Chapter Text
Training resumed its gruelling schedule soon after the rite. The Night Court enjoyed a small amount of reprieve, enjoyed time with Nyx, the bundle of light that had been brought into the world, enjoyed Nesta and Cassian's mating ceremony, and revelled in their small victories. But now they were back at it, running drills, going over their mistakes from the rite, and sharpening their skills ever further.
Gwyn discovered this hot spring a few days ago now and had submerged herself in the warm, healing liquid every night since. She suspected there was a pool tucked into the mountains here, carved into the stones high above the training ring. As they trained, she should sense it—smell it.
After her assisted victory in the Blood Rite and gaining so much confidence that it sometimes startled her, Gwyn went looking for this elusive spring. Gathering her bravery, she followed her senses, trekked up for almost a mile, and nearly gave up, but then, there it was, glistening like a shimmering star in the night, just as warm and inviting as she thought it might be.
The moon was full and high tonight, the sky clear, which illuminated the surrounding rock and slim alpine trees easily and cast long white ripples of light along the deep, babbling, steaming spring.
Gwyn's eyes slid closed as she relaxed back and practiced her breathing. She listened to the woods around her, sinking in deeper and allowing the heat to soothe her tired muscles, when an all too familiar breeze passed by her cheek and curled around the peak of her ear.
"I know you're there." She said, into the night.
There was a breath of silence, deafening within the calm.
"I didn't want to intrude." Came Azriel's cool reply.
He stepped out from behind a cluster of trees, just far enough to be out of sight.
"Your shadows betray you."
Azriel waved his hand through the coiling, smoky wisps, and his shadows slithered behind him once again. "They are traitors." He grumbled, moving a few steps closer to the pool's edge. "I'm usually the only one up here."
She sat up and wrapped her arms around her chest below the water. "I found it a few days ago. I was just about to leave."
lie. His shadows seemed to whisper, coiling out to her and then back to their master.
"No, you weren't." Azriel replied smoothly.
Gwyn became highly aware that she was naked below the water's inky surface. She sank deeper, dipping down until the water touched her chin. She couldn't even use her hair to cover herself, as she had it piled in a knot atop her head, and the realization that she was bare rattled through her like the relentless pounding of a drum.
"Well, I can go if you'd like to be alone."
"It's fine. I'll go."
"No! I mean, no, it's alright. There's plenty of room." She said in a rush.
It was the truth; there was enough space for at least three Illyrians, and there was no reason they couldn't share the space. She was grown, she won the rite, she was a Valkyrie, she could do anything, she was the rock against which the surf crashes; nothing could break her.
But this?
Gwyn knew the risks of being this close to Azriel, knew how he affected her, and knew what this close proximity would do to her. Yet, she didn't care. She didn't care that she would be plagued with thoughts and dreams of him for days because of this shared space. She didn't care how mad it would drive her, didn't care that she could never have him any closer than this. She would take every opportunity she could to be near him, no matter how vulnerable and tilted that might make her feel.
Azriel simply nodded and began removing the many blades strapped and tucked against his powerful body. He placed all but one of his weapons next to a tree with care, then unclasped and removed his boots and scaly leathers. He slipped out of his black tunic and then strode over to the edge of the pool, leaving one dagger within arm's reach.
"You don't have to wear your underthings." She said, too quietly for her liking. He didn't reply, just held her stare. "I'll turn around," she offered against the awkward silence.
She spun in place, water sloshing around her with the movement. She felt the warm rush of embarrassment flush her cheeks and refrained from burying her face in her hands.
It was the moon that betrayed him this time, because as Gwyn cast her eyes down, she caught a glimpse of his reflection in the water. She bit her lip to keep from groaning. She watched as his hulking form tossed his underwear towards the rest of his clothing, watched his muscular body as he stepped carefully against the smooth rocks, his skin illuminated by the moon, and watched him sink slowly into the pool until the rippling water disturbed his murky reflection. Mother, help her. He was beautiful. She felt the water shift as he lowered himself even deeper, and her heartbeat flooded her ears.
It was madness, but she had felt like this for a while now, and her yearning only intensified tenfold after the Blood Rite. It all began as a simple crush, one born out of appreciation, shared experience, and perhaps a slight saviour complex. Obviously Azriel was handsome. Gods, was he; anyone with eyes could see that. But he was so much more than that. Her feelings for the spymaster crept into her every inch, but she rationalized it all away simply because he had saved her. He had seen her on her darkest day and had rescued her, and the overwhelming gratitude—that's what she was feeling. Nothing more. But, as she grew, her adoration grew too, until Gwyn was sure that she would never look at another male the same way for the rest of her life. He intrigued her in ways she didn't yet fully understand, and that was thrilling. She thought about him entirely too much, sitting in that tree those first few nights of the rite, thought about what he would do if he were in her predicament, thought about how he, Cassian, and Rhys reached the summit together, thought about not seeing him again, and thought of him entirely too much as she was gripping to her own survival.
"Alright." His calm voice snapped her from her thoughts.
She turned, using every Valkyrie mind-stilling exercise she knew, willing her breath to remain calm as she took in the sight. He sat directly across from her, concealed by the calming spring save for his upper half, and his wings spanned out behind him. His perfectly chiselled chest rose and fell with deep, steady breaths, the traces of his swirling tattoos drawing her attention down...down...down...
"Who else knows of this place?" She blurted out before her mind could descend into utter chaos.
"Rhys."
Of course. His brother. The High Lord. This was his land, his sanctuary, his fortress.
"Right," She said lamely.
"Most don't want to climb for an hour to get here."
"I'm sure you flew here."
Azriel continued, "Others would rather use the spring-fed baths inside the house."
"We have those?"
"We do." His lip twitched in a faint crook of a smile. "They're in the east wing. I'll tell the house to show you. If you'd like?"
"I rather enjoy my hike. Thanks."
This was also true. She appreciated the hike; it made the destination feel like a prize, like the climb was penance for using such natural splendour, like she was thanking the Mother with every step towards this healing pool.
"That's fine. You'll have to contend with me, however. I use these springs often."
"So often that I've been up here every night for almost a week, and this is the first time I'm seeing you?"
"I've been busy."
"I think you're trying to get rid of me."
"I'm not."
"You are." She crossed her arms against her chest below the water again. "What's wrong, Shadowsinger? Don't like sharing?" She challenged.
"I've never had to share this place."
"There's a first time for everything."
He smirked openly, and she nearly melted. This was bad. Really, really bad. But despite her internal dilemmas, a long, calm, comfortable silence lapsed between them, the soft babbling of the spring over rocks and the slight, cool breeze through the woods building up a harmonic melody all their own.
Azriel moved forward slightly so that he might dip his wings into the pool. He was close now, their knees just inches apart, and she tried to ignore the proximity. She closed her eyes, practiced her breathing again, and steadied her nerves once more. She heard the whoosh of air as he tucked his wings and felt the water shift higher as he lowered himself in.
He sighed deeply in relief, and Gwyn's eyes snapped open, the undeniably male noise sending a jolt through her, one that she prayed went unnoticed. But he was old and skilled and a spymaster, and if his shadows didn't tell him of his effect on her, she was sure she had given herself away right then and there. He seemed unfazed, however, his face calm and relaxed, eyes closed, and breathing steady.
But Gwyn panicked. By The Mother, she panicked.
"It's late. I should go." She said in a rush.
stay.
He tilted his gaze back to her. "Priestesses don't have a curfew, do they?"
"No. Most don't ever leave the library."
He nodded his understanding, tucked his wings in tighter, and turned his back to her. She took the opportunity and slid out of the pool, then moved to the tree where she had hung her robes. She was still dripping wet when she hastily pulled the fabric over her body.
"Alright," Gwyn called to him, cinching her belts tight.
She pulled her hair loose, quickly combed the tangles out with her fingers, parted it, and dragged both sides over her shoulders. She lifted her hood over her head and slowly turned back to the pool to grab her own concealed weapon: a slim dagger wedged between two rocks, a weapon she usually kept strapped to her upper thigh. She took the blade in its sheath and clasped it back in place, not realizing how much of her leg she exposed to him with the action.
"Same time tomorrow?" She asked lightly, looking up to meet his unreadable gaze. He nodded silently as she stood. "See you then."
Without hesitation, she left, walking the worn path back down to the house, her mind and heartbeat racing. Once her feet hit the stone pathways of the house proper, she nearly ran for her dormitory pod, an undeniable ache settling deep behind her ribs.