bristled at the edge of his magical shield, throwing sparks of silver from the contact.
Azriel blew his whistle, “Victory goes to Nesta.”
“Hey, wait that’s not fair! Emerie distracted me, no point,” Cassian whined.
“It’s not my fault you’re so distract-able.” Nesta tucked Ataraxia back into its sheath down her back. “You should probably learn to control yourself more if you don’t want to keep losing.” She cut him a smug grin.
“You put her up to this didn’t you Nes?” Cassian turned to Azriel “It’s not a legitimate win if there was interference,” he begged.
Azriel sighed as if he suddenly viewed immortality as a curse, “Emerie did Nesta ask you to distract Cassian in order to help Nesta win?”
“Nope.” Emerie’s lips audibly popped as she pronounced the p.
“Then the ruling stands. Nesta remains the victor.”
Cassian’s continued complaints to Nesta disappeared behind a wall of silence cast around them. The remaining priestesses on the roof took that as a dismissal, and when the couple passed Gwyn and Emerie Nesta looked at them with an apologetic expression.“Later,” she mouthed and the couple descended the stairs back into the House.
Emerie turned to Gwyn, “I should go change. There’s a feast in Illyria tonight and I promised to help out with some of the prep work.”
“No worries. I’m working an extra shift in the Library tonight.” Gwyn glanced over Emerie’s shoulder to ensure that Azriel hadn’t also decided to disappear on her. He was still collecting the various swords and weapons the students left behind.
“Geez. I like to read at night too but they’ve been working you way too hard down there.”
“I’ll tell Merrill that. I’m sure she’ll understand.” Gwyn picked her sword off the ground and turned slightly toward Azriel, “Say hi to Mor for me?”
“Th-thanks, I will.” Gwyn suspected for a while that Emerie and Mor’s relationship might be more than friendly, but Emerie never mentioned it and Gwyn let it be. She knew what it was like. Em would tell her friends when she was ready, but tonight she was not and took the stairs down into the House two at a time.
With Em out of sight Gwyn made her way toward Azriel, standing with his back toward her on the opposite side of the ring. His massive wings unfurled and glorious in the height of the midday sun.
“I know it’s none of my business but I don’t think you should be keeping this from your friends. I’m sure they’d be happy to help,” Azriel told her, still intent on his task. Once she got close enough he reached a gloved hand out behind him, prompting her to hand over the practice sword, which he locked in the cabinet with the others.
“You’re right. It is none of your business.” Gwyn wanted to tell Nesta and Emerie she was struggling but no matter how supportive her friends would be this one felt like private struggle. Despite the harshness of her words Azriel seemed to take them in stride.
He finally turned around to face her. “Well what is my business as your trainer is your physical well-being, and given what I saw happen in the ring today I’m not comfortable with our extended training session this afternoon.”
“What? Why?!”
Azriel sat down on a stump next to the equipment locker and leaned toward her with his hands on his knees, shadows swirling around his ankles. “Because Gwyn, you’ve been working yourself much too hard. You can barely stand on your own two feet.” The expression on his face softened. “If I keep pushing you you could end up injured, and trust me neither of us want that.”
Gwyn crossed her arms in front of her in an attempt at defiance. “What do you suggest I do then?”
“Take a break. Maybe take a bubble bath or read one of the dirty novels you three like so much. Whatever it is do it for yourself. No stress. No work.” Gwyn relaxed her arms at her side. He was probably right.
Azriel rose from the stump and closed the small distance between the two of them. Despite the heat of the day his closeness gave her goosebumps. He could reach out and touch her if he wanted. Not the casual graze of his fingers as he handed out weapons or the clinical touch he sometimes used to correct her form, but in an altogether different way. The kind that might start at her jaw and trail downward, brush against the skin of her neck, and rest in the curve of her hips. The smell of woods and mist breathed into her. A certain sparkle lit up his dark eyes. No, she had to be imagining it. Confusing this moment with one from a particularly active dream.
“If…I might make a suggestion,” he said, leaning onto his back leg and snapping her out of the fantasy. “I’m going out to dinner tonight. I know a place by the Sidra that makes great Illyrian food and you’re welcome to join me if you’d like. For a little change of pace.” He shrugged his shoulders in what she could only interpret as an attempt to make light of his request. It wasn’t light though. He was asking her to dinner, and not the standing one in the House dining room. The kind that started the dirty novels as he called them. A date seeming dinner. Using all the remaining strength in her body she tore her eyes away from his.
“I actually have something I can’t skip tonight no matter how much of a break I need. Tonight is the Autumnal Equinox. The priestesses have a ceremony at dusk and I have to be there.”
“I’m not familiar…”
“It’s okay. It’s a priestess thing. The beginning of Autumn isn’t exactly a high holiday in the Night Court, but it isn’t stressful I promise. I look forward to it every year.” For once Azriel’s face betrayed him. His brows furrowed and his eyes darted down toward his feet. Date or not she couldn’t bear to see him wear that sad expression. “I’d be happy to meet you for dinner afterward if you’re willing to wait for me though. The ceremony should only take an hour.”
“Then afterward should be fine.” Azriel looked back at Gwyn and smiled. A rare sight. Something he reserved for things like mating ceremonies and petty sparring victories. Now it was obvious why. His smile was too perfect for everyday things. The whiteness of his teeth glistened against his tan skin. A single dimple appeared on his left cheek and his smile was so wide it made his eyes crinkle at the sides. Even his shadows seemed to come alive in a swarm around his neck and shoulders. “What time should we meet?” he said, leaning back in.
“We should be done by 8, so maybe 8:15? Do you know where the entrance to the dormitory is?” Azriel nodded. “Then I’ll meet you outside the door. Don’t try to come in.”
“Even if Rhys didn’t have the place warded to hel, I wouldn’t dream of it.” His voice hit a low rumble that resonated through her chest. She wanted to close the distance between them. To feel that breath against her lips while she ran a finger along the bottom edge of his wing. Find the spots that might give him pleasure. She shot up straight at the rogue thought, breaking their eye contact. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m fine. I got a chill is all. I should go inside and get to work.” Before getting a response Gwyn turned away and started toward the stairs.
“Would you like me to escort you?” Azriel called after her.
She gave herself one last glance back at Azriel. “No. I’ve got it.” Gwyn thew open then hatch beneath her and the followed the stairs down to the lowest level of the House of Wind where even Rhys’ wards couldn’t keep out her thoughts of Azriel.
*
Gwyn descended further down still into the deep caverns of the mountain clutching the hem of her robe to prevent herself from tripping. With every bend in the stairwell the faelight lanterns dimmed, telling her exactly how late she was. After a couple more hurried turns she found what she was looking for. More priestesses descending the stairs. Five to be exact. Gwyn fell into line behind them and matched their measured steps, composing herself with an intentional breath.
When she reached the bottom a hooded priestess waited at the door of the sanctuary to greet them and handed Gwyn a small slip of paper and a pencil, “Mother guide you.”
“Mother guide you.” Gwyn returned the greeting and made her way down the center aisle between two large sections of seating packed with priestesses. It wasn’t often she got to see the benches this full while still amongst them.
Up at the front all the turquoise robes blended together and it was difficult to appreciate the magnitude of their gathering. Row after row of pale blue hoods sat silently, awaiting the ceremony to start. To outsiders the stillness might feel foreboding, but to Gwyn it felt anticipatory. The formal, ancient way of marking time via the moon kept them attuned to the Mother and her plan for the world, and the seasonal rites were the time to revel in it. To Gwyn there was as much energy here as there was at the Inner Circle’s infamous Starfall parties.
Gwyn reached the foot of the dais and acknowledged the High Priestess with a nod before taking her seat a few chairs to her left. She stared at the scrap of paper in her hand. Growing up her and Catrin would prattle endlessly back and forth about what they would ask the Mother for in the coming year during the Autumnal Equinox. Then their earthly mother would chastise her when she inevitably tried to ask for something material, like a new dress or a pegasus. “You dishonor the Mother with that kind of talk,” she would say, “you don’t ask the Mother for ‘things’ Gwyneth you ask for Her assistance.” Even as a young child Catrin would ask for things like peace between humans and the fae. No need for a lecture over that kind of request. Dishonor or not the only thing Gwyn asked for in the years since her death was to have Catrin back. She no longer asked for her physical presence to be resurrected, but for ways to find her in life’s everyday moments. The Mother gave her that sometimes. In the smell of fresh cut flowers or the sparkling waters of the Sidra that fed into the sea.
The High Priestess cleared her throat and the small sound reverberated through the cavern. A few shifted in their seats as she began to speak. “I welcome you all to our celebration of the Autumnal Equinox. In the spirit of the growth and prosperity of the harvest season we gather here today to reflect and reap the benefits of another year spent in the light of the Mother. Let us begin with a song. Gwyneth?”
Gwyn rose from her seat and took her place in front of the steps. The priestesses began with a hum, each in their own instinctive pitch. Then as the sound settled around them their voices blended and became one. A wall of sound pushing up toward the dais. Gwyn took a deep breath, allowing the moment to wash over her before she raised her arms and began to conduct.
With a wave of her hands she split one tone into three, and added in her own voice soaring high over the foundational sounds of the crowd. Together they sang in praise of the Mother. Of Her graciousness and Her wisdom. Having been raised as a priestess her embrace of worship wasn’t always enthusiastic. It ebbed and flowed through the years, but tonight? It was genuine. Each one of the Library priestesses were here for a reason. They were once hurt and hurting but now they sat here, together, with blessings to count. When she lowered her arms and the song ended she turned to sit back down, wiping away a silent tear.
“Thank you Gwyn. Your singing never fails to delight us all,” the High Priestess said as she addressed the crowd. “If anyone would like to share how the Mother has enriched their lives this year please stand. We’ll go row by row starting to my right.” The sound of rusting silk swept through the cavern as those eager to speak rose to their feet. Gwyn had more than enough to be grateful for yet she felt unmoved to share publicly. Instead her thoughts wandered to her life and family. Particularly to Nesta and Emerie whose generosity and loyalty showed her a life beyond the confines of the Library. When she was first offered sanctuary she was told there might be a day she wouldn’t need it anymore, and though it wasn’t something she could fathom at the time, that day seemed to loom closer and closer. Aside from the personal love of her work she had little reason to continue residing there at all really. She thought of Rhys and Feyre, whose support of the Library’s mission was the only reason they had such a place. And of Azriel…whatever he was to her.
As the priestesses continued Gwyn closed her eyes. A chill started in her feet and slowly worked its way up through her body. Her shoulders quivered and images from her imagination flashed behind her eyes. She saw herself walking down a long hallway she didn’t recognize, wearing a beautiful gown. In another she sighed as she looked back into her dormitory room, empty for the first time since she moved in. Her and Azriel tangled up together in bed, their scents so thoroughly entangled that she couldn’t tell who it belonged to. Then the chill was replaced by heat. Starting in her core, smothering any of the remaining cold and spreading outward all the way to her fingertips. Her eyes shot open.
“Thank you all for sharing. Now let us take a moment to reflect on our goals for the coming year and how the Mother can help you achieve them. When you’re ready write down your request and send it upwards so that Mother might respond.”
If Gwyn was having trouble deciding whether or not she still needed to live in the Library she would definitely need the Mother’s guidance. She didn’t know anything about living alone or working a paid job. Would she still be a priestess? There would be so many mountains to climb. Things Gwyn was sure she wouldn’t even see coming. Catrin would have to forgive her if she asked for something different this year.
In a moment of resolve Gwyn pulled out her slip of paper and scribbled down her first coherent thought, I ask for the strength to forge ahead. Then she folded it in half and tossed it in the air, where it disappeared into a shower of sparks.