Rules for Spies

18

A minute into Azriel's new training regimen, Gwyn's heart is in her throat. She thinks of learning about magnets as a child, how she had not believed that magic was not involved in those stones. But now, as she cannot will her dagger towards Azriel's body without wanting to scream out a warning, she thinks of these stones, their automatic repulsion when handled in the right configuration.

She tries again to stab him, aiming for the thickest part of his leather, and her muscles will not obey. The snowy forest around them, in the wilderness of the Night Court, swallows her sigh of frustration.

"I used to be able to attack you. What happened?"

"The mating bond," Azriel says. "In theory, most mates don't need to stab each other."

"The Mother has truly blessed us," Gwyn deadpans, smiling at the shocked expression on Azriel's face, as if he's never heard a priestess utter a mild blasphemy. She'd grown up hearing much worse. "So how do I work around this?"

"I realized in Illyria, and at first it was difficult to spar with you, but once you attacked me, my survival instincts dampened the mating bond enough that I could fight back."

"You knew in Illyria?" She's thinking back to their training sessions, the times when he was easily beaten. At the time, she'd thought he was letting her win, perhaps as a result of his attraction to her, and she'd been annoyed. But now she knows that she didn't reveal the mating bond the moment before she ran from him, and she's all relief.

"I knew when Vassa attacked," he says, grave already, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"I thought I'd revealed it in the worst way, after Merrill. How have we not discussed this, shadowsinger?"

"To be fair, we've had other priorities."

"Koschei really has gotten in the way of our blossoming romance," she says, grinning.

"Among other things," Azriel agrees, studying her face. "You're not upset?"

"Currently only relieved. I'll let you know if that changes. Now how do I stab you?"

"Rhys suggested that we have to find a way to accommodate the bond. That we could trust each other enough to permit attacking."

"I'll try it," she says, watching him sheath Truth-Teller at his hip, his scarred hands empty. Her instincts shout at her to drop her own knife, to run to him, but she tightens her grip on her dagger, forces herself to remember him giving it to her before they questioned Vassa, how he'd oiled and sharpened the blades just for her. She reminds herself of all the lessons he's given her, the way Azriel knows at half a glance that her wrist is twisting too early or that she's not moving through an attack fluidly enough. That he has never wanted her to be defenseless.

Before she can talk herself out of it, she bounds through the snow and launches herself at him, aiming for a particularly meaty part of his shoulder. She manages to make a light slice, barely breaking his armor, her blood screaming at her to stop as soon as she registers the contact, but even so Azriel smiles at her as if it is a major victory.

"We can build on this," he says. "We'll feint if we need to."

Eventually, she is able to make slightly bigger cuts, but then Azriel says, "I need you to command me."

She shakes her head, wordless.

Gwyn had always hated the idea of using sirenic compulsion on Azriel, but now that she knows they're mates, the idea makes her skin crawl.

"You're in control of your powers, nightingale." The endearment, the signal that he is not under her command, only warms her a little.

"You're my mate," she says, reaching for the words to explain, feeling them slip past her grasping mind. "The bond is new, still forming, and I can already feel what you feel. What if my powers wreak havoc on that connection? Or what if -- We didn't get to choose each other, shadowsinger. I'm glad that you are the one the Mother gave me, but it seems like a step too far, to take away more of your choices."