Memory Lane

Chapter Two

C H A P T E R T W O

"Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it."

― L.M. Montgomery, The Story Girl

Azriel put on a good show of knowing who his daughter was. Gwyn made sure of it. She'd subtly inserted the girl's name, Catrin, and when the child had asked if Azriel was alright, his mate had told her 'Papa isn't feeling well after his trip.'

    The little girl had frowned and placed her chubby hands on either side of Azriel's face before asking where he was hurting.

    "Erm– my head," Azriel had replied, dumbstruck by the love and admiration in the girl's wide turquoise eyes.

    Catrin had beamed a gap-toothed smile, then pressed a rough kiss to the shadowsinger's forehead and asked: "All better, Papa?"

    Emotion had clogged his throat, preventing him from speaking. All Azriel managed to do was nod with a grunt of confirmation.

    Not long after, Azriel had scooped Catrin up in his arms and taken a seat on the edge of the mattress. Gwyn had settled down next to him. Their daughter had filled the silence with a long, rambling tale of how she'd fallen out of a tree yesterday. Azriel couldn't understand most of her childish babbling, but it was apparent the tale was quite harrowing. All the while she sat in the shadowsinger's lap and played with his hands, seemingly unaffected by his gruesome scars.

    "If I had wings like Nyx I would never fall," Catrin said knowledgeably.

    Nyx, Azriel could recall, was Rhysand and Feyre's firstborn. "You probably wouldn't, you're right," Azriel agreed. His gaze darted over to Gwyn who was watching the both of them with a distinctly gloomy expression. He lowered his voice, "She's... she's three?"

    Catrin didn't seem to hear him, continuing to ramble about wings and branches.    

    Gwyn lifted her shoulders, nodding noncommittally. "Nearly four. Very clever for her age." The heaviness in her posture increased, a wrinkle forming between her brows. "Named for my sister."

    That got Catrin's attention. She pivoted in her father's lap with such vigor she nearly fell off. Azriel kept a steady hand on her back, ensuring she remained seated on his legs.

    "Auntie Catrin is in the stars, right, Momma?"

    Gwyn smiled warmly at their daughter, a speckled hand tucking a lock of dark hair behind one of her arched ears. "That's right, angel."

    His mate's sister was dead? A frown tugged at the edges of Azriel's lips, but before he could offer his sympathies, the door to the bedroom opened. In walked Nesta, Feyre, Rhys and Madja.

    Catrin gasped excitedly and flung herself off of Azriel's lap. The shadows on his shoulders lurched for her, echoing their singer's panic.

    But his daughter landed lithely on the carpet and shambled off towards Nesta and Feyre, squealing happily.

    Nesta gathered the girl in her arms, murmuring words of affection and something that made her shriek a laugh. Feyre ruffled her hair and said something about sweets in the parlor. His daughter... His and Gwyn's daughter... She was well loved.

    Both Nesta and Feyre cast Azriel sheepish smiles as they left the room with Catrin, the latter shutting the door behind them leaving only Madja, Rhys, Gwyn and Azriel in the room.

    The elderly healer and his brother crossed to stand before where Gwyn and Azriel sat.

    "I just need to take a quick assessment, dear," Madja said kindly. She extended two aged hands, arching a silver brow in question. "May I?"