The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 16

Shimmering veins of pale morning sunlight streamed in through the narrow window of the sparse chamber. Gwyn cracked her eyes open slowly to shield herself from the brightness. Blinking a few times she hefted her shoulders up, muscles tightening in her upper back – a lingering reminder of the work she had put her body through late into the previous evening. The priestess had known that she would need to exhaust herself. She had nearly added a tonic just to be sure.

It was her birthday.

And while birthdays weren't necessarily as meaningful to fae, who lived for literal centuries, Gwyneth Berdara's birthday held a special significance.

It was also Catrin's birthday.

Just the thought sent her throat bobbing and eyes prickling with emotion. Another birthday that her sister wouldn't see. Another stark reminder that Gwyn had survived for some godsforsaken reason. Another year that those eyes – the same ones that the Valkyrie saw in the mirror every day – would never see again.

Because Gwyn had been weak and afraid.

Powerless.

Callused fingers brushed away the droplets that had fallen from her lashes. Merrill had once told her, in that beautiful, vicious voice of hers, that the roughness of her hands was unbecoming. She huffed at the thought. The winter-haired priestess seemed to think everything about Gwyn was not befitting a priestess or a female. But they were a testament to the vow she had made to her sister the day she had scrawled her name onto the sheet in the library. The calluses, her body, her skills – she had sharpened herself into a blade, determined to be at no one's mercy again.

With a shake of her head – copper tendrils brushing haphazardly over her neck – she hopped out of the small bed. The light meant that she'd slept later than usual, and she wanted to get to the training ring early enough to stretch out those sore muscles. The priestess moved toward the small chest of drawers when her gaze snagged on the small dressing table, a single red rose and a square of parchment laying upon it. Gwyn knew the culprit before she even touched the note, and she willed herself to ask the shadowsinger how he could manage to get these little surprise treasures down to the dorms and into her room. But he was the spymaster. Surely he had any number of strategies and connections, and she felt very secure in the fact that none of those strategies involved his creeping in while she slept. He was far too respectful.

She perused the short note, absentmindedly lifting the bloom to her nose as a smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

Happy Birthday, lovely songbird.

Yours,

Azriel

The emotions returned to her throat. Yours . She shouldn't have been surprised by it. She'd felt that she'd taken a bit of a chance signing his Solstice gift in the same way, but the shadow-swathed Illyrian had seemed pleased. The possessiveness that thrummed through her veins at the notion that he was hers was unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable. Not even remotely.

In fact, it was something more like a feral pride.

She hummed in satisfaction and took one more whiff of the lovely rose before setting it aside and retrieving her leathers from the sparsely filled dresser. When she was dressed she combed her hands through her unruly hair and wove it into a simple plait, using her fingers to smooth down any errant strands. The mirror was not an option this morning.

She could not look into her sister's eyes. Not today.

And with a final look around the room and a sigh she turned on her heel and made her way up to the House of Wind.