A Court of Whispers and Song

Chapter 20

"I can not believe you didn't tell me, Berdara! I had to find out from Mor." Emerie spun on Nesta and Cassian. "And I know you two saw, so don't even pretend you didn't!"

Cassian stepped back, his hands raised in rare submission, while his mate crossed her arms over her chest.

"They only did because they walked in on us," Gwyn said, rubbing her tender arm. Gods, the Illyrian female really did not pull punches.

Emerie's jaw went slack. "Walked in on what? I need to know!"

Nesta curled her lips, not bothering to hide her amusement. "Relax, they simply kissed, Emerie."

"A kiss!" Emerie squeaked, reeling in the center of their group, her black braid slithering over her back like an obsidian serpent with every twist of her neck. "Wait, when? Where? What the hell guys!" She threw her hands up in exasperation.

Gwyn inclined her face to the sunlit sky, pushing a finger to the middle of her forehead. "Gods above, I will do anything to finish this discussion right now."

"Anything? How about we open with fifty push-ups, females!" Cassian barked, effectively closing the door on the conversation with a wink Gwyn's way. Praise the Mother—and thank the nosy Illyrian general. Though Emerie assured her the conversation was far from over and she expected details. Mother, save her.

Her braid clung to her drenched nape by the time Cassian split their groups up for hand-to-hand sparring. Ten of them now in the Elite group with more cutting the ribbon every day. More adding to their rank and sisterhood. Soon enough, the Valkyries would be a force not even the Illyrians could dismiss.

Toeing off their boots, Nesta and Gwyn squared off in the ring.

"Ready, Archeron?" Gwyn smirked at her partner, rolling her shoulders.

"Bring it, Berdara."

Nesta made the first move, feinting to the left when she went right. Typical. Gwyn easily blocked.

They met blow for blow. Block after block. A fierce dance of fists and feet. And Gwyn had a sneaking suspicion Cassian enjoyed watching their violent contest.

Nesta was definitely about to tap out of Gwyn's unmerciful headlock when Azriel landed on the rooftop. Despite Nesta's struggling, Gwyn's gaze connected with his flecked hazel, and she smiled—at the worst possible time. Nesta shifted her heels, changing her angle, and landed a brutal punch to Gwyn's right side.

Agony seized her lungs in a hideous cracking blow. Sharp, fiery pain radiated down her torso to her toes.

Oh, Gods, she couldn't breathe.

Gwyn's legs buckled as she collapsed to the sand, rolling out of Nesta's kicking range. She had to get to her feet. Gwyn grunted, first kneeling then standing, her breasts heaving as she went back in her stance. Holding out her palms, she wavered.

"That's for making fun of me for being distracted by Cassian, Berdara. Not so fun when the shoe is on the other foot, is it?" Nesta's smirk slowly slipped as realization set in.

Gwyn cringed and forced a smile, her hand moving to rest by her injury as a reflex. A horde of shadows swiftly engulfed her, whirring to the side Nesta had struck. Oh no. With her hands, Gwyn swatted at the beasts, struggling to scatter them to the winds.

"Go," she beseeched, her mouth dropping open when they heeded her word. Yet too late. Azriel and Cassian were already by her side, concern shading their features.

"I want to see where you got hit," Azriel demanded hurriedly, lifting the hem of the linen tunic she favored in the summer heat. Though the lack of the scaled leather armor might have been a mistake. Lesson learned.