A Song of Faithless Shadows

52. Powder and Wash

Azriel

I've never taken to the air so fast in my life, feeling my entire world ripped from me as I rip myself from the ground I stand on. It's frantic when the snow swallows her, no flash of copper as a cloud of fresh powder expands into the sky in front of me.

I swoop through it, using whatever other senses haven't abandoned me in this moment. My shadows, always there when I need them, point my attention towards her, but it takes agonizingly long for me to see even a glimpse of a hand in the rush. I dive towards it immediately, willing to dive into the avalanche if I must.

Gwyneth. My Gwyneth. The only light I've ever known.

I won't lose her. "Az!" I hear her call for me, breath ragged as the snow carries her, muffled as it drags her back under. I can't see her light, not with all the white snow, but my shadows never lose sight of her.

Diving, I throw my hand into the snow, feeling debris cut at my wrists and palms as I feel around, my shadows spilling through the current. I let the snow bite, knowing I'll go down in this avalanche too if it means finding her.

Please, I beg every god I don't believe in. Please, not her.

I won't survive this, not if I don't get her out. I know that. I know I will go down with this mountain if I cannot recover her. Nesta and Emerie will certainly feel the same loss because when I say the world will stop turning without Gwyneth Berdera, I mean it.

My hand locks around something smooth, something with a pulse.

I nearly throw myself into the avalanche trying to tug her up, loosing a breath when I see her familiar fingers clasped around my wrist. I think a choked cry spills from my lips as I reach into the pour to grab her by the shoulders, pulling her out and away from the cloud of powder.

"Azriel?" she whispers on a cracked voice as her arms wrap around my neck, her face burying in my throat.

"Gwyneth," I murmur back, voice quivering. My grip on her tightens, my fingers digging into her waist, my other hand cradling the back of her head as if I could possibly drop her.

I take her further in the sky, no regard for the storm thrashing at us, for the still raging avalanche. If there was no solid ground, I'd hold her forever and ever without complaint. I hold her there for a moment, moving my hand back and forth, trying to make sure this is real.

"You're alright?" I murmur into her hair. Gods, her braid was in shambles, her hair hanging in loose, wet strands, plastered to her face.

"I'm alright," she whispers, pulling back, tipping her forehead against mine.

I'm shaking as my hand comes to cradle her cheek, her eyes still shut. I needed to see them open, needed to see that she was still alive. "Gwyneth..." I can't stop saying her name, murmuring like a prayer of gratitude to some not so far off goddess.

Her lashes flutter open, her lips slowly parting as she cards her fingers through my hair. "I'm alright." Heart beating fast, mine beating faster, her thumb shakily creeps across my cheek, wiping away the freezing tears that spills over the ones from before. I rarely cried, and I hardly had any idea I was crying until it caught her attention.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to repel the image of her ripping from me out of my mind, trying to forget the agony of the uncertainty. I feel sick to my stomach thinking about it. The thought of losing her overwhelms me, makes my breathing come more and more shallow, my heart begin to beat rapidly. "Az," she whispers.

The thought of her leaving me is atrophy, profound torture. I don't remember how to breathe anymore, how to think anything beyond the pain of what couldn't happened. "Az-"