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separatist-apologist · 10 months

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Lying In Between The Memories

You could call it paradise but it looks just like hell to me

Summary: Following the blood rite, Gwyneth Berdara can't shake the memories of a life long-gone.

The shadowsinger can't seem to move on after five centuries of loving the same woman.

Together, they'll have to carve a new path forward.

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

[ongoing TW for Sexual Assault]

Gwyn forced herself to take a breath—and then another. There was a door and a whole other room between them. She was fine.

It’s only Azriel, she reminded herself. And though he may not want her with him, he wouldn’t do anything, either. She knew that. Oh, how she knew it—would have sworn it over her own grave. But seeing him standing in the doorway of that room was entirely another. Gwyn’s heart raced a miserable, anxious beat she couldn’t silence no matter how many times she reassured herself that Azriel was her protector.

Because he was still a male, and Gwyn hadn’t been so alone with one in her entire life. The only upside was that she wouldn’t have to track him down each night to find out what he was doing. And no one was going to try and get in her room when there was a six foot six Illyrian warrior sleeping behind a half closed door.

Gwyn tapped her foot nervously against the pale white marble, listening to the sounds of Azriel cursing softly as he put his things away. The clanking of metal against wood told her he was hiding weapons anywhere within reach, a theory validated when he strolled into the lounge with several daggers held casually in his large hand.

“Get up,” he ordered, stalking toward the black leather sofa she’d been sitting on. Gwyn scowled.

“Why? So you can hide a dagger beneath the cushion?”

“Yes,” he replied, holding her gaze.

“And what happens when it stabs me the next time I sit?”

Azriel smothered a cruel smile. “You’ll heal.”

Prick!

“You trust them so little that this is necessary?” Gwyn asked, watching him carefully slide a silver hilted dagger beneath the cushion in between the seam. Easy enough to reach for if one of them needed to, but hidden well enough no one would think it was there.

“I don’t trust anyone,” he reminded her with a bite of impatience. “Better to be prepared than dead.”

Gwyn had millions of questions for him, just like she always did. Who hurt you? It was always the top of her list and one she didn’t dare ask him. Just as she wouldn’t want someone prying into her own personal past, even if Azriel knew all the horrible details because he’d been there. He was still the only person who didn’t look at her with pity besides Nesta and Emerie. Of course, that was because he was too busy looking at her like she’d disappointed him.

Gwyn supposed she had. She’d stopped going to training and never told him why.

They both had their secrets.

“What did you think of the royal family?”

She knew, though. She’d seen his face when she’d turn to look at him only once—because she hadn’t dared to look again. How Gareth and Kai didn’t cower at the sight of the cold disdain etched over his features was beyond her. Gwyn was certain she would have crumpled into a heap if he’d ever looked at her with half as much hatred.

“Strange,” he murmured, turning his eyes toward the windows pulled tightly with curtains. Gwyn had to admit their aversion to sunlight seemed unusual, but they’d been politer than she’d first imagined. It was surreal that an actual king would want to meet her at all. “You can’t trust them.”

“Apparently not,” she snapped as Azriel slid another dagger behind a set of books shelved against the wall. He glanced over at her, brows furrowed but Gwyn walked to her room and closed the door with a satisfying snap. Azriel didn’t trust anyone. That didn’t make him right, just paranoid. She supposed that was why he was good at his job, but to her she found it frustrating.

Couldn’t he give them the benefit of the doubt? This culture was new and perhaps the curtained windows were some religious or cultural practice she and Azriel didn’t understand. Gwyn was willing to learn more—that was why she’d come, wasn’t it? An exchange of knowledge, even if what she was allowed to share was limited.

Case and point—Gwyn could not share any information about how the Archeron’s had gained their powers or any of the research Velaris had compiled surrounding the Cauldron. She wasn’t allowed to share the scope of power regarding any of the High Lords, or how their magic moved beyond simple bloodlines.

She’d committed Rhysand’s list to memory thinking it would be better to just feign ignorance. She was only a priestess working far below the High Lord. Her scope was pretty limited, though even some of Merril’s research into multiple worlds was restricted. Her training was also not allowed, though Gwyn wondered if she could covertly try and see if Montesseres library contained anything interesting regarding the Valkyries.

By the time Gwyn walked out of her bedroom, Azriel was gone. Likely hiding more daggers throughout the dark palace, if she had to guess. For one depressing moment, she wished it was Cassian who had come with her. At least he smiled. At least he was friendly. Azriel was none of those things.

Gwyn shoved him from her mind. She wasn’t going to think about Azriel and his brooding and penchant for violence, nor was she going to let herself wonder what it said about her that the High Lord thought she was the best choice to accompany him.

Gwyn could show them all—and she needed to, if she wanted to do anything but book running when she returned home. Gwyn needed to prove herself not just to Merril and Rhysand, but the Clotho, too. And maybe herself, though that seemed low on her list of people to prioritize. At any rate, she was here.

“I’m here,” she whispered to herself, reaching into her pocket for her sisters invoking stone. Gwyn reveled in the cool, smooth rock rolling between her fingers until her heart slowed to normal again. She was okay. She was here.

Nothing can break me, she reminded herself. She’d survived and maybe that just had to be enough for now. Everything felt like survival, though—and very few things felt like living. Nesta and Emerie did, but they weren’t with her. Taking a deep breath, Gwyn pulled open the door.

“Oh, for Cauldron’s sake!” she exploded, coming out of her skin at the sight of Azriel just on the other side. A near feline smile spread over his features.

“Did I scare you?”

“No,” she lied. What would he look like, she wondered, if he ever actually smiled. Gwyn tried to imagine it and failed—Azriel didn’t seem the type. Perhaps his friends had seen it and she bet he made them swear on pain of death never to admit he’d had such a show of emotion outside of brooding, icy anger. “You’re merely in my way.”

His eyes widened mockingly. “In your way?”

“Yes, my way,” she repeated, shoving past his big, muscular body. Azriel didn’t budge, forcing her to plant her hands against the leather plated armor on his stomach and physically push in order to get him out of the doorframe. Behind him, his wings flared for a moment while those curious shadows of his swirled between the pair of them. If they were angry or amused, Gwyn couldn’t tell. She wasn’t well versed in shadow speak the way he was.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked in the low, gravely voice of his. Gwyn fought a shiver. She bet that look on his face, coupled with his dangerous, icy tone made people wet themselves. It was tempting to stop entirely, to buckle beneath the weight of his stare but this was Azriel.

And he wouldn’t hurt her.

“I’m going to give myself a tour of the palace,” she said blithely, certain he wouldn’t join her. In truth, Gwyn just wanted to find the most expedient route to the library. She didn’t need Azriel escorting her every day given the way people couldn’t take their eyes off him—he was so striking, so absurdly handsome that everyone turned to look at him not once, but twice. The first time was just a passing glance at the large, winged male but the second was to ensure they were seeing him correctly.

No one looked like Azriel. Certainly not here. The two royals she’d met were pale and exhausted looking. And though she would have rather died than admit it, Azriel was easily the best looking male in any room by virtue of his high cheekbones, his smooth, brown skin, and the way his inky, blue black hair flopped gently over his forehead. There was no mistaking Azriel for what he was—a born and bred warrior who could likely easily kill someone with one hand as he could with the dagger strapped at his thigh. And yet there was an elegance to his sharp features that suggested in another life, Azriel might have been a lord.

He was certainly handsome enough to be a prince.

As it stood, he was a scowling, winged bastard still in her way. He’d stepped in the middle of the hall, arms crossed against his chest, wings touching either wall to keep her from pushing past again. She wanted to shout at him which would do her as good as shouting at a mountain. His whole job centered around pushing people’s buttons. Better not to let him know he;d gotten under her skin.

“A tour.” He spoke the words tonelessly, hazel eyes searching her for some obvious lie. Gwyn held his stare, refusing to back down.

“Am I allowed? Because I thought you’d prefer to be rid of me.”

He scowled. She was certainly under his skin. Gwyn counted that as a victory. “If you get hurt, Nesta will have my balls.”

“That’s not my problem,” Gwyn said blithely. “Now, move.”

He spread his legs ever so slightly, spreading out those massive wings as he angled his head. He was accessing her like she was a threat. “Or what, Gwyn?”

“You’re not the only one who can use a dagger.”

He didn’t smile, though she swore his mouth twitched. “You think you could take me? When you quit training with me?”

“Cassian still teaches me,” she said, but her words didn’t sound convincing to her ears. Azriel’s gaze sharpened.

“Why did you quit, Gwyn?”

“Get out of my way.”

“No.”

They were at a stalemate. Gwyn would never tell him why she’d stopped training with him and Azriel wasn’t going to budge. And rather than giving in or going back to the room and slipping away when he wasn’t paying attention, Gwyn merely rounded on her heel and took off down the opposite end of the hall.

Behind her, Azriel growled softly. Typical males, snapping and snarling when they didn’t get their way.

Let him.

Azriel wasn’t in charge of her.

No one was.

AZRIEL:

Gwyn rounded the corner before Azriel tucked his wings against his back and went after her. Two of his shadows were trailing her, one because he’d ordered it and the other because it was merely curious. He could hear their whispering, convincing him to keep his distance.

I think she hates you.

She could get in line. Azriel had known being here with her was going to be difficult but he’d assumed she’d be…more afraid? Especially today, after the prince had been looking at her with such interest. And yet there she was, when he rounded the corner, stomping her feet as she marched away from him. Azriel kept his eyes on the syrupy cinnamon and penny colored hair swinging past her shoulders, the tips brushing just above her hips. His shadows curled around her shoulders, likely trying to whisper any number of secrets in her ears, those traitors.

Azriel could not understand their fascination with her. Case and point: Gwyn waved her hand impatiently, trying to shoo them away when she realized he was trailing her both in body and spirit, which resulted in one shadow playfully braceleting her wrist.

Azriel sighed.

“Where are you going?” he called when she reached another of those miserable, spiraling staircases. Increasing his pace and tucking his wings closer to his body, Azriel caught up to her before she’d made it three steps. She might have been tall, but he was taller by a good head and shoulders.

“I told you what I was doing,” she snapped. Azriel rolled his neck against his shoulders, biting the urge to snap back. Gwyn glanced back, eyes narrowed and he knew without any magic at all, that whatever words slipped from her lips next were going to start a fight. “I know you can’t read, but I assumed you still were able to comprehend words, shadowsinger.”

Azriel reached for her without thinking, fingers curling around the tops of her arms. They were at the bottom of the twisting stairs, alone on another dark landing. Whispering shadow told him there was no one lurking nearby—not even servants. He might have told them to scout for the library had he not pressed Gwyn against the cool wall, his temper getting the best of him.

She jutted her chin in the air, eyes blazing with defiance. “I don’t need to know how to read to end this mission for you. One word to Rhysand is all it would take to put you back where you came.”

Gwyn shoved at his chest again, for all the good it did. Azriel didn’t budge, crowding closer until he could smell the scent of viola and cinnamon. He’d forgotten what she smelled like, had forgotten that dusting of freckles over the bridge of her nose and her cheek. Up close, he could see flecks of gold in those teal eyes…and her anger.

Azriel took his hands off her arms, though he merely braced them against the stone behind them to keep her from darting away again.

“You won’t,” she said, crossing her arms again.

“Wouldn’t I? I work better alone.”

“Is that an option? Maybe you’ll be paired with someone far more loathsome than me!”

Azriel hid the truth of her statement even as Vanserra’s smug face floated in his mind. Gwyn was far better—and far prettier—than Vanserra, who was likely to try and kill him in his sleep if he pulled half the shit Azriel was pulling right then. Still, Azriel couldn’t back down.

“Want to find out?”

Gwyn inclined her head. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Not really. His shadows swirled between them, murmuring that someone was coming. Azriel pushed back, not wanting someone to think he was menacing the nice priestess. All Azriel wanted to be seen as was her protector, even if they privately didn’t get along. Because while she could snipe and scowl at him all she liked, if anyone else elicited that reaction from her, they’d find truth teller pressed against their jugular vein.

“Behind me, Gwyn,” he murmured. To his immense satisfaction, whatever she saw in his expression convinced her to stay where she was, half tucked behind his wing where, if he needed to, he could fully shield her with his body. Azriel felt tense, shadows darting to a nearby corner to watch and whisper.

It was only Kai. Uncrowned and casual, the prince seemed surprised to find them both standing tense before him. Those blue black eyes found Gwyn before they found him, dismissive as usual. “Lady,” he murmured, bowing so deeply Azriel wondered how he managed to stay on two feet at all. He glanced over at Gwyn, who seemed impassive. Unimpressed, at least, which helped the anger twisting in his chest. He wanted to roar at Kai to get away from her, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Maybe it was that look on Mor’s face when she warned him about Gareth and Kai. “What brings you down to the kitchen?”

The kitchen?

Gwyn’s cheeks darkened with embarrassment. “I um..” “Where is the library?” Azriel interjected. He wasn’t going to watch her be made a fool of. “Do you not have staff that can assist her?”

Kai’s attention was back on him. Good. Azriel was the threat and the person he needed to be wary of. Not Gwyn, who was here to do an actual job. Azriel, too, though Kai didn’t need to know that. Still, the princes gaze traveled over his body.

“I can show the lady how to get to the library from her bed chamber,” Kai said, his voice too silky for Azriel’s liking. Suddenly those adjoining rooms seemed necessary. He’d be keeping his door open at night…not that he slept most of the time anyway. Kai gestured for Gwyn, offering up a rather puny looking arm that she looked at with what Azriel interpreted as haughty disdain.

Had Nesta taught her that? Or was he misreading the expression on her face? It certainly dimmed some of Kai’s slick charm, at any rate, given his hand fell to his side.

And Gwyn still stepped forward. She didn’t touch him, reminding Azriel she was likely wary of the male. Azriel brought up the rear, once again making himself small to go back up those winding, narrow stairs.

Whereas before, Azriel worked to make himself seem smaller, once they were back on the landing, Azriel spread himself out for Kai’s benefit. He was big in comparison to the lean prince and he didn’t want that male to forget it. Let him think of Azriel as brute so long as Kai always thought twice when it came to Gwyn.

Or anyone from Prythian, for that matter.

Azriel tuned out their chatter in favor of his whispering shadows.

The king is on the grounds

Stained glass hides behind the curtains in the grand hall

There is a tomb just outside the garden

A large garrison on the outskirts of the city is only half filled

Little whispered pieces of information Azriel tucked away, uncertain if any of it was useful. It gave him an edge and answered some basic questions. His shadows were not with him, mapping the palace for him to later sketch out when he was alone.

It was the sound of Gwyn’s laugh that pulled Azriel from his job. Her face was lit with a genuine smile the likes of which had never been directed at him. She tucked a piece of hair behind a delicately arched ear devoid of any jewelry before she slid that same hand into the pocket of her azure dress. There was nothing Kai could have said to elicit such a response and yet Gwyn wasn’t a practiced courtier. She didn’t smile on demand, nor did she laugh because it was expected of her.

There was genuine mirth in those teal eyes. It should have filled him with relief. She didn’t need him breathing down her neck. And yet that smile bothered him for reasons he couldn’t quite place. Maybe it was just Kai, who was grinning back, pale cheeks flushed from whatever she was laughing at.

A joke at his expense, Azriel hoped. He swallowed his irritation, following the path up another dark level toward the library Gwyn would spend the majority of her time in.

“Why do you keep the windows covered?” Gwyn asked curiously, ducking her head when the prince turned his gaze to her fully.

“My father is still in mourning,” Kai told her easily, reaching for a set of wide, golden handles attached to two double doors. “Anything beautiful reminds him of her, so the windows stay closed and he remains in doors.”

“And you?” Gwyn questioned, her voice rich with sympathy.

Azriel recognized the icy rage that slithered over the prince’s face. “I miss her too,” he said, his breathless voice so at odds with the anger on his face. It was gone before Gwyn could look up and see what Azriel had.

He tucked that way, too. It was merely another piece in the strange puzzle of the Montessere palace. Maybe it meant nothing, but the thought of the queen flinging herself off one of those spires was an interesting mystery.

“I’m sorry to hear about your mother. Was it recent?” Gwyn, the clever creature, asked. Azriel betrayed nothing, stepping onto immaculate wood floor so clean he could see his own reflection against the warm surface. The room itself smelled heavily of mahogany and dust, and was so small Azriel wondered how they justified calling it a library. Gwyn, too, seemed taken aback by the open atrium of worn, sun-stained red furniture long abandoned, centered around tables that were cracked and gouged by time.

“Five years,” Kai murmured, reminding Azriel of what Mor had said. The Montessere royals were old. Five years was likely nothing to a male like Kai, who Azriel guessed had a few centuries on him. How had he spent it? “Is this what you’re accustomed to?”

Azriel thought of the lovely library Gwyn worked in and how carefully Rhys had expanded the knowledge within. There was, of course, no point in comparing anything to the library Helion had in the famed Sun Palace, but Rhys’s was a decent rival. Hell, Azriel bet even the Spring Court had more space than the narrow shelves of dusty, peeling books that travelled only two stories in the air, with shelves that were half empty.

“Um,” Gwyn began, eyes scanning the room. “It’s very…”

“Small,” Azriel supplied. “Is this all of it?”

“Of course not,” Kai said with an easy smile. “But your High Lord assured me our two lands shared similar values.”

Neither Gwyn nor Azriel moved, both looking at Kai as they waited for clarification. What could that possibly have to do with anything?

Color flooded Kai’s cheeks again. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, “Females in our territory ah…”

Gwyn looked up at Azriel, eyes wide.

“Don’t what?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Kai shrugged, the movement seemingly defensive. “Females are delicate.”

Gwyn’s mouth fell open. “Books hardly require that much physical exertion—”

“Ah, but reading is quite taxing, is it not?” Kai challenged with an earnestness that made Azriel want to bash Kai’s face in with his fist.

“I’ve never thought so,” Gwyn replied, eyes flashing a warning Azriel could read all too well. Kai seemed content to concede his point.

“Well, I suppose you have a lot to teach us. That was the point of your presence, was it not?”

“It is,” she said, offering him another tentative smile. It did nothing for his rising temper. Had Rhys and Mor known this? Why wouldn’t they warn him?

Kai was beaming again. “I look forward to this exchange of culture. Tomorrow I’ll be sure to have a scholar sent up—if you require anything, he’ll see you get it.”

“What do the females of Montessere do, then?” Gwyn interrupted, clearly curious. Azriel wondered this, too.

Kai’s smile faltered. “Why…they’re mothers, of course. Wives, too. What greater calling could there be? Truly society would crumble without them.”

His eyes shifted to Azriel, clearly questioning what Azriel’s function was in relation to Gwyn. Azriel said nothing, content to let the male imagine a variety of scenarios, all false. So long as it kept his fucking eyes off Gwyn, Azriel didn’t care what Kai thought.

“No priestesses?” Gwyn interrupted, unaware of the silent showdown. Kai glanced back at her.

“Some, but we prefer priests here.”

Yeah, Azriel bet they did. Wait until they learned of Feyre, he thought wryly. A female who rivaled her male counterpart in power and respect and ruled not beneath him, but alongside him as his equal. Azriel straightened himself at the thought, proud no one from the continent would ever be subjected to the same humiliation Gwyn was currently weathering.

“Well. I’ll see the pair of you at dinner? I’ll have a servant sent up so you don’t end up in the dungeons.”

Gwyn smiled at the pathetic joke though Azriel didn’t bother to acknowledge it at all. He merely stood, watching Kai brush a kiss against Gwyn’s knuckles. She snatched her hand back quickly, cradling it to her chest, brows pulled together not with fear, but annoyance. The pair waited until Kai closed the door behind them, blowing out a breath in unison.

“Fuck that guy,” Gwyn whispered, taking Azriel by surprised. A laugh bubbled out of him, echoing around them. Gwyn watched, eyes bright with delight as Azriel smothered the rest of it, though his smile lingered. “Now I have to stay, just to prove him wrong about me.”

“Not everything needs to be a fight, you know.”

She turned toward the curtained windows, hands on her hips. “I know that. But maybe some battles are worth fighting.”

And maybe she was right.

#gwynriel #why not i guess

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