The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 11

To say that Gwyn held onto his arm for dear life might have been an understatement. Both of her hands were clutched around his bent arm, knuckles white, and Azriel could feel the pleasant warmth of her body against his. He kept his gaze on her, as much as he could while still navigating them down the street, alert for signs of panic or discomfort. But, while her grip was vice-like, her eyes were alight with awe and a small smile graced her pink lips.

His shadows flitted around them, seemingly also content with their freedom and foray into the city. They floated around their joined arms and brushed through Gwyn's hair, the dark tendrils a stark contrast to the sun-kissed copper.

"I'm sorry about them," he murmured. "They are particularly excited about this trip, it seems."

"You needn't continue to apologize for your shadows," the priestess answered, granting him a quick glance of shining teal eyes. "They're lovely. And they seem quite friendly." He felt her sigh contentedly, hands pulling against his arm. "And they are a part of you, so I know I have nothing to fear from them."

He stopped, nearly causing her to stumble back against her grip on him. Heat bloomed across his cheeks as he took a moment to stare down at her as she looked to him, confused. His jaw was slack, her words slicing through his usual internal reverie – a whirlwind of self-loathing and fear, a storm that would calm here and there as he allowed thoughts of her to settle in.

"Azriel? Did I... did I say something I shouldn't have?" Teal pools narrowed with concern and he quickly shook his head.

"No, not at all. You just..." Azriel huffed out a breath, the corner of his mouth tilting up. "You always surprise me, Berdara."

Her head tilted, satisfaction shining in her smile. But Gwyn's eyes were still clouded with bewilderment. "As much as I enjoy hearing that, Shadowsinger, I'm going to need you to elaborate."

His grin widened and he tugged on her, pulling her over to a darkened alcove between two stone buildings. Hidden from the sun, he let his shadows thicken, darken, shield them from the occasional passerby.

"You realize, Gwyn, that my shadows typically send people running. That I could plunge someone into mind-shattering darkness with just a thought." It wasn't that he was trying to intimidate her, but 'lovely' and 'friendly' were not usually on the list of terms associated with the shadowsinger. Which was why her statement had been surprising. And his statement was met with a raised eyebrow and shallow pools gleaming with challenge, shimmering almost in defiance of the darkness of the shadows around them.

"And?"

Azriel's head tilted back as he chuckled, mirth and admiration warming his chest. This female – priestess, warrior, survivor – was not just surprising. She was so painfully special.

"You're incredible. Do you know that?" he murmured, expression sobering slightly. He faced her fully, even as she kept her grip on his arm, and reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Of course I do, Shadowsinger," she scoffed, a grin still dancing on her lips. "But you still haven't explained why you seem to be so surprised by it."

A sigh escaped his lips. "Because nobody describes my shadows as lovely or friendly, Gwyneth. And nobody simply assumes their benevolence based solely on the fact that they're mine."

"Well then nobody has taken the time to know you as well as you deserve." Gwyn's hands left his arm, and before he could mourn the loss of her warmth she reached them up to cup his cheeks. "You're not a monster, Azriel. I promised that I'd continue reminding you of that, and so I am." His breath hitched, and he could feel his jaw slacken again under her palms. He focused his gaze on the sincerity reflecting back at him, finding himself tempted to trace the freckles splattered over her cheeks.