A Song of Faithless Shadows

2. Little Typhoon

Azriel

Gwyneth's knuckles are bruised and bleeding by the time I arrive back from the court of nightmares. I couldn't say how long she had been at it tonight, but I could say that her form looked like shit. I tell her as much.

"Does it," she answers flatly in return, going back to the punching bag. Her form- while uncharacteristically flawed- persisted, but her rhythm was solid- dare I say perfect. I could tell the priestess had a knack for repetition.

"Any particular reason why?" I'm struck by an acute curiosity, an emotion I don't experience all that often. Part of my job is getting answers out of people, but it's never to satisfy curiosity- it's a means to an end. However, in regards to what I've asked Gwyneth... there is no end. I'm simply and astoundingly curious to her answer.

She shrugs. "Clearing my mind." A disappointingly vague answer.

"You could try clearing your mind without splitting your knuckles and damaging the good muscle memory that you've taken months to establish?" I suggest.

"Did you know about the letter Rhysand and Feyre wrote me?" She turns her attention to me, halting her practice.

"There isn't much that goes on in Velaris that I don't know about," I answer her.

She chews on her lip. "So you know what the meeting they've called Nesta, Emerie, and I in for is about?"

"I do."

"You're not going to tell me?" She doesn't look surprised by it, though certainly irritated.

"You'll find out soon enough," I shrug. "You must know that you're not in trouble."

She scoffs openly. "How must I know that?"

A laugh bubbles from me. "Gwyneth, what could you have possibly done?" She's possibly the most blameless person I've ever met. A priestess who somehow managed to get Nesta to like her- she has no idea that she's so agreeable it's sickening.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

"If that is what has your mind whirling, I invite you to give your fists a rest," I tell her lazily. "This meeting is not one to reprimand you or your sisters. In fact, you'll likely be flattered by it."

"I'm not much thinking of the meeting," she admits defeatedly, going to wrap her busted knuckles. "I'm more thinking of a conversation I had earlier."

That intrigues me. "With Nesta?"

She laughs. "Certainly not. I haven't seen Nesta since lunchtime when she helped move me in," she scrunches her nose. "And I don't expect I'll see her again until lunchtime tomorrow when she has finally gotten sick of Cassian."

"You should've asked me before moving in," I cross my arms, lowering myself to sit on the corner of the weapons table. "There's a reason I'm chased to this end of the house at bizzare hours of the night."

She gasps, affronted. "And here I thought you just liked seeing me," she says theatrically.

"You're wrapping your knuckles wrong," I tell her.

She cracks a grin. "That's been driving you crazy the whole conversation," she observes the clench in my jaw.

"Sounds like you bask in driving me crazy." I raise a brow.

She laughs again, the sound melodic, a warm current. "Show me how?" She submits her hand to me. I poach my shadows closer as to not frighten her. Her finger twitches when my skin at last touches hers, but I know she'd prefer if I ignored it.