A Court of Whispers and Song

Chapter 46

Training was grueling. Brutal. Gwyn could scarcely breathe, her chest heavy, and it wasn't from the exercise. Gods. He hadn't glanced at her once. Not once. Something about that chilled her to the marrow. Particularly after what Nesta and Cassian said at breakfast. And when they'd sought the same practice sword on the weapons rack, their fingers brushing at one point? Az did nothing but turn and leave.

The sadness Gwyn held changed into resentment in her veins. Suddenly, nothing seemed to function. Her body. Mind. Heart. No matter how sloppy and uncoordinated she was, she had to convey her aggression.

Or she would burst.

As if sensing this, Cassian pulled her aside and claimed Gwyn as his partner. In hand was a blunt training sword, and he gestured for her to take her stance.

"Az is being a broody prick," Cassian muttered, flipping the weapon in his large hand. "Show him what you got. Ensure he can't ignore you, Berdara. I saw him avoid you, and I know it must upset you—"

Gwyn refused to let the General finish. With a war cry, she lunged at him, aiming for his collar. Her blow glanced off wood as he knelt and bent his elbows. His brute strength sent her tumbling back as he pushed upward. A feral smile adorned Cassian's face as he beckoned her to attack again.

Blow by blow. Strike after strike. Her wooden sword found his in a dance of combat. Even though the December morning was crisp, and the gusts whipping, sweat raced down the back of her fighting leathers and coated her brow.

Cassian dropped low. Gwyn attempted a block. Too sluggish to react, she didn't see him feinting right. The sword struck her in the side. She lost her legs when Cassian spun and hit her again. With a roguish grin, she twisted out of the way of the General's next blow.

"Nice," Cassian said while he glimpsed over at where Azriel was standing—only to find Nesta and Emerie leading the novice class.

While roaming over, Gwyn was panting.

"Nes, where's Az?" Cassian asked as they neared.

"He had to leave," Nesta said, her measured gaze falling on Gwyn. "Sounded like spy shit."

Unease roiled in her gut, the way the shadowsinger hadn't even glanced at her this morning clear in her mind. Azriel may have kindly spared her from drinking the tea, but Gwyn couldn't escape the truth—he was indeed furious with her. By the Cauldron, he'd overheard her inner thoughts today as she spoke with his brother. With Nesta.

"Are you all right, Gwyn? You look a little pale," Nesta pointed out.

"And green," Emerie added unhelpfully.

"My stomach," Gwyn confessed, although her heart hurt much worse. "It's a teensy bit off."

Cassian clapped her on the shoulder, causing her to rock forward. "Serves you right for dumping all the sugar into your breakfast. Don't forget the hot chocolate." His mate slyly glanced at him.

The back of Gwyn became plank-like, and her lips grew thinner. No. The hot chocolate was too important for her to ignore. No matter what.

𝄋

One day passed...

Then two...

Then three...

Three days with no word. Azriel may have been conducting his own rescue mission—or even, godsforbid, attempting a spontaneous assassination.

Had he gone in against the High Lord?

Kneeling in front of an ivory candle on her nightstand, the flame danced from her sigh; she did something she hadn't done for months. She prayed . Prayed for Azriel's safety. Prayed he would return home.