The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 27

Calluses scratched over his face, rubbing over his tired eyes. "I'm a reasonably intelligent male, am I not?" When nothing but the soft scritch of shuffling parchment pages answered, Azriel turned his head. Icy eyes met his gaze, a golden eyebrow arched skeptically.

"I need more information before I answer that question." Nesta smirked, earning a huff from the shadowsinger.

"My point is... none of this makes sense. It's just piles of disconnected scribbles and ramblings." He rose from the stool, eager to stretch his wings and the strained muscles in his back and neck. "Who could possibly keep track of all of this? How did Merrill ever get any work done in this chaos?"

"Gwyn," Nesta snorted. " Gwyn could keep track." Azriel's lips tilted at the mention of the redhead, and his cheeks warmed when Nesta's expression softened at his reaction. Frustrated as he was with the mountains of paper and penmanship, his demeanor had loosened significantly. The knowledge that Gwyn was safe and healing and protected put him at ease. "Gods, you are smitten, Az." His hand found the back of his neck as he chuckled shyly, before lifting both arms above his head and lengthening the muscles down the entirety of his body. The eldest Archeron just continued to watch him with a gentle smile that he was not used to seeing from her.

"I love her," he murmured, shrugging as if it were the most natural, obvious thing in the world. Her head tilted back with a huffed laugh.

"Yes, I've noticed."

Azriel returned to the stool, grimacing as he shuffled through the scraps of parchment and leather, the whorls over his hands a stark contrast to the smooth pages.

"She loves you, too," Nesta continued. When the spymaster glanced at her she was back to rifling through the papers, as well. "She shows love to most everyone, but you have always been special. I hope you know that." Her sharp tone was overflowing with unspoken words.

She loves you. Treat her as such.

You've always been special. Don't push her away when she shows it.

' So just don't do all the things that you've already done,' he mused to himself. But he let loose a genuine smile.

"I do know. She has shown me time and time again. And I am so grateful," he answered, thoughts once again drifting to the silken curtain of copper hair that had been splayed over her pillow when they woke this morning. She was still under strict orders to rest, but Madja had agreed that she could move to Azriel's suite at the estate. The bed was much larger - furnished to accommodate an Illyrian male and a partner or two - and he had taken full advantage of the Valkyrie's plea to be held by him.

It was difficult, not hearing the chime of her melodic voice, but if her silence now meant that he could sit and listen to her - far into their future - carrying on about anything and everything under the sun. Well, her quiet now was well worth it. So he filled the night air with his shadows and soft words of encouragement and love, pressing gentle kisses to her brow, temples, neck, shoulders.

Nobody would have ever guessed that he could talk so much, nor that he found silence with her uncomfortable. It usually meant that she was unwell. Or anxious. Or sad. It put his heart and thin shadows at ease when she was talking endlessly.

She had adapted remarkably to her ordered muteness, and while he and Nesta were in the library sifting for clues in Merrills hoard, Gwyn was scheduled for a follow-up with Madja. Perhaps that sweet voice would greet him upon their return.

"Speaking of Gwyn," Nesta began, snapping his decadent reverie, "it might be worth it to have her look at some of this. She would probably be able to make more sense of it than we can."