A Court of Whispers and Song

Chapter 15

Gwyn's heart was overflowing. She'd somehow convinced Nesta and Emerie to waste their entire afternoon making friendship bracelets. Gifts for the new Valkyrie recruits, symbolizing that none of them were alone. Not anymore. Proof they were now all part of an ever-growing sisterhood, bonded through tears, sweat, and blood. All of which Gwyn would gladly spill for her friends, especially for her two sisters at her side.

"Nes, how in the actual fuck am I supposed to do this," Cassian muttered to his mate. Curiosity, it seemed, had gotten the best of the mighty Illyrian General, who ended up at their table—crafting. The things that a bold male would do for his mate.

Gwyn dared a peek from the wristband she was braiding. Her eyes went wide. What the? She tilted her head, her hair sliding over her right shoulder. How—how was it even possible?

How the General bound his middle and index finger together with the black strings went beyond her comprehension. She shrugged, biting her lip to squelch her laughter.

"Stop pulling, you Illyrian baby!" Nesta sighed in frustration, her fingers working at the knot. "You're making the damn thing tighter!"

Cassian pulled. Nesta's eyes narrowed, shooting him a withering stare that would have shaken the knees of a death god. "You are worse than a child, Cassian."

The large Illyrian male pushed out his lower lip in a pout. Clasping her mate's cheeks between her palms, Nesta leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Her teeth caught his protruding lip as she pulled away. Cassian's large body shuddered. A deep groan rumbled from him that made the tips of Gwyn's ears turn pink.

"Get a room," Emerie muttered, smirking, as she pretended her project was the most important thing in the room.

Nesta snorted. "It's my House. I get every room."

"Damn straight," Cassian muttered, kissing his mate again.

"You are ridiculous." Nes smiled against his mouth. Another soft peck. "And don't feel bad. Honest to gods, I don't know how to make these damn things either. Gwyn must wield magic because hers always turns out too perfect," Nesta huffed, swatting her mate's now free digits. "I mean, look at this mess."

Nesta reached over, unveiling her bracelet of indigo, eggplant, and magenta intended for Roslin. It arced into an S-curve instead of a straight line. And several sections were wider than others. But it still made Gwyn smile widely. A little piece of Catrin survived in that bracelet, woven into this tradition.

Gwyn needed to see this. Especially today.

Violet over rose. Rose over marigold. Marigold over violet. The strings crisscrossing over the other. It was for Lortcia, a priestess who originally hailed from the Spring Court. Until the war with Hybern.

Hybern. That man. Those soldiers.

Gwyn's hand trembled.

She'd worked so hard—so damn hard to leave those memories entombed in the temple brick. But on this specific date, this damn day, the memory of him ...

Them.

Her.

Fear took her, seized her, coiling around her ribs like a serpent.

I am the rock...

You are here, and she is not...

"Gwyn?"

I am the rock against which...

"Gwyn, honey?"

You should have left. All you did was stand there...