The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 25

Azriel was nothing if not thorough. Strategic. The task of searching the sewer tunnels under the library and the rest of the city was daunting - a person could get lost in the miles of twists and turns. But he was the spymaster. He was methodical. He walked down the tunnel he'd landed in, noting when he came to his first choice of which direction to move. He marked on the wall the choice that he made before proceeding to the right.

This he repeated. Over and over. And over. And over. When he reached a dead end, he tracked back to the most recent choice and would then examine the path he had not yet walked. Time was nothing as he trailed through the caverns, though he was vaguely aware that he had likely been down there for hours. Rhysand had only reached out once, to tell him that their dusk meeting in the war room had been more of the same. No leads. No sign of Gwyn or Merrill. Nothing.

Always nothing.

The shadowsinger shook his head as he came to another fork, hope dwindling. If she was here, how had she gotten so far? If Merrill had incapacitated her, she would've had to drag her the miles they must have gone. If Merrill hadn't, then how would a trained Valkyrie like Gwyn not have found a way to overpower her?

And then he heard it.

Like claws against stone. Scratching. But not the scritch of rodents' feet as they traversed the tunnel floors. It was something bigger. More substantial.

Perhaps a person.

He swore his feet barely touched the ground as he followed the sounds, his heart drumming wildly in his chest. But he didn't cry out, not yet. If Merrill was near enough to hear she could take any manner of drastic, deadly action. Azriel skidded around another corner.

And froze.

There, maybe thirty feet in front of him, lay the form of a woman, voluminous robes spread around her. She seemed to be twitching, writhing. Fingers desperately grasping and clawing for any sort of purchase in the stone around her.

"Gwyn!" he cried, closing the distance, the light from his siphons revealing a sight that threatened to undo him as he fell to his knees beside her.

Her robes were soiled and damp, as were her shoes. All of her muscles seemed to clench as she tremored and wriggled. Her fingernails were chipped and broken, fingertips bloody from where she must have been scraping madly at the stone. One side of her face was bruised, and her voice seemed as if it wanted to escape her throat, but couldn't. And her eyes...

They were wide open. Unseeing. There was no response as he called her name over and over. No reaction when he pulled her writhing form into his arms, overwhelming fear icing the blood in his veins. She was alive, but...

'RHYS.' Azriel only sent the one desperate word before commanding his shadows to swallow him and his priestess and bring them to the front gate of the River House. The High Lord and High Lady sprinted out the door only a moment later. The shadowsinger continued trying to reach her as her body shook and clenched in his grasp. But his panic continued to rise as his whispered vows of 'I've got you' and 'you're safe' and 'I love you' seemed to fall on deaf ears.

"I don't know what's wrong with her," he croaked, tears rolling unnoticed down his cheeks as Rhys and Feyre approached. "Please, help her."

The High Lord's violet eyes narrowed as his gaze swept over the unresponsive warrior, as if trying to diagnose an unseen illness. Azriel's stomach plummeted as his brother's eyes went wide, horror flashing across his face. As quickly as it had appeared it had gone, the High Lord's practiced calm back in place. He regarded Gwyn with intensity, and she went limp.

Rhysand sensed the spymaster's rising panic. "She's passed out. It's probably best. She's been awake for more than two days," he explained, the information only slightly soothing Azriel's anxiety. But when his eyes dipped to Gwyn's lovely face and found her eyes closed, her muscles languid and loose, he looked back to the High Lord.