Chapter Text
There had been many nights when Gwyneth Berdara stood at the threshold of her safety and longed to step beyond it. Nights when the walls of the House of Wind felt less like a sanctuary and more like a gentle cage. Although she had just made the big move from her dormitory to live in Nesta’s old room a few months ago, the repetition of her daily life already felt suffocating.
She would lie awake in her narrow bed and imagine the city below. The music drifting from tavern doors, the lanterns floating along the Sidra like fallen stars, the murmur of strangers who did not know her past or her titles.
Tonight was one of those nights.
The sky stretched wide and endless above the training ring, stars scattered like crushed diamonds across velvet darkness. A cool breeze skimmed over the roof, raising goosebumps along her exposed neck despite the leather bracers and sleeves covering her arms. The moon hung high, its pale glow washing the stone in pale light, softening the harsh edges of the world.
She had long since finished her usual training routine. The others had gone to sleep hours ago—Nesta’s determined stride down the hall, Cassian’s booming laugh echoing off the walls. Gwyn had remained in the living room before giving up on the novel she was reading. She found herself outside once again, moving through a few lingering stretches with the stubborn hope that exhaustion might finally claim her.
Or so she had told herself.
Sleep had been elusive lately, a stranger who brushed her shoulder and then vanished before she could grasp it. Sleep was always a struggle despite her obvious fatigue; she just couldn’t quiet her mind to match the relaxed state of her body. The familiar burn behind her eyes never came. Instead, she felt as alert as she had when she first climbed the endless stairs, heart steady, mind restless.
So she had trained.
Drill after drill, kick after kick, her body moving on instinct even when her thoughts wandered. She focused on form, on precision, on the rhythm of her breathing. The repetition steadied her for a time, until her legs began to tremble and a dull ache settled deep into her shoulder. Muscles she had fought hard to build now protested the overuse, calves tightening, hips sore, her entire frame drawn taut as a bowstring despite the fluid grace she’d cultivated.
Eventually, she admitted defeat.
She dragged a small mat toward the edge of the roof and sank onto it with a quiet exhale. Her legs dangled over the side, boots hovering above open air, and she leaned back on her palms. The stone was cold, grounding beneath her hands. Tilting her head, she let her gaze drift upward, drinking in the constellations she’d begun to memorize one by one.
The beauty of the Night Court never ceased to steal her breath. Even from this height, she could see the distant glow of faelights winding through Velaris like golden veins. The city pulsed with quiet life, laughter carried faintly on the wind, music a distant hum. It called to her in a way she both cherished and feared.
She wanted to go. Just once. Just for a little while. To walk the cobblestone streets, to browse market stalls, to stand on the other side of the Sidra and feel the water’s mist against her skin.
But…she wasn’t ready. She knew that deep down. She knew if she tried that it would be short-lived.
She knew it the way one knows the tide will return—inevitable, unchangeable. The thought of stepping into that brightness filled her with equal parts excitement and dread. She could already imagine how it would unfold, joy turning into fear and everything crumbling.
It was easier to ignore the yearning. Easier to tuck it away like she had so many other desires since Sangravah. She had grown skilled at turning a blind eye to her own longing to live fully, to feel deeply, to want without shame.
One day, she promised herself.
One day, I will be ready.
A breeze fluttered across her face, lifting loose copper strands into her eyes. She huffed softly. These braids never held; the shorter layers always escaped, framing her cheekbones no matter how tightly she wove them. Reaching back, she tugged the ribbon free and let the plait unravel. Her fingers combed through the tangled waves, smoothing them down her back.
Her hair had grown so long. Nearly as long as Catrin’s had been—down to her lower back.
The thought struck like a soft bell in her chest, bittersweet and familiar.
But then another bell answered it.
The sensation crept along her spine first. A subtle vibration in her bones, a prickle at the nape of her neck. An awareness she could never quite explain, only trust. It was not sight or sound but something deeper, an instinct that had proven true too many times to dismiss.
She was no longer alone.
Her heartbeat quickened, not with fear exactly, but with alertness. It was late, far too late for anyone else to be training. Her shoulders straightened, posture instinctively shifting into stiff readiness. Her hands fell from her hair, resting loosely at her sides. She did not rise from the ledge. She simply waited.
Another breeze swept across the roof, this one carrying a scent she recognized instantly. Spiced citrus layered over amber and cedarwood. Warm yet cool in its silkeness. Calming in a way that surprised her every time.
The Shadowsinger.
Not a stranger. Not someone coming to take her away to compete in a Blood Rite.
Gwyn rolled her neck slowly, sighing as she released tension she hadn’t realized she’d gathered.
Don't panic. It’s just him.
She gave it a few silent moments, listening to the hush of the night, the faint whisper of wind far above, the city’s distant murmur. The tingling in her bones remained, patient and watchful.
He wasn’t leaving.
“Shadowsinger,” she called lightly, a hint of amusement threading her voice, “would you like to come out now?”
A small, satisfied smirk curved her lips. He might vanish into darkness for the rest of the world, but it seemed that as of late, he could never quite hide from her.
The air shifted. The breeze stilled as if holding its breath. Then came the deliberate sound of footsteps against stone, quiet and controlled, unmistakably intentional. Gwyn glanced over her shoulder, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her pointed ear.
Teal-blue met hazel-green.
She lifted a brow in silent question. Why so secretive?
“I wasn’t aware someone was already here,” Azriel said, voice low and even. “I didn’t wish to disturb you.”
She swung her legs back onto the roof and rose slowly to her feet, turning fully toward him. Gwyn was tall for a female, taller than Nesta, and taller than most priestesses she’d known. But the Illyrian still stood a head above her, broad shoulders casting long shadows that pooled at his feet like obedient hounds.
Moonlight caught along the edges of his wings, tracing their powerful curve in silver. His shadows drifted lazily around him tonight, not tense or restless, simply…there. A quiet extension of himself.
She wondered if they were sentient, if they were individuals rather than one whole. It intrigued her more than she cared to admit. Being ignorant of any subject always nagged at her until she found answers.
“You haven’t disturbed me,” she said, brushing dust from her palms. “But you are brooding.”
A flicker, almost a smile, touched his mouth before it vanished. “I observe…It’s my job.”
“You brood,” she huffed, annoyed at his dismissal.
Silence settled between them, not awkward but uncertain, like two notes searching for harmony. They had spoken before, trained beside one another, exchanged polite greetings and brief encouragements. Yet standing here beneath the open sky, without the buffer of others or the structure of routine, their unfamiliarity felt newly tangible.
He looked down at her, not scrutinizing or demeaning. Just simply attentive. As if cataloging the faint flush still lingering in her cheeks from exertion and the cold air, or more likely, her intentions. Gwyn found herself doing the same: noticing the faint scar along his jaw, the careful stillness he carried like armor, the way his shadows seemed quieter in her presence.
“I didn’t mean to take your space,” he added after a moment.
“It’s not mine,” she said, glancing around the vast expanse of stone and sky. “It’s everyone’s.”
His gaze followed hers to the city below, the glowing river winding through Velaris. Something softened in his expression—understanding, perhaps, or recognition.
“You come up here often,” he observed.
“When I can’t sleep.” She hesitated, then offered a small shrug. “Which is often.”
Another near-smile ghosted his lips. “I understand.”
The admission surprised her. The Shadowsinger, restless? Awake while the world slept? It made an odd sort of sense and yet shifted something in her perception of him. It made him feel less like a terrifying myth and more like a person standing an arm’s length away. He was never “scary” in her opinion, but rather so controlled and contained that he seemed unnatural. No one was that calculating and stiff, even when they tried.
It was all rather impressive, but Gwyn felt like there was more to it. Such a silent, deadly presence could not be easy to maintain, and there was no way he enjoyed having to remain in constant focus.
Even if he did belong to shadow…darkness always saw the light once a day.
They fell quiet again, side by side now, gazes drifting to the stars. The distance between them was respectful, measured, but the night seemed to fold gently around the space they shared.
For the first time, Gwyn realized she did not feel the urge to fill the silence.
It simply…was. And to her surprise, she felt perfectly content with it.
She shifted, turning back to the end of the roof to sit again.
“Must you stay so close to the edge?” Azriel’s voice sounded almost irritated at her action, and she felt him move along with her, as if he were concerned she would fall.
That in itself was comical.
She looked back at him as she plopped back down onto the mat, “I’d hope you would at least catch me if I fell, Shadowsinger.” A gentle smile bracketed her lips in a taunt, and she swore he rolled his eyes before taking a seat next to her.
His muscular thigh grazed hers, and he shifted away from the contact, from her touch. She held back a frown.
Does he truly not wish to touch me at all?
It was a casual brush of contact, yet he reacted as if burned. He never seemed to care in training. She brushed her thought aside and crossed her legs at the ankles, leaning back on her palms as she exhaled deeply.
He glanced at her for a moment and then looked up to the sky, where she too gazed at the stars.
Mere minutes passed before Gwyn spoke, “That constellation is called ‘Water Bearer’." She pointed up at the collection of starlight, tilting her head towards him. “It’s my…well, it was Catrin’s favorite.”
His hazel eyes met hers, and the gentleness in them made her cheeks warm. She looked away quickly, pointing again to another.
“And that one is the ‘Libra’, it represents balance.” Gwyn looked back at him, her face softening, “That's my actual favorite.”
Azriel said nothing for several moments, just focused solely on the constellation she had just shown him, seeming to be in deep thought. Gwyn slowly dropped her arm, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She knew he wasn't big on conversation outside of training, so she never took his quiet demeanor as anything but preferred silence.
But, to her surprise, the Shadowsinger shifted slightly, turning to point to another set of stars across from where they had been gazing. “Virgo,” he said softly before looking back at her, “that one is my favorite.”
A smile crept up on Gwyn’s face, “A solid choice, Shadowsinger.”
And for the first time, a full grin appeared on Azriel’s face, full of a simple joy she had yet to see from him. She swore that the emotion in that smile alone could melt all of Winter, such a shame he rarely showed it. The intensity in his golden eyes soothed the restlessness in her chest.
The smile faded as quickly as it had come, retreating behind the careful composure he wore so well, but the warmth of it lingered between them like the last echo of a bell. Gwyn found herself staring a moment too long, committing the sight to memory before she forced her gaze back to the stars. She suspected it was not an expression many were privileged to see. It felt oddly…gifted. An accident, perhaps. But real, nonetheless.
The night air shifted, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from somewhere far below. Somewhere in the city, laughter rose and fell, a distant murmur that reminded her how alive Velaris remained even at this hour. Up here, however, the world felt quiet and untouched. A pocket of stillness that belonged only to the two of them.
A gentle movement brushed against the back of her hand, soft and caressing.
Gwyn blinked, glancing down at herself.
A small wisp of shadow had curled around her fingers, cool and weightless as mist. It did not startle her, but intrigued her; they always had. The corner of her lips tugged upward. The shadow continued its path, tracing the line of her knuckles as if testing the shape of her in curious, tentative strokes. Another thread soon followed, looping loosely around her wrist, the sensation akin to dipping her hand into cool water on a summer night.
A quiet giggle escaped her throat from the unexpected gentleness of it.
Azriel’s form stiffened beside her.
The shadows recoiled instantly, retreating in a silent ripple back toward him. He drew them close, gathering them against his shoulders like a cloak being pulled tight. His jaw flexed, eyes flicking to her hand and then away, a rare flash of unease crossing his features.
“My apologies,” he said quietly. “They don’t usually...wander.”
Gwyn flexed her fingers momentarily. She almost missed the lingering coolness fading from her skin.
“I don’t mind,” she answered, equally soft. And she meant it. There had been no menace in the touch, only fond curiosity.
He inclined his head in acknowledgment, though the faint tension in his shoulders remained. As if he had revealed something too personal without meaning to.
They returned their attention to the sky, but the air between them had shifted, now tainted with a fragile awareness. Not quite uncomfortable, but new.
A yawn crept up on her without warning, wide and ungraceful. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, blinking rapidly as her eyes watered.
Azriel’s gaze flicked toward her again, assessing in that quiet way of his. “You should try to get some sleep,” he said. The words were gentle, free of command or expectation. “It’s late.”
Gwyn stretched her arms overhead, muscles protesting softly before settling. He was right, her earlier restlessness had ebbed, replaced now by a pleasant heaviness behind her eyes. The kind that promised real sleep rather than unpleasant dreams.
“You’re probably right,” she admitted, pushing herself to her feet. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, glancing toward him. He remained seated, wings tucked neatly, shadows resting at his heels. The roof was as much his refuge as it was hers.
Perhaps he wanted the quiet to himself.
“Goodnight, Shadowsinger,” she said, offering a small, sincere smile.
“Goodnight, Priestess.”
She turned toward the stairwell, boots soft against the stone. The cool air of the stairwell wrapped around her like a blanket as she entered. She descended only a few steps before stopping, leaning lightly against the wall.
She wasn’t entirely sure why she paused. Maybe it was the lingering calm in her chest. Maybe curiosity. Or maybe she simply wasn’t ready to walk away.
Silence stretched for several heartbeats.
Then, faint and distant, a melody drifted down the stairwell.
It was soft, barely more than a hum, but unmistakably real. Low and steady, the tune threaded through the stone like a ribbon, carrying with it a quiet sorrow and an even quieter peace. Gwyn closed her eyes, listening. The sound wrapped around her thoughts, smoothing their edges, easing the last of the tension from her limbs.
A small smile curved her lips in the darkness.
She remained there only a moment longer, committing the melody. Then she turned and continued down the stairs, the echo of his quiet song following her all the way to her door.
So he does sing.