Dark Light

51. Treading Water

"Hellooo? (Y/n)?"

You blinked at Gwyn, coming back to yourself. "What?"

Nesta and Emerie, who were sitting across from you and Gwyn in the mess hall, laughed.

Nesta was chewing, but she covered her mouth to say, "You were daydreaming, (Y/n)."

You glanced across the room. Even though the sun had set an hour ago, Azriel hadn't returned from Rosehall Manor yet, so his mother was sitting with an Illyrian female servant for dinner.

"Oh, you're thinking about Ezrila?" Gwyn asked, looking at the female in question. "What happened? Does she not like you?" When Nesta gave the redhead a pointed look, she scratched her cheek awkwardly. "Sorry, I didn't—"

"It's fine," you said, waving your spoon. "We just . . . got off on the wrong foot."

"Oh," Gwyn said mainly to herself. But after a pause, she perked up. "You know, she's not as bad as she seems. I met her once, before Emerie and I left for the Continent. She's a nice person! Once you get to know her, that is."

"Mm." You ate another spoonful of your dinner, about to tune out again.

To be honest, you weren't worried about your relationship with Ezrila; you were more anxious about your and Azriel's bond. He'd blocked you out of it a few hours ago, and it'd hurt more than you'd like to admit.

You felt like you were missing a limb, your other half.

It didn't sit right with you.

Initially, you'd felt guilty for all the times you'd blocked him out, but then you'd remembered that he'd probably deserved it.

You glanced at the Valkyries as they chatted about training Illyrian females. You appreciated their concern — but didn't know what to do with it. If you confided in the girls about your and Azriel's bond, you'd have to explain it first, and that . . .

You didn't like that. It would've been too personal.

Shaking your head, you grabbed your wine and then took a few sips of it.

"You know," Gwyn started, nudging you, "they say Azriel's father names his bastard children after their mothers."

Your wine went down the wrong pipe, making you cough into your glass.

"Shit," Emerie said, holding up her napkin. "Here. Mine's clean."

You nodded your thanks as you took it, still coughing.

"Sorry," Gwyn said, wincing. "Bad timing?"

Nesta gave her a dubious look but was trying not to laugh.

"A little," you said, clearing your throat. After wiping your face and cleaning the table, you asked, "But is that true?"

Gwyn shot you a sad smile. "Apparently, yes." She sighed and played with her hair, thoughtful. "Ezrila told me she always thought it was fate that her parents named her Ezrila. That somehow, our higher powers knew she'd give birth to a bastard to a hateful father."

You flinched. "What the fuck? That's horrible." Glancing at Ezrila again, you asked, "How many more are there?"

When Gwyn looked to Nesta for answers, you did as well.

"Don't look at me," she said. "I don't know."

Gwyn looked like she wanted to say more about Azriel, but because you didn't like talking about him when he wasn't here, you asked, "So, Nesta, how're you and Cassian doing?"

Nesta's brows shot up, and then her throat bobbed. "We're . . . all right."

Emerie and Gwyn shared a look whose meaning was clear to you.