The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 2

Azriel tensed, cursing his shadows for once again not alerting him to Gwyn's presence. The question had been dry and withering, but he also detected the softest hint of desperation – a nearly silent plea. He wasn't ready for that question. Of course he wanted to speak to her. He wanted to talk to her all day, every day. He turned to face the doorway to the House where she stood in those damned leathers, arms crossed, leaning her hip against the frame. He wished the one-sided grin she wore would creep into her eyes.

"You've been avoiding me."

Azriel thought about denying it, but that would have been a pathetic attempt at a bald-faced lie. He somehow found the courage to meet her gaze and found a storm there, too many warring emotions for him to identify. The silence that stretched between them kept him rooted where he stood, uncomfortable with the quiet. Quiet was unusual for Gwyn, and his eyes narrowed as he watched her. As if she noticed his shift her lashes lowered.

"You don't even try to deny it," she murmured. She made no move to come nearer to him, and her softness made something in his chest tighten.

"Gwyn –"

"I thought we were friends, Azriel. I was caught off-guard, but you have to know it was forgiven the day it happened." The priestess looked back up to him. His body vibrated from the determination that sparkled in her gaze like the moon reflected in the sea. "It was stupid, Azriel. And unfair to both Elain and myself. But everyone does stupid things."

The Illyrian took a cautious step toward her, afraid she would bolt. "We are friends, Gwyn. I'm sorry. You're right, I was an idiot."

"We both deserve better. But I know you'll be better." She shrugged. His breathing shallowed when she finally pushed away from the door frame and walked to him, stopping just out of his reach.

"I miss you, Azriel."

That simple utterance knocked him on his heels, shadows settling around his shoulders. Her admission seemed almost a relief to them, even if he couldn't quite place the feeling her words had left within him. Gwyn had never minced words – she had always been unabashedly honest and straightforward. And yet somehow it always surprised him.

"Why do you still wear it?" he blurted out, wondering how he could be stupid enough not to admit that he'd missed her, too.

"Do you not want me to?" She raised a brow at him and he balked. He knew his eyes must have been wide as saucers.

"No, no, that's not what I meant." Gods how did she always make his thoughts such a mess? Why couldn't he find the right words with her?

Gwyn's musical laughter pealed into the summer afternoon. How he had missed that sound. "I wear it because it's lovely. It makes me happy, and it is the finest gift I've ever received." He studied her, wondering how she made it sound so simple, how there was no hurt attached to the delicate pendant and chain. She said she was caught off-guard, but the look in her eyes that day... the tears... "Why did you give it to me? And why was it a secret?"

Those were far more loaded questions. Azriel ran a hand through his hair and looked away.

"When Elain returned the necklace to me I had every intention of returning it to the shop. I had it in my pocket all day. And yet, at the end of it... something just made me think that you might like it." He waited for any reaction, but she just looked at him and gave him a nod to continue. "I thought it might make you smile, and I asked Clotho not to tell you it was from me because..."

Why had he, really? Did he even know? Had he been holding on to any hope that Elain might still be a future he could grasp? Was there ever any hope for that, other than his foolish pining? And was it for Elain, or just for what his brothers had been blessed to find? "I didn't want to overwhelm you or think that it meant more than it did."

Fuck, that didn't sound right at all. He dared a glance back to her face and saw those eyes brewing again.

"You think me so naïve, Shadowsinger?" Her tone was clipped. "I'm not so foolish to fall in love with a male simply because he deigns me worthy enough to receive a pretty gift. Not so stupid to presume it means more than what it is to him, either." She glared at him, and he wanted nothing more than to shrink away. He just kept choosing the wrong words.

"I don't think that, Gwyn. And I'm sorry for all of this. I never meant to make you feel like I just settled for giving it to you because I couldn't have Elain." The priestess stiffened, almost imperceptibly, before looking away.

"Your romantic pursuits aren't my business, Azriel."

Her voice was so soft, barely a whisper. Not the voice of the bold priestess, and it was like a fist in his gut. The words – the hint of resignation – made his insides roil. Did she want it to be her business?

Did he?

"Anyway," she sighed and looked back at him with a grin. "It's mine now. I love it. I'll wear it until something happens to it. Or until someone decides to gift me something prettier."

The idea of a male giving her that gift – to replace his – sent his shadows twisting as Azriel bristled.

"So everything is forgiven, and we can go back to normal, right?"

He grinned, even though he was trying to analyze everything she had said... to find the reason why that grin, too, was not reflected in her eyes.

"Of course."

Gwyn beamed at him, then, twin pools of teal shining at him.

"Great," she answered before turning away from him and heading back toward the door. "Don't be a stranger, Shadowsinger."

Azriel just watched as she disappeared, wondering how to piece it all together. He couldn't stop thinking about how her hair burned like fire under the sun, how the only time her smile had crinkled the corners of her eyes was when he had agreed that things would go back to normal.

Why hadn't he told her that he missed her, too? Why had her words made him feel so hollow?

Your romantic pursuits aren't my business.

I'll wear it until someone decides to gift me something prettier.

The Spymaster growled to himself and returned to the discarded scraps he'd grabbed to start wrapping his hands. He had needed to punch things before, but now? His confusion and her words and her eyes and those damned leathers and her strangely subdued demeanor...

"Stop. It."

She wanted to be friends. He could deal with friends, even as he refused to acknowledge how the thought threatened to crush him. Why? He knew where they stood, knew what he was. Friends was far more than he deserved, knowing that he'd made her cry.

I was caught off-guard.

Why had she cried? Why didn't he ask her?

He secured his wraps and ran a hand through his hair, closing his eyes and letting the sun warm his face. He needed a distraction, needed a way to settle himself. There had been so little activity in the other courts, the human lands, across the sea. Maybe things were too quiet. Maybe the Spymaster needed to check up on things.

Maybe it would be the perfect way to stay far away from that freckled face curtained with copper silk that threatened to ruin him.