Gwyn rubbed her eyes, the book spines blurring in front of her. It didn't help that she'd been banished to one of the lower levels, where the dark creeped between the stacks and threatened to follow her. It also didn't help that she had barely slept the night before. And that she'd come to the library straight from training.

It had been six days since she'd woken up bleary-eyed after Azriel had left her in the rain. And, as she'd thought, things were better. She had thrown herself into training and work, but she felt good about how she was managing.

She was tired.

But she could deal with that.

Merrill, of course, had sunk her claws into Gwyn's wounds almost immediately, but she knew how to handle the haughty, hateful priestess. The first few days had been rough, but she sang to herself through the extra hours she spent in the library and let the melodies accompany her as she shelved and retrieved the tomes Merrill had demanded.

Azriel had even returned to training, which was oddly comforting despite this new distance between them. It was almost normal again – Cassian with the advanced females and Azriel with the novices. Neither of them lingered after like they used to, but she couldn't help stealing a glance or two in his direction.

She would have to work on that.

With the last book shelved and her cart filled with new volumes for the white-haired priestess, Gwyn began the trek back up the ramp. She tried not to think about what Merrill would say when she found out that Gwyn couldn't locate one of the tomes on the shelves. She'd looked at every pile left on a table or desk but couldn't locate it. If she hadn't already taken too long she would have started inquiring with every priestess she could find –

"Where is that miserable girl?"

The freckles on Gwyn's nose bunched as she scowled, Merrill's screech echoing over the ramps. She inhaled deeply and breathed out her sigh, steeling herself for the encounter.

"I'm on my way, sister!" Her legs burned with the extra effort it took to push the cart laden with leather-bound parchment. With her extra time in the library – to help her minimize the time when she was idle and alone – her body was still adjusting to the additional walking, pushing, and lifting.

Library work really was good conditioning.

Merrill was no longer at the rail when she reached level four so Gwyn pushed the cart through the stacks and down the hall to the sister's office. Papers and books were strewn about, and the copper-haired priestess wondered how she could possibly keep everything straight. Of course, she'd had Gwyn to help – that was how.

"I hope you found the time between frolicking and singing to do what I asked of you?"

"Merrill, I was fully focused on your task," she searched for a way to satisfy the female. "The work just makes me so happy I can't help but sing." Gwyn pasted a bright smile on her face as she lugged a stack into the office, searching for any clear surface that might hold them.

"Foolish Gwyneth," Merrill hissed, not deigning to look at her. "Have you ever thought that some of the females here don't want your songs thrust upon them? Have you ever thought about how they might feel seeing you so joyous when they cannot be?"

The younger priestess stilled, arms growing heavy with the weight of the tomes in her grasp. She hadn't considered that, ever. The library was a place of sanctuary and healing, and she had been experiencing those things. She had never noticed if any of the other sisters were affected by it. Surely Clotho would have mentioned something to her if there had been complaints.

"Selfish, wretched girl."

Gwyn sighed and set the books down as gently as she could on the corner of a small end table.

"I couldn't find the third volume of The Continent. One of the other priestesses must have it. But I'm going to inquire with them now." She turned to leave, hoping she could make it before the wintry female could toss more vitriol at her.

"Pathetic, Gwyneth. To prance around happy and content when you can't even perform your basic duties. When you play at being strong and brave yet can't manage to leave the library. You should learn that you are not special. You are utterly plain and ordinary and you should behave as such." Gwyn kept walking although her shoulders sagged. She knew she wasn't special – had never thought herself better than anyone else. But she also knew she wasn't ordinary. She had been training in combat for more than a year. She counted some of the most powerful fae in Prythian among her friends. She had won the Illyrian Blood Rite.

But Merrill, of course – the cunning white witch – had snagged a claw in one of her buried insecurities and dangled it before her, as if it were on display for all to see. Gwyn still wasn't comfortable with venturing into the city, for all of her growth and accomplishments. She walked proudly most days with a smile pulling at her lips, secure in her body and strength and heart. But somehow Merrill always knew what to say, where to push and prod. She had joked with Nesta that she must be daemati and would just gaze into Gwyn's mind as if it were her own.

Nesta had just said she was a bitchy old crone stuck in a fae body, doomed to live for a near-eternity, and she was just bitter about being alive for so long.

The priestess grinned to herself as she went in search of... well, anyone. She pictured the list of females that she would have to check off, one by one, to ensure she found the missing volume. She was nimbly navigating the stacks when a familiar voice reached her.

"Gwyn! Somehow I knew I'd find you still here." Gwyn paused and turned toward Nesta's call, smiling wide at her Valkyrie sister. She noticed how the eldest Archeron had started wearing her hair down and smiling easily, and Gwyn felt her heart swell to see happiness reflected in those once-frigid eyes.

"Nesta," she sighed as they met for an embrace. "What brings you down here at this hour?"

"Well you weren't in your room," Nesta fixed her with a pointed look before echoing, "at this hour. You've been working a lot." Not an assessment, nor an observation. Just a statement to the priestess, a signal that she was onto her.

Gwyn flashed the most convincing serene smile she could muster and beckoned for her friend to walk with her. If Merrill caught her dilly-dallying she was as good as dead. "Merrill has been very demanding lately. Spending more time here helps me accomplish more and helps me make sure she gets what she needs." She avoided Nesta's skeptical reaction, knowing full well the look in those eyes would burn right through her defenses.

"So... you're working yourself to exhaustion to appease that witch?"

Gwyn couldn't very well admit that she needed to stay occupied, or that her exhaustion wasn't just because of long working hours.

"You know how much I value her research, Nesta. It's worth a little extra effort." The two warriors continued to wander through the stacks, Gwyn making sure to eyeball every stray pile of books in search of volume three of The Continent.

"Well, tomorrow night you're taking off," Nesta mused, breaking the companionable silence. The young priestess halted, mouth opening to argue. "You're spending the night with Emerie and me."

"Nesta –"

"No, Gwyn. You've been working constantly, barely talking to us after training. We miss you." She gave Gwyn the most un-Nesta-like face, pouting her lower lip and widening those ice-gray eyes. "Pretty please, Gwynnie?"

"Oh you know I hate when you call me that," Gwyn huffed. But her nose crinkled with her grin as she reached up and pinched her friend's cheek. "How could I say no to that face, though?" The Valkyries giggled together and Nesta leaned in to kiss her sister's cheek.

"Perfect. Six o'clock, the House library. We'll have dinner and dessert and books and Mother knows what else." Gwyn smiled as Nesta gave her a look. "Don't work too late, Gwyn. You're tired. I can tell."

"Oh, quit worrying you busybody," she shooed Nesta away as she stuck out her tongue. "I'll see you in the morning."

~~~

Azriel paced around the group of novices, shrewdly observing footwork, weight distribution, and body position as they moved through their stretching and grounding exercises. Despite his neutral expression he was relatively impressed. It wasn't like him to offer praise in the training ring – that was more Cassian's and Gwyn's nature – but he could acknowledge consistent improvement he was seeing.

"Alright, take a break," he let his voice rise into the summer afternoon. "Get some water. We'll start working core in a few minutes." The shadowsinger quirked his lip as he ignored their groans and strode over to the other side of the training ring, where his shadows had been pulling him. They had been particularly insistent since he returned to training, eager to be nearer to a certain priestess after so long apart. Cassian stood, arms crossed, observing the sparring matches between the advance females. Gwyn and Nesta were a blur of punches, feints, and footwork as Azriel stopped next to the general.

"Berdara is sluggish. Watch," Cassian muttered, and Az forced his gaze toward that ribbon-tied hair shining like copper in the sun. Even with her face red with exertion he could see the bruise-like circles under her eyes and the tightness in her features. Her breathing was ragged, shoulders slouched, weight too far on her heels.

"She's dropped her left elbow every time she side-steps. She's lucky Nesta hasn't targeted that shoulder." Azriel tried to sound like the seasoned teacher and watchful warrior, not belying the concern blooming within him.

"She's lucky she's talented enough with hand-to-hand. If they had weapons I would sideline her," the general growled, frustrated. "It's not safe for her to fight in that condition." As soon as he said it Nesta's foot connected with Gwyn's shoulder. She swiped the priestess' feet out from under her as she staggered and she fell with a resounding thud on her back. Azriel winced as he tried to control his twirling shadows – they wanted to go to her, to make sure she was okay. It was an effort not to give in to them.

"Water, you two!" Cassian called over as Nesta and Emerie pulled Gwyn to her feet. The spymaster's eyes narrowed as he watched her. She bent over, hands braced on her knees, panting. Likely that fall had knocked the wind out of her. He looked up in time to see Nesta approaching, water in hand.

"Well fought, Archeron." Azriel dipped his chin, acknowledging her effort.

"No. I'm not going to claim that victory." She shook her head before looking to her mate. "She's not herself."

The shadowsinger bristled and his shadows seemed to twitch around him.

"What's going on with her, then?" Cassian asked.

"I'm not sure. I know she's working double shifts in the library. I'm not sure how she's sleeping but she seems tired." Nesta looked between the two Illyrians. "Even if she's sleeping fine, spending extra time getting berated by Merrill can't be healthy."

Azriel grimaced. The priestess – Merrill – had a reputation, to be sure. And to hear that Gwyn was putting herself under so much stress was alarming. He glanced back across the ring and studied her. No laughter, no shining smile.

"I've staged an intervention for tonight. She's spending the night here with me and Emerie." Azriel felt Nesta's eyes on him as she spoke. "We'll get to the bottom of it." When he dared to glance to the side he found them both with shrewd stares centered on him.

"What?" He knew his attempt at nonchalance was pitiful.

"Nothing to offer, Azriel? No thoughts you'd like to share?" Nesta raised her brow to challenge him. Azriel held his mask firmly in place, stoic and cold. But his chest was a chasm, guilt rushing in like a waterfall. He knew... he knew the changes they were seeing were because of him. He turned unseeing eyes across the ring, struggling to find a place to focus. But that copper-spun hair shining in the heat of the afternoon grounded him, a tether to reality. He couldn't get the sound of her crying out of his head as he took in her wan features and sagging posture. Smoky tendrils settled over his shoulders in resignation.

He had been a fool. A coward.

He had been wrong to walk away.

Azriel turned from Cassian and his mate without a word, ignoring the questioning gazes and the racing thoughts. Instead he slipped into that quiet, observant, demanding presence with the females under his charge.

"Alright, ladies. You've had long enough. Time for core."

He didn't even grin like he usually did when they begrudgingly obeyed, his mind too full and his soul too empty.