A Court of Whispers and Song

Chapter 73

Shadows vanished around them, and Gwyn's knees knocked against each other. She wasn't sure if it was from the merciless winds blasting through the mountains. Or the fact that the twisted-up lattice braid Nesta had done for her was far too tight, she felt the pull even when she simply blinked. Mother spare her.

Despite the frozen air, she was sweltering amid a snowstorm. Now her stomach bubbled, reminding her of right before the presentation of her Invoking Stone all those years ago when she'd...

The deep breath in was so crisp it burned her lungs. She held for a count of six. Exhaled the same. Again. Again. All the while, her unsettled gut lurched fiercely. Oh No. No. Not here. Not now. She was the rock against which the surf crashes—rocks did not vomit. Especially not on the front lawn of Azriel's...

"Gwyn?"

That voice, so deep and pure, not unlike the snow drifts building around them, freed her from her panic. Finally, she focused on his handsome face, scorched by the winds whistling around them. Smiling, he took her mittened hands in his covered ones. Only leather gloves now to fight the weather. Except for training and sparring, Azriel no longer hid behind linen armor.

Rubbing her palms together, he cupped them and brought them to his mouth, breathing warmth into them, making the air swirl. "Fuck, it's cold."

"I thought you camped out in this. One would think you'd be used to this by now."

Then she remembered as her gaze drifted downward. The shivering shadowsinger had foregone his warmer, fleece-lined battle leathers, pointedly choosing a more refined coat and soot-colored wool sweater. Why he'd insisted on traveling by shadows versus flight as the wind blasted through the valley. Though the lined leather pants had remained, as had the Siphons atop his hands.

"I had little choice, Berdara. They forced us to camp out in this miserable shit." Azriel swore quietly, a furrow accompanying the tension on his face. "Are you all right? You look pained."

Gwyn brushed off the observation nearly the same way she reached up and cleared the sleet off his knitted hat. "I blame Nesta for this. She twisted the braid too tight."

"Why don't you let your hair down, then?"

Because Gwyn wanted to look her best? Make a good first impression? Because Nesta would kill her if she destroyed all her hard work? "I'll be fine."

"I don't want you to be uncomfortable." Azriel's sigh was slow, deliberate. Over the cloak, his hands touched her shoulders and arms, rubbing heat into them. "We don't have to do this today, Gwyn. We can go back home."

Her head snapped up, eyes darting back and forth. "No. I want to meet her. Truly, I do. I'm just a bit nervous."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, spreading his wings around them to block the worst of the squalls. "No need to be nervous, love."

"Are you serious? She's simply the most important person in your entire life I'm meeting. Oh yes, no need to be nervous."

"You speak as if you're facing the Mother herself." The shadowsinger chuckled, gathering her close, dipping his chin so his warm breath caught under the hood of her cloak. "Gwyn, if you wish to try this another day, we'll try another day. I can drop you off at home and return at a later time. It's your choice."

She steadied herself and inclined her head enough to see into those irises of olive and gold. Then further up to the ebony curls sneaking out from beneath the black hat she'd crocheted him as a gift nearly a year ago.

Rising on her toes, she lightly pecked the tip of his bitterly cold nose. "I said I'd be honored to meet her, Shadowsinger. Nothing has changed."

And when she lowered back down to the soles of her boots, Azriel took her hand in his, squeezing. "Very well. We stay as long as you would like and leave before dinner. Remember what I said?"