Rules for Spies

22

"They'll be here in twenty minutes," Gwyn sighs, wrangling her rucked-up hair into a ponytail, the copper strands flying in all directions as Azriel fails to suppress a smirk at this evidence of their last hour in bed, especially when he takes in gauzy white dress, the pale blue of her bathing costume showing through the fabric, her new necklace sparkling in its usual place at the dip of her collarbone, a sapphire and a diamond nestled against each other.

"That's plenty of time for toast and coffee and deciding on whatever you're going to read at the seaside."

She swats at him, laughing brighter than she has in weeks. "You must know I've picked the books out already."

Nesta and Cassian have organized the trip to the sea, now that the thick of summer means the water will be slightly above freezing, and he'd convinced Gwyn to take the day off. Lucien is at work on one final spell with Helion which they've deemed necessary for the confrontation with Koschei, and in the meantime, there is little for her to do but wait.

Still, like him, Gwyn has never been good at staying idle.

Even now, she pushes him gently toward the bedroom and moves into the kitchen.

"Let me enjoy this kitchen before it's torn down," she says, smiling as she moves to the jar where they store the coffee beans.

He washes himself quickly and changes into his own bathing costume, rolling up his shirtsleeves in anticipation of the summer sun as the scent of coffee fills the room, and he thinks for just a moment that he'll miss this small apartment when the builders finish their work on the loft he and Gwyn designed together, with space for his wings and their weapons and books, her unruly piles of notes and his files, all their daggers and the small but growing collection of art they've assembled on evening walks through the Rainbow.

For the first time in Azriel's life, he'll have a home of his own, built for a lifetime with his mate.

When he returns to the kitchen, Gwyn is slathering the toast with butter, her expression unreadable.

"What's wrong, nightingale?"

She only sighs, and he moves toward her, wrapping his arms around her waist, kissing the place where her shoulder curves.

"It feels wrong to have a mating ceremony without my mother or Catrin there."

"What made you think of this?"

She turns and her teal eyes shine up at him, filled with love and tears he wasn't expecting.

"I don't want to spend another day where you aren't my mate, Azriel." But there's something in her voice that makes him pause, cup her cheek.

"What makes you say that today?"

"Once Lucien's spell is ready, I'm going back to Koschei's lake. And I keep thinking, what if this is the last happy moment before everything ends? I don't want to die without accepting our bond."

"You're going to survive this mission. You're stronger than you were before, and you understand Koschei's power better than anybody. According to Elain's visions--"

"An oracle's power can be tampered with."

"You're going to argue with the spymaster of the Night Court when he says you're more than capable of prevailing over a death-god?"

She blinks away her tears, and he watches as a smirk curls the corner of her lips.

"I'm trying to determine whether you've decided you don't want me to accept the mating bond, shadowsinger."

"It would be my greatest joy. But not if you're afraid."

She reaches for him, twining her hands around his neck.