A Song of Faithless Shadows

22. Open Season

Azriel

The northern sky lends us less light than ever before tonight. The darkness was crisp, palpable, though not a star was visible. It must be cloud coverage blocking the cosmos. I'm not sure what we'll do if it starts to snow tonight.

Already, the temperature had dropped in the night. Gwyneth was ill-equipped for it, her lineage intended for warm and shallow waters. She hadn't let me give her the fleece, so I waited until she fell asleep to drape it over her shivering form. Avar was quite amused by the whole display, though I paid him no mind as I rolled over to attempt sleep.

I woke not at the intuition of my shadows. In fact, my shadows were quite lazed, sunk against the cold ground and curling peacefully. No, I had woke from a nondescript tickle against the ridge of my wing. I found it grazing the fleece that was draped over Gwyneth, meaning my wing was draped over the pair of us, casting her sleeping form in a warm morning light.

Avar would likely be laughing at my expense right now, but the woods were quiet, the morning coming in blues and bird calls. I should've been woken by now- if not by my shadows then by Avar. Abruptly, I sit up, feeling for him nearby, the consultation of my shadows. They feel nothing but Gwyneth's steady breathing beside me.

I glance at her, skin peppered in freckles, nose pink, lips parted. Unbelievable. Once again, my shadows had disarmed themselves around her, acting on some intuition that I've never known them to have. Normally, they would've woken me the second Avar made to leave, but instead, they were so enamored by Gwyneth that they dwelled with her, as if she were their master.

Unbelievable.

"Gwyneth," I say into the dawn. Wake her, I hiss impatiently at my shadows. She jolts upwards, looking frazzled, glancing at the shadows with drawn brows, then at me. "Avar is gone."

She pushes her hair from her face. "Gone?" She echoes. She glances at the shadows swelling submissively at our feet. "Why didn't they wake you?"

"I thought you might know," I answer skeptically.

She blinks. "I'm sorry?"

Maybe Gwyneth's has some hidden power to compel the magic in others. Maybe it's less intentional. I don't have time to figure it out right now. I rise, slipping my knives into their holsters. "Come on," I say, readying. "We have to go find him before he-"

"Does something he regrets?" A familiar voice interrupts, the flap of wings, the sound of boots hitting the ground.

"Avar," Gwyneth at last rises, her voice soft and tender. "What did you do?"

Avar holds up his bloodless hands. "Clean," he provides. "I went to visit."

"You spoke to your father?" Oh gods, they'll know we're here. They'll know Rhys and Feyre know their location. They'll know-

"Apparently they're moving camp tomorrow," Avar says offhandedly. "Though nobody will tell me where. Not until I initiate, anyway."

"Avar," I say quietly. "What did you do?"

"Bought your High Pair some time," he says. "You and I both know that they don't have the men now."

"They will-" I attempt to counter.

"But not soon enough," Avar says. "Gods, my dad hasn't been that proud of me in my whole life. He introduced me to everyone he knew, told them how brave his son was to come all this way to be apart of the cause."

"Avar," I say. "I cannot allow you to be a double agent. You're-"

"Just a kid?" He hedges, a grin. "Yeah, you said that. But the thing about it is, you can't stop me."

"Avar," I lower my voice. "If they find you out-"

"How would they?" Avar asks. "Until Rhys and Feyre show up with their army, you're gonna need a road marker. And until they show up, that's what I will be. I will be cruel and wretched and archaic. I will agree with every word they say. I will fall into ranks. I will be the son my dad always wanted- and it won't be difficult. I've only been pretending for him my whole life."

"None of us can protect you in there," I remind him. "You will be on your own in the hornets' nest. I'm not sure when Rhys and Feyre will be able to come with a sizable army. Look, Avar, I can't fathom what you're going through, but-"

"Yes, you can," he interrupts. I still, feeling Gwyneth's eyes on me. I don't break Avar's gaze. "I know you do. I see the same ghosts in your eyes that haunt mine. They may not be identical, but the sickness is the same. The sickness is Illyria."

I watch him. So young yet so certain of his convictions.

"I don't want to hate Illyria, but I do. How can I not? This place ruins people, spits on their hearts, cleaves their spirits, soils their minds," he says. "But it doesn't have to. The disease... we have it here. I won't turn my back on it until it's exterminated. You know I cannot."

Gwyneth's gaze volleys quietly between me and Avar. She understood what it was to grow up in Illyria in anecdote only, but it's something in all us. Me. Avar. Emerie. Cassian and Rhys. There was a brutality to it, to being pushed, to learning to fly. And when it's all said and done, you come out of it in one of two ways: broken-in or obstinate.

My breath is ice cold as it leaves my lungs, shuddering quietly. "So go," I say. "Stay with the rogues. Blend in. And if things fall to shit, find the shadows, and I will take you from this hell."

Avar's jaw relaxes as he nods, shoulders rolling back. "I will."

"The High Pair will compensate your mother and sister for the crimes committed against them and for your bravery. Do everything you can to come back to them."

Avar nods, glancing between me and Gwyneth as if waiting for the shoe to drop. He looks afraid, if only for an instant, though I can hardly believe it when Gwyneth reaches out and embraces the boy. He didn't look nearly as young now, standing with purpose and direction. He hugs Gwyneth back regardless of his bravery, because of it. A breath shudders out of him, comfort ebbing in him.

I watch her. We hardly knew him, and yet, she brought him such fellowship. Somehow, I knew he'd miss her, and somehow, I knew they'd see each other again. I knew I'd see him again too. His eyes stray to me, and I nod once as Gwyneth releases him. He nods in return.

"Go before they know you're gone," Gwyneth tells him, stepping back. "And by everything, Avar, take care of yourself."

Avar cracks a grin, lopsided and boyish. "You too," he says, eyes flicking back to me. "And by that, I mean enjoy the comfort of a proper bed and some time away from the Shadowsinger."

"Sore subject," I reply, and Gwyneth laughs. "We're roommates."

Avar squints, opens his mouth, but at the shake of my head, he drops his snide comment, smiling as he strides away. Gwyneth steps back, watching him as he disappears into the forest. Her shoulders sink slightly as she looks back at me, deflating from the act of putting on a brave face. She was nothing short of worried for Avar- and exhausted.

"Come on," I extend my hand, an offer. I didn't understand how she interfered with my shadows, how she gave them such a mind of their own, but I can only assume she doesn't do so knowingly. That much was apparent from the ever present wonder in her eyes when the darkness begins to swirl around us. "Let's go home."

She slips her hand into mine.