A Song of Faithless Shadows

65. That Which Soothes

Gwyneth

"I don't suppose we can just crawl back through the tunnel can we?" I ask him, not peeling my eyes off the gleaming city. It's beautiful. It's daunting.

"No," he murmurs. "And we can't winnow back because we'll leave traces of our magic. We're not exactly supposed to be here— which wouldn't look good for Rhys and Feyre if we were discovered, given our history with the Summer court."

I breathe out, watching the glittering ocean, brain ticking. "I have a plan."

"I knew you would," he says.

"We don't have to make it back to Velaris on foot. We just have to make it to the Spring court," I say to him. He couldn't fly us away. No, not looking at this city. There was military everywhere. We'd be shot out of the sky. We'd have to move with stealth.

"The soldiers will know my face. If they tell their High Lord that they discovered a spy of the night court in Adriata, Rhys and Feyre will be receiving a second blood Ruby each," he says. "As well as two more for you and me."

He can't move in the shadows without leaving traces of his power. The risk was too great. "We'll get ourselves something different to wear," I tell him. "And something to cover your face and wings."

"With what money?" He asks. Neither of us exactly brought our wallets on our excursion today. And I know we'd prefer not to steal from anyone in a city under reconstruction.

"Leave it to me," I tell him.

...

Azriel

Gwyneth returns to the cave a half hour later with clothes that are positively summer and a bit of leftover money. "Did you rob a vault?" I ask her, inspecting her haul.

"Something like that," she says, pulling the most ridiculous outfit I've ever seen out of the backpack she grabbed. "I'm not sure how we're gonna hide your wings. This is the biggest backpack I could scavenge, and it's still not gonna do it."

"This fabric panel you got will work," I hold up the horribly vibrant shade of yellow. All the clothing was ridiculously vibrant, in fact, but I understand why we can't wear our black leathers. It made us stand out— especially me. Her nymph heritage would help her in Adriata, make her look like she had reason to be here. Meanwhile, if anyone identified me as Illyrian, they'd know I'm night court, thus not supposed to be here. "You'll have to strap them down."

"Strap them down?" She echoes slowly. "Won't that hurt?"

"It'll be excruciating," I tell her. Wings weren't meant to bend like that, and further, mine weren't exactly small. "And the heat certainly will not help." The wings are a very sensitive thing indeed.

"That's optimistic."

"You know me," I say dryly, pulling the hem of my shirt over my head warily. Gods, this is gonna be a painful next couple of hours. It was so hot that I was already sweating, Gwyneth's cheeks flushed red. Then again, I'd like to think I have some part in that.

"You're sure," she says warily, fidgeting mindlessly with the scarf as she watches my wings flare.

"It's the only way," I tell her. "I'll be okay. It won't kill me. I'll just be complaining about it the next couple of hours until you threaten to shove me into a ditch for being so whiny."

She nods, walking around me quietly as I tuck my wings closer. "They're already healed," she observes shyly.

"I told you they would," I grin over my shoulder at her. She extends a hand, though hesitating.