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Azriel laughed. “I’ll give you that.”
Gwyn smiled broadly. “Thank you.”
Azriel dipped his head in a sketch of a bow, something restless settling in him. Even his shadows had calmed. As if content to lounge on his shoulders and watch.
But—sleep. He needed to at least attempt to get some.
“Happy Solstice,” Azriel said before aiming for the archway into the House. “Don’t stay out too much longer. You’ll freeze.”
Gwyn nodded her farewell, again facing the ribbon. A warrior sizing up an opponent, all traces of that charming irreverence gone.
Azriel entered the warmth of the stairwell, and as he descended, he could have sworn a faint, beautiful singing followed him. Could have sworn his shadows sang in answer.
He slept as well as could be expected, but when Azriel returned to the river house to gather his presents before dawn, he found Elain’s necklace amid the pile. He pocketed it. Spent the rest of his day, even the blasted snowball fight, with every intention of returning it to the shop in the Palace of Thread and Jewels.
But when he returned from the cabin in the mountains, he didn’t go to the market square.
Instead, he found himself at the library beneath the House of Wind, standing before Clotho as the clock chimed seven in the evening.
He slid the small box across her desk. “If you see Gwyn, would you give this to her?”
Clotho angled her hooded head, and her enchanted pen wrote on a piece of paper, A Solstice gift from you?
Azriel shrugged. “Don’t tell her it came from me.”
Why?
“Does she need to know? Just tell her it was a gift from Rhys.”
That would be a lie.
He avoided the urge to cross his arms, not wanting to look intimidating. He blocked out the memory that flashed—of his mother cringing before his father, the male standing with crossed arms in such a way that made his displeasure known before he opened his hateful mouth.
“Look, I . . .” Az searched for the words, his voice becoming quiet. “If there’s another priestess here who might appreciate it, give it to them. But I’m not taking that necklace with me when I leave.”
He waited for Clotho’s pen to finish writing. Your eyes are sad, Shadowsinger.
He offered her a grim smile. “I lost the snowball fight today.”
Clotho was smart enough to see through his deflection. She wrote, I’ll give it to Gwyneth. Tell her a friend left it for her.
He wouldn’t go so far as to call Gwyn a friend, but . . . “Fine. Thank you.”
Clotho’s pen moved once more. She deserves something as beautiful as this. I thank you for the joy it shall bring to her.
Something sparked in Azriel’s chest, but he only nodded his thanks and left. He could picture it, though, as he ascended the stairs back to the House proper. How Gwyn’s teal eyes might light upon seeing the necklace. For whatever reason . . . he could see it.
But Azriel tucked away the thought, consciously erasing the slight smile it brought to his face. Buried the image down deep, where it glowed quietly.
A thing of secret, lovely beauty.
