Shadowsinger

Chapter 44

Gwyn almost didn't recognize the female staring back at her from the mirror as Nesta did up the clasps on the back of her dress, no, not just a dress, her damned wedding gown. It had been three months since the battle, three months to rebuild and reform Illyria, but it still seemed like only yesterday she had accepted Nesta's offer of training and truly met the male who had taught her not only to fight, but to trust, and to love again. 

"Deep breath." Nesta ordered, and Gwyn chuckled as she realized her breathing had gotten irregular, "You're allowed to be nervous, I was, a bit," Gwyn snorted again at the half-admission,

"It's not that," she said as Emerie forced her to sit and started brushing out her hair while Nesta brushed off her shoes, "It just feels surreal, like, I don't know, like maybe it's a dream, all of it, and I'll wake up in the library in the morning, still scared to go outside." Emerie pinched her shoulder,

"Does that feel like a dream?" Gwyn huffed in outrage, and yelped when Emerie prodded her side, "What about that?"

"No! Okay, okay, sto-op it," she swatted Emerie's hand away, it did feel like a dream, but a very real one. She prodded Emerie in the ribs, who froze at the slight cough from the doorway. They both looked over to where Elain stood, eyes narrowed, one hand on a hip, the other holding a covered bundle,

"And here I was thinking you lot might leave the violence out of it for a day, besides, shouldn't you let the bride win?" She teased, and Gwyn grinned triumphantly at Emerie,

"Keep that up and I won't do your hair for the theater next week, Elain," Emerie threatened, but Elain laughed, 

"Do that, and I'll arrange for you to be seated away from Mor," Emerie gasped,

"You wouldn't!" Elain raised an eyebrow as if to say, don't test me, and Emerie retreated, tossing her hands up, 

"Fine, fine," before tossing a glare at Nesta, "You Archeron females are brutal,"

"How do you think we survived this long?" Nesta laughed, "Not by giving in to threats from you, Em," Elain cleared her throat, 

"Delightful as watching you two spar when Emerie is supposed to be doing your hair, Gwyn, I do need to make sure the temple is all set up, Mother forbid I leave Feyre and the boys to oversee it. But I have your bouquet," she pulled the cover off the bundle she'd been carrying, and Gwyn's eyes widened at the sight of it. It was beautiful, a core of black lilies surrounded by tiny flowers of white and blue and teal, with a ring of onyx roses at the edge, shadows and light playing off the different colors.

"Thank you," she breathed, and reached out to squeeze Elain's hand, "It's perfect," and it was, the shadows, the light, twining together into a splash of color, his color, and hers. "You sure you only got the seeing from the Cauldron?"

"Positive," Elain chuckled, "And I couldn't very well do a sub-par bouquet for my friend's wedding now, could I?" Gwyn grinned again, and snorted when Emerie hissed at her to sit still or she'd mess up the braids.

Almost an hour later, Gwyn was stood back in front of the mirror, again struggling to believe the stunning female gazing back was really her. Her hair was flawless, a hundred tiny braids twisted back from her face and up behind her head into a bun, the rest flowing down her back. Every braid was placed carefully, framing her face, and the tiny emeralds and diamonds that Emerie had woven into each strand seemed to catch the light, giving her the sense that her hair itself was shining with their light. Mor had been in earlier to help with her cosmetics, but she'd kept it fairly natural, not wanting to wash Gwyn out by over-doing it. A touch of rouge along her cheekbones, her eyes lined with black, but she'd brushed green matching the emeralds in Gwyn's hair over her eyelids. Her lips were painted a soft rosy color, not quite pink, but not quite red either.