A Court of Whispers and Song

Chapter 6

The clouds were floating puffs of pink candy floss.

The sky layers of strawberry, orange, and blackberry sorbet.

When was the last time she played this game, Gwyn wondered.

It had been ages. Before her world changed, when she and Catrin would sneak out to their secret pond outside the temple walls. Flat on their backs in the dewy grass, they'd stare into the heavens and compare what was overhead to various food items. Silly really.

The sun became a juicy tangerine.

The moon a wheel of brie cheese.

Her smile slipped from her face.

Cloistered among the library stacks, in the shelter of her beloved books, she'd missed so much. The way the late afternoon sunlight warmed the apples of her cheeks. How the western wind whipped her red hair into knots. The glorious gradient of a sunset and the majesty of a million glittering stars. The simplicity and beauty of life.

Coward. She'd been a coward, unable to face... living. Not just the existing. Gwyn wouldn't deny it any longer, ready to shake off the shackles. To leave without being held immobile by unseen hands. No longer imprisoned by memories, haunted by ghosts. Those spirits drove her out of bed this morning and onto the rooftop, fueled by rolling anger. The reason she'd lashed out at poor Emerie. Cauldron, she owed her sister a heartfelt apology and an I-am-so-sorry pastry. Azriel earned one as well.

Azriel.

Gwyn woke up sucked into a storm, the winds of her emotions blowing every which way. Her angry blood zinged with lightning. She had been primed for destruction, to take out everything in her path. And Azriel had stood strong in the middle, letting her vent with her fists and legs until the worst blew over. Never bending or yielding. He was in the eye, her calming and hopeful center. And not once did he judge her, or scold her.

Peering beyond her booted feet, Gwyn instantly regretted the impulse. What had led her to sit on the ledge again? A moment of pure insanity? Mother above, she was far above the ground. She kicked her leather-clad legs back and forth as the sun slowly sank into the horizon. After her earlier training tantrum, she'd returned to her dorm, intending on a quick bath for her aching muscles, and allowing herself a much-needed sobbing fit. Soaking her pillow, all the fight left, she had fallen asleep curled up on the small bed. For the first time in years, no nightmares plagued her dreams, her brain, and body crippled by exhaustion.

Having accidentally napped through her afternoon library shift, Gwyn's pride compelled her up to the roof. Donning a fresh pair of training leathers, she climbed the endless stairs and got to work. She completed her actual routine for the day, repeating the correct stances and attacks against a not very enthusiastic practice dummy. It wasn't exactly the same as having a living partner, but it worked. At least she accomplished something other than bruising her friends.

Sweaty and panting, Gwyn had made her way to the water table. Their Illyrian teachers were sticklers on water, both always going on how your body cramped and not fully hydrated. Something clinical about acids and muscles, which she intended to search for in the healing section downstairs. Cup in hand, she made her way to the balcony's wide stone railing, hopped up, and took a seat.

So there the priestess sat alone, watching the stars wink in the gathering twilight. It took her breath away. Gods, she avoided so much because of fear.

No more, she vowed. No more hiding. No more running.

Chilled darkness swarmed her, gently tugging her back at the collar. Overprotective busybodies, she mused. Speaking of overprotective busybodies...