A Song of Faithless Shadows

26. Seams

Gwyneth

There's a single interpretation from every look I have received today: it will be you.

I know pity when I see it. It was no secret that I was by far the easy pick for a stranger. Keir would take one look at me and rejoice. Every muscle I had was quiet and lean. Every freckle on my face laid on soft, warm skin. Every glint in my eye was glittering and hopeful.

Emerie and Nesta wouldn't acknowledge it, and I didn't volunteer what Azriel had said. In fact, I was more than happy to keep meeting with Azriel a secret in the darkness last night. There was an intimacy to it, the banter, the laughter, the concern. I didn't know what to make of it, so I banished it from my mind altogether.

"I have been slaving away at my shop," Emerie says grandly, shoving a paper bag into my arms, giving another to Nesta. "And I'm sorry to say that while this court-of-nightmares business is bullshit, I love an excuse for a good fashion statement."

"Feyre said to wear our leathers," I point out. The boys had already gone to the court of nightmares, and Feyre would be taking us to join them in minutes. All that was left was to dress.

"She did," Emerie grins. "And I'd never disobey my High Lady."

Nesta pulls out hers first, stunningly sleek black leathers, lined in silver stitching, panels of mesh lining areas that required more ventilation- the under bust, the bicep, the upper thighs. There was something... sexy about the leathers as well as tactical.

I reach into my own bag, stilling when I see the differences in my own leathers. Instead of silver stitching, the thread was copper, nearly the same shade as my hair. I glance over at Em, her leathers flashing in lines of gold trim. A smile creeps across my face. "You are downright theatric, Emerie," Nesta sucks in a breath.

"I know."

...

Azriel

Feyre is running late- her intention, I'm sure. The game was working. Keir was squirming, dissatisfied, eyes darting about the room. I drop the lighting a bit, aiming to make it even more agonizing for him. He will live to regret requesting the Valkyries to his court.

They're coming, Rhys says into my mind, and I nod slightly from where I stand aside the dais, Cassian by my side. I knew he was anxious about Nesta. He didn't want the challenge for her. I'm sure part of him was glad that it would be Gwyneth.

We all knew it.

At least, we thought we did until the three of them entered the chamber.

Emerie stood center, her wings framing the trio as their strides synchronized. Clearly, she had engineered a new get up for the three of them. If there was one thing I admired about Emerie it was her style.

Nesta was to her left, hair pulled back exposing the sharpness of her face, the cold ferocity. Her eyes were void of warmth, jaw set grimly.

Then Gwyneth to her right. I faced her, recognizing the woman like I might recognize some far off dream. She was still the Gwyneth I knew, camped with, trained, but I don't think anyone would dare say she looked docile.

Her leathers clung to her like a second skin, sculpting to lean lines of feminine muscle. Her chin was raised, and she stood taller, each step wind blown and decisive. Her eyes glittered turquoise despite the torches smattered across the room. But who could miss the slight set of her brows?

Underneath her mask of cruelty, as if pondering a secret thought that she dare not voice, the woman was smirking- which was perhaps more unsettling than if she were to grimace.