A Court of Light and Melody

Chapter 43 - Counting My Sins

"They knew it. Time, distance, nothing could separate them. Because they knew. It was right. It was real."

- Nora Ephron "Sleepless in Seattle"

Song: From Me, the Moon - Lav

Tamlin carried Azriel's crumpled body back to the manor, Gwyn silent at his side.

A thousand thoughts banged their fists on the sides of her skull. Insistent that she address every single one of them.

Is Azriel alright?

Are you alright?

Is Tamlin angry that you killed on his land?

How much blood is on your hands now?

Do you feel any regret at all?

Gwyn shut them all out. Jaw locked and hands clasped tight around Truth-Teller's pommell. She couldn't afford to let them in. She would break down if she did. She wouldn't make it back to the manor.

So instead she walked stiffly at Tamlin's side and once they arrived back at his home she followed his every command.

He laid Azriel on the dining table and asked calmly that she retrieve a basket of supplies from the kitchen cupboard. Bandages, clamps, towels, ointments. She set it down beside him with shaking hands and awaited her next set of orders, which were to retrieve two bowls of water.

Careful not to slosh any of the liquid onto the floor, Gwyn placed the bowls on the table next to Azriel's prone, twitching form.

Gods, this felt like the day he'd showed up broken and bloodied at the House of Wind. That day he had nearly died and she had pressed her hands to his bleeding chest.

But that panic wasn't there. The one that had brought her to her knees. Somehow she knew that Azriel would survive this. But that didn't make the intrusive, malevolent thoughts any easier to confront.

Azriel's body shuddered, his shadows thin and quivering, as Tamlin began to remove bits of the barbed net.

"Once I clean off the faebane his Illyrian healing should set to work," Tamlin murmured.

Gwyn forced a nod.

The High Lord's emerald eyes flicked up to her briefly, and she could've sworn she glimpsed a hint of sympathy in them. "Go wash up, Gwyn. Then clear off his bed. I should be... finished by the time you're done."

More busy work to keep her mind off of her brutally battered mate. Splendid.

Gwyn dragged herself away from the table where Azriel lay, his blue dusted body shivering as barb by barb Tamlin removed the net he'd been caught in. A trap. They'd laid a trap for him.

Gwyn avoided confronting her reflection in the washroom mirror. Instead she crossed right to the tub and drew a warm bath.

Sinking into the water, she did her best not to look at the surface. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the clear water begin to run pink with the blood of the men she'd killed. Killed .

Cauldron, how much blood had she spilled now?

Gwyn scrubbed furiously at the blood on her fingers, then nearly clawed it off of her neck and face. She rinsed herself clean of all the dirty work she had done.

Dirty.

As if that was a suitable enough word to describe the terror she had wrought...

Drying off, Gwyn changed into the white tunic and black breeches from her pack, then started for Azriel's room. Once inside, his scent was faint but unmistakable. He'd only been here two days but to her, the smell of cedar and night mist coated every surface. It filled her nose and nearly brought her to her knees as with trembling hands she straightened the bedding and fluffed the pillows.