Chapter 78

Arwen awoke slowly. Her tight throat gave a whimper at the ache in her muscles, despite the soft fabric that draped across her and the mattress underneath. She pushed against the bed off her stomach into a seated position, letting the blanket pool at her hips. It was her bed—her room. No sign or scent of Cassian. It was dark, her curtains drawn closed and no candles were alight. Someone had changed her into a matching silk set of a singlet and pants; she didn't remember doing it herself.

Arwen shuffled to the edge of her bed, taking the time to test her weight on her feet. It was her hips that complained the most, as though she had been on horseback for hours. Wiping away the drowsiness in her eyes, she hobbled across her room and to the door. It had to be early if the sun wasn't even peaking through the gaps of her window drapes.

Yet when she ventured into the hall and looked down the stairs onto the ground floor, warm light flooded the town house. Arwen gripped the railing of the stairs as she climbed down, following the sound of soft murmurs towards the back and into the kitchen.

Azriel, Mor, Rhysand and Cassian were all huddled in there, talking over warm drinks. When they looked at her, the solemness and gravity did not lift. Arwen couldn't meet Azriel's eye. "Didn't expect you all up this early," she grumbled, heading for the milk and kettle that was left out, the latter still steaming and intended to put a tea together for herself.

But her movements were stopped by Cassian who took the kettle from her. "I've got it," he murmured. "Honey?" Arwen nodded.

"It's actually rather late, sweetheart," Rhysand said. She frowned at him. He nodded towards the window where nothing but black sky and shaded silhouettes could be seen. "You slept a while." Her lips rounded to a small 'o'. She'd slept an entire day. He walked to her, eyes set on something just lower than her face. He thumbed her jaw, eliciting a wince. "That should have healed by now." The bruise, she recalled—gained by the bone of a wrist being pummelled into her in her battle with Cassian and Azriel.

"Would you like any dinner?" Mor asked, her tone oddly light in comparison to everything else. "There's leftover pie."

"N..." Arwen's voice failed her. "N-no thank you." She wasn't even sure she'd be able to keep tea down, but it was worth the try. Looking over to see if it was near ready, she found Cassian pouring something deep and red out of a vial into the mug. "What is that?"

But before she could even finish the question, the scent answered it. Blood. He was putting blood in her tea. "Feyre's blood," Cassian answered without looking back.

"Feyre's blood has healing properties," Rhysand added before even more questions could be raised. But Arwen understood their intentions. 

Cassian placed the steaming cup in front of her. "Drink up, princess. All of it." Arwen took a slow sip, wrinkling her nose.

"We're taking you to the Day Court in the morning." Azriel's voice cut through the growing tension like it was a knife to silk. Rhysand glared at him. Azriel ignored it. "The only reason you're not there now is because we didn't want to winnow you while you were unconscious. We don't know how that type of magic might affect you."

"Oh." That had been the deal she made. Go see Helion Spellcleaver after Solstice. Rhysand thought he would know something. Considering she had no idea either, it seemed stupid and futile to refuse.

"How do you feel?" Cassian inquired.

Arwen dragged herself into the high seat. "Not amazing," she admitted.

He braced his elbows against the table next to her, nudging one outwards to knock into hers. "Yeah, well you don't exactly look amazing either." Arwen glared at him but dropped it quickly in exhaustion. "Should have seen yourself last night when dear Az carried you back here. Looked like a corpse—"

"Cassian," Mor hissed. "Foul choice of words."

Azriel was already three shades paler than usual.

"Yeah, well, princess here needs to understand how fucking terrifying it was to see it."

"She's already agreed to accept help. There's no point pushing what we already know."

"I'll see you in the morning." Azriel turned. And left. Arwen's heart thudded with each heavy thud of his boots against the floor, all the way to the upper storey.

Arwen sipped at her tea. "I know it's not good, Cass," she whispered. "I just didn't want the holiday to be about me. It was Feyre's first time celebrating with us and her birthday."

Cassian looked at her—like really looked at her. "I'd rather spend this holiday worrying about you than spend the next without you again. It is selfish of you to put me through this feeling again—to put your brother, your family through it again because you just want to pretend like nothing is wrong for everybody else's sake." He spoke like a general commanding a soldier and gods did it make her listen. Arwen's gaze floated to Rhysand, the deliberation of whether to agree or argue playing on his face. Cassian's voice pulled her back. "Sometimes it is selfishness that will keep you alive. You understand me, Arwen?"

Arwen nodded.

"Arwen, tell me you understand."

"I do."

The authoritative, militant air around him dissipated.

"Bit harsh, Cass," Mor muttered.

He snarled, in no mood for teases or snide remarks. "Oh, shut up, Mor." But perhaps a part of him listened to her chide as he shifted closer to Arwen's side and pressed a firm kiss to her temple, reminding her that every word spoken was done in love for her. "Go back to bed, sweetheart."

The idea did seem most desirable. Taking her tea and bidding them goodnight, Arwen returned to her room.

Azriel sat on the edge of her bed, head in hand until her arrival prompted its rise. Arwen quietly made her way across and sat down next to him. She pouted, looking down at her drink. "This taste terrible."

"Drink it anyway." He stroked the back of her hair. "I stayed here last night with you. May I stay again?"

"Should be me that's asking." Being alone didn't feel right. Even if it meant spending the night fighting the thoughts that haunted her when it came to him. Thoughts that she had dismissed last night in favour of the short-lived euphoria.

Azriel unlaced and kicked off his shoes. Throwing his arms over the back of his head, he tugged on his black shirt, shuffling his wings through the slats. He was wearing dark slacks for pants rather than leather or something of fine make. Comfortable enough to sleep in that she had to wonder if he had changed at all since the past night. Arwen examined the tattoos adorning his body, most inked into his skin by an artist rather than bargains. Azriel never liked to be held to them. And the few that were there, were with Rhys and Cassian.

"Won't you be cold?" she asked.

"Your body isn't regulating heat properly. It's easier to keep you warm without a barrier."

She looked down at her body. Gangly. Pale. Bruises littered her skin below the silk, lasting longer than they should just like the one on her jaw. No longer the body softened by curves and weight that she once had—once adored. Arwen wanted him to hold that version of her.

But as he lay down on his side, she lay with him, placing the tea aside. He bundled her into his arms and she immediately sunk into him, closing her eyes as he kissed the space between her brows. He pulled the blanket over them, but before it encased their upper bodies, Azriel extended his uppermost wing. It stretched out towards the ceiling first, fanned to its entire, impressive length before laying over her body.

Arwen hummed. "That was a very Illyrian move of you."

Feigning ignorance, he frowned at her. "What do you mean?"

She rolled her eyes and then closed them, digging deeper into the pillow. "You don't need to display your wings to me, Az." It was comparable to a mating show of animals—to show the length of their wings, and their ability to satisfy the female. Mor and Arwen had spent a good evening laughing about it many moons ago.

"I like the way you look at me when I do."

~

Fortunately, Helion had listened to his request that their arrival was a subtle event. His guards met Rhysand, Azriel and Arwen at the gates to the Day Palace. An eased smile was set on his sister's lip as she took in the sights of her favourite foreign court. He had been worried that she would refute the idea once they were about to leave or as they arrived, but Rhysand had underestimated her. But Arwen's tight grip on his hand was enough for him to not overestimate her comfort. It was fair, considering the last time she left Velaris she had been murdered. His own grip tightened back at the thought.

Helion had obliged Rhysand's strict orders, despite the fact that the High Lord of Day was doing him the favour. No one would see her without Rhysand or Azriel present. Her food and water would be checked by a tester and his personal guards would be outside whatever chamber she inhabited. Rhysand said it was for her comfort, but that would mostly be a lie. 

Azriel strode along on her other side, seven siphons on display. He had barely spoken a word and spent every moment scanning over something new.

They wandered through the great halls all the way to the far north wing, and to Helion's entertainment chamber. It was not the largest room in width but with a ceiling greater than three storeys high, windowless archway that led onto a balcony, and a grand floor of white and pink rose marble, the size barely mattered.

That's what Rhysand like to tell himself, anyway. And his brothers.

The High Lord of Day lounged in a cream chaise, draped in a white cloth that was pinned over each shoulder with a gilded clasp. His dark hair spilled over skin that was only a few shades lighter. If Rhysand didn't know better, he might believe that Helion had built the palace in its creams and white marble just so he singularly stood out against it. The two guards that escorted them left without any sign of dismissal.

Helion rose from the chaise, eyes set on Arwen. "Back from the dead, I see?"

Arwen shrugged a shoulder. "It's a family trait."

He laughed, placing the full wine glass that had a gold-plated lip down and walked towards them. "I couldn't quite believe my eyes when I saw you appear. I'm hurt at how long it has taken you to come to see me, especially since the circumstances are dire and not of pleasure."

"Readjusting after so long takes time," Rhysand smoothly answered for her. "Considering you are the first person other than your guards to see her outside of our home, you should consider it an honour."

"An honour?" Arwen huffed, earning a raise of his brow at her. "But I did dress for the occasion." Gesturing down with her free hand to her attire, Helion's eyes wandered across the white dress and the gold belt she had adorned it with that morning.

Helion winked. "I noticed. And appreciate the effort."

Arwen curtseyed. Rhysand welcomed the High Lord's efforts. The simple small talk and distracting flatteries. Not simply swept away and poked at.

Helion's dark eyes turned to Azriel. "Only you this time?"

Azriel didn't respond, staring back at the High Lord. Rhysand smiled and said, "I needed Cassian and Mor at home. Feyre is helping Amren with other things outside of the city." Convincing Cassian to stay had been a challenge Rhysand prepared himself for, and with good reason.

"Pity," he muttered, but the gleam never left his eyes. "Invitation is still open, as is the door to my bedchamber. And I wouldn't dare not invite the female who your scent clings to, if you're willing to share that is. You Illyrians are possessive creatures."

Rhysand scooped that piece of conversation from his mind, tossing it out the backend. Azriel's eyes flickered down to Arwen, something—a hint of it—shone in his eyes. Pride, perhaps, at the idea that a piece of him clung to her. And maybe a little bit of that possessiveness just aforementioned. Rhysand didn't want to know. "Do I need remind you why we're here, Helion?"

Helion gave a cunning smirk. "Just ensuring my guests are extended their full comforts."