A Court of Light and Melody

Chapter 69 - We Must Say Goodbye

"But what is grief, if not love persevering?"

- Paul Bettany as "Vision"

Song: Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again - Emmy Rossum "Phantom of the Opera"

Four Months Later

"You're certain?" Azriel asked yet again.

He stood behind Gwyn on the veranda of the House of Wind, her back to his front, hands gently gripping her shoulders as she stared out at the mountains and the winding river below.

Gwyn nodded, swallowing hard. "I... I want to see it." The wry smile she wore was genuine. "And with my shadowsinger mate by my side, I couldn't feel more certain," she said over her shoulder.

Azriel bowed his head, pressing his lips into her hair. "My beautiful, brave mate," he breathed against the crown of her head. "Ready?"

"Ready."

Azriel's shadows swarmed, encasing them in plumes of darkness, their feathery tendrils nuzzling against Gwyn fondly.

When they dissipated, Gwyn's jaw clenched. Her knees threatened to buckle. Azriel steadied her on the chipped cobblestone pavement, bracing her by her elbow.

She was standing before the temple of Sangravah.

Or what remained of it.

Despite the afternoon sun warming her cheeks, Gwyn felt ice cold.

It was exactly how she remembered. Exactly how it had looked that night.

In ruins.

Although the rubble had been cleared away.

"We can go back," Azriel said softly. "Say the word."

Her heart was in her throat when she replied: "No."

The shadowsinger stilled behind her, then after a moment, kissed the crown of her head encouragingly.

Gwyn turned in his arms to face him. "I can do this."

Her mate's answering smile was gentle, eyes dancing with a somber sort of mirth. "Prove it."

She laughed quietly, leaning her forehead against his. "Together."

"Together, songbird."

Gwyn took a deep, sobering breath, then released a shuddering exhale. She weaved their fingers together, then started down the uneven cobblestone towards the crumbling temple.

Inside Gwyn found that while some of the temple windows had been boarded up, a number of them were intact. The stained glass that remained cast the mahogany floors and battered wooden pews in a rainbow of colors.

Her feet carried her down the aisle to an empty space.

She gestured to it. "This is where Catrin and I would seat the children." She pointed to the pew behind the vacant spot. "And that's where we would sit. Us and the other younger priestesses that tended to the children."

"Were there many? Children?"

Gwyn shrugged. "A dozen or so." A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Well behaved for Catrin. Quite the troublemakers for me though."

"That just means you were more fun," Azriel said, giving her arm a doting stroke.

He was right. She had been the more fun one of the two of them. Of all the priestesses. " Ill behaved ," the High Priestess would call Gwyn, " inappropriate ." Her smile broadened. Perhaps not the charming, outgoing priestess her sister had been, but special in her own right. Special in an irreverent, honest, raw sort of way. A sort of way that Azriel appreciated.That Nesta and Emerie and the High Lord's inner circle appreciated.