Chapter 10
The next morning, Arwen was barely able to push herself off the bed where she had been moved to. Overnight, the ache in her back tenfolded. The scars on her back felt as fresh as the day the wounds were made. She choked on her whimpers and suffocated the thoughts that came with each blinding strike through her muscles.
Making way to her mirror, Arwen lifted her black shirt that was from the previous morning's training. Her scars marking where her wings had once been, as brutal as they were, looked no different from before. Releasing her grip on the material, she knew there was no way she would be changing any time soon on her own. Fortunately, the twin half-wraiths were always around to help with such things, but she'd call for their help later.
In need of something to break her fast, Arwen ventured downstairs, each step slow and calculated. As she climbed down the stairs, Mor was sweeping around. "Morning," her cousin called. "Sleep alright?"
Arwen tipped one side of her mouth upwards. "Like the dead." Which was a good thing. And it became clear that the gods of sleep favoured her over her brother. Her jaw loosened when she found Rhysand in the sitting room. "You look ghastly."
Rhysand's eyes were sunken and flat, his usually tanned skin paling to something more akin to Morrigan's than his Illyrian ancestry. He raised the mug he was drinking from in greeting. "Morning, sister," he said flatly, lips curved in a humourless grin, not taking kindly to her first words of observation for the day. "Delightful as always to see you."
"Doing my duty to make sure you don't enter the world looking like some Middengard Wyrm," she muttered. "Or would you rather it be the people of Velaris telling you?"
He flared his arms out in theatrics as she took her time to sink into the lounge beside his favoured armchair. "You could at least start with, 'Good morning, dearest brother. I am so fortunate to have you, but I must warn you that you are looking a bit peaky today. May I offer you a warm tea?' Or is that too hard for you?"
Arwen stared at him with pursed lips. After a moment of silent deliberation, she said, "I fell out of the sky yesterday. I'm allowed to be short."
"Don't start using that against me already," he responded, but his mirth had dried out. Arwen only lifted her hands as if to say, 'what can you do?' He had indeed been up the entire night, reading whatever book he thought might lead to a clue of what happened. When there was nothing left in the town house, he debated going to the library under the House of Wind but couldn't bring himself to leave the town house without someone awake. Cassian had hauled her into her room some hours into the night to return to his own up at the House with Azriel, Mor electing to stay with Rhys. But he was glad to see, at least, that she managed to get rest.
Arwen made the decision once she sat in the comfortable cushioning of the lounge, that she would not be getting up for some time. Nuala thankfully handed her a bowl of cooked eggs; a favourite of hers. She debated whether the wraith could read her mind as she ate.
Just as her spoon was scraping the juices in the bowl, the front door rammed open. Two heavy sets of feet, albeit one considerably lighter than the other, announced their identity. Arwen smiled over the top of the lounge as Cassian first sauntered in, dressed in a loose shirt and trousers. He stopped just beside the length of the chair, arms folded as he looked at the High Lord.
"Mother's tits, Rhys. You look like fucking shit."
Rhys slumped into his chair, even more exhausted. "Morning, Cassian." His violet eyes fell onto the floor as he seemed to be speaking to himself. "What happened to polite good mornings?" He made an exploding gesture with one hand. "Gone," he whispered just as Azriel trailed in.
Cassian frowned and looked down at the young Fae female beside him. Arwen waved her hand. "You must excuse him. He delirious. I suspect all the arrogance has finally gotten to him."
He made a noise of understanding and perched himself on the lounge arm to her left. Azriel remained standing in the shadows that prowled around him. "And how are you, princess?"
Arwen placed a hand on her chest. "Thank you for asking. Somebody has forgotten to ask."
Rhysand smiled mockingly at Cassian. "The first thing she did this morning was insult me. She's perfectly fine." Arwen lifted her middle finger to which he only gestured to. "My point is proven." Cassian gave a rumbling laugh, scuffing through her hair in approval of her actions. He took another look at his sister, properly examining her. In a more solemn tone, he asked, "How are you feeling?"
The movement of her shoulders was slow, Azriel noted. "Fine." Her eyes dropped to the floor beyond her feet, something in her face hollowing out. Hardly fine, he thought. And she was hiding it. A fact he would point out, if it needed to be, but he knew his brothers saw it just as clearly.
Mor entered the sitting room, her eyes darting to the new forms but doubled down on the High Lord. "Cauldron, Rhys. Youâ"
"Look like shit. I've been told."
Arwen placed her empty bowl aside. "I, for one, am sick of looking at you. Would you please go hide your hideous looks away in your bedroom?" Which was her sisterly way of telling him to go to bed.
He regarded her request, head resting in his palm. He didn't want to sleep whilst she was awake. And perhaps that was a flaw of his, to need to be in oversight of everything. He had his Inner Circle to take some of that weight off him, but he still couldn't entirely give them the burdens. "I have work to do today."
"Like what?"
The High Lord sighed. "I have three letters to respond to. There's an inquiry into an upcharge made by the shipment of spices that just came in. A meeting this afternoon."
Arwen folded her hands in her lap. "I will draft replies to those letters. You can just read them and sign them later once you feel better. I will write to the merchant and request that he explains his upcharge and I'm sure whoever this meeting is with can be delayed for a few hours or until another day. Their High Lord has important respite to attend to." She spoke with the voice of a noblewomanâthe calmness and ease.
Rhysand's brows pressed together, a small ounce of pride sparking in him to see his sister in such a state of control. Which was plenty to say considering their positions should rightly be opposite. "No," he decided. Arwen's lips cracked open, no doubt a whinge incoming. "I don't want you working today." Working might take his mind off of things, at the very least.
"You look in worse shape than me," she protested.
"Because I've been up all night worrying about you," he shot back. "You're not alright. I couldn't touch you, Arwen. My ghastly appearance, however hideous you may find it, will go with a goodnight's sleep but whatever happened to you won't."
She swallowed, the small point in her throat bobbing. "It might. It might not ever happen again."
"We don't know that. We don't know anything."
"And you think you'll find the answers in the books you'll drool half-asleep on?"
"Would you have me do nothing?"
Her face flushed with heat. "You're twisting my words, Rhys."
Rhysand bristled and straightened in his armchair. But his spymaster, whom he had all but forgotten in the shadows of the sitting room, called his name in warning. "Rhys." It was enough for him to stop. And think.
Mor twisted her lips into a tight smile. "I've got nothing else to do today so why don't you both rest and I'll take care of those letters and have the meeting delayed."
The High Lord burrowed his head in his hands. "Why do I feel like a child being scolded?" Nobody answered. He pushed from the armchair and kissed his cousin's cheek. "Thank you, Mor. And youâ" he rounded and pointed an unyielding finger in her directionâ "will stay home for the day. If it happens again, I..."
Arwen nodded, her lips pursed in a grim smile. "I know."
~
Cassian and Azriel both had their duties to attend to, and although Mor was still present in the town house for most of the day, she was busy and kept working in Rhysand's office. Nothing out of the ordinary happened and she managed to get changed with the help of the twins. And nothing happened meant Arwen was drowning in boredom. She had spent an hour in the garden, sketching a flower, then bathed, cooked herself and Mor a mid-day meal. Rhysand had not shown since he retreated to his chamber which meant he was fast asleep. If he wasn't he'd be as restless as her.
Arwen recollected her sketchbook and granite pencil, and with the grace of a feline, slipped through the upper hall and into her brother's room. It an obscenely grand place, with a luxurious bed wide enough to cater to his wings. Hers was the same of course. The curtains were half-open, letting in enough light to see but not hinder sleep. Her brother lay on his side, silk sheets of black strewn to his stomach, one arm tucked under his ear, the other stretched across the mattress.
She crept around the far side, pinching the sheets and slipped onto the bed. Arwen settled against the plush headboard, placing the sketchbook in her lap. "Pig," she muttered as he made a sound akin to a snore. Her hand moved with swift lightness across the rough paper, sketching light lines of her brother's face, then his body. His cheek was unceremoniously flatted against his arm and his black hair scuffed the wrong way. It might well be his next formal portrait. Arwen grinned at the thought of taking the sketch down to the Rainbow and having it painted and hung in a glorious golden frame. She would place it in the hall alongside the portraits of the past High Lords.
As she placed more pressure on the paper, detailing the thick wrinkles along his eyes, her brother shifted. Arwen blindly reached out and placed a hand on his face, pushing it back onto his arm. "No. Still."
He swiped her away like a miscreant fly. "Are you drawing me?" he rasped, evidently still half-asleep.
"No."
The sketchbook was torn from her lap. Arwen sighed and turned on her side as Rhysand examined the pencil work. "Burn it," he commanded after a moment of assessment.
"No," she said again, though this time in a laugh. "The likeness is incredible, don't you think?"
He groused something back then started to flip through her latest works. They were nothing notable, as everything worth sketching perfectly was done on single sheets. Arwen watched him with a soft smile, until she realised the timeline of what he was currently looking through. "That's enough," she said, reaching for the book.
Rhysand turned away from her. "No, I want to see more."
"Rhys." He didn't respond. She could see it coming as he plucked the corner of the next page. Arwen launched at him, well preferring to destroy it than let him see. He twisted away from her, laughing as he figured out she wanted to hide something, which only made him the more determined. "Rhysand, I swear on the Mother!"
"Whoa." Arwen snatched the page, tearing over half of it from the book, leaving just the portion with Azriel's head left. Her face heated uncomfortably as her brother looked back over his shoulder at her scowling form and pursed his lips. "Doing anatomy practice, were we?"
His crowing laughter grew with each second as she sat, entirely flustered, holding the remnants of the naked sketch. "I hate you."
"Is there one of Cassian too?"
Arwen bundled the paper and pegged it at his face, the crumped ball bouncing off and rolling along the floor. "Please," she scoffed. "He asked for one though."
"Should have said yes." He handed her back the sketchbook and careen his lips into a brimming grin. "And given him a little lesson in cockiness." Arwen whacked his shoulder, even though she agreed to the idea of it. "Does Azriel know of that drawing?"
"Of course not," she hissed, protectively holding the book to her chest. There was nothing else like it in there, but still it left her exposed to have someone see it and know that she had the desire to put it on paper. "And you won't say anything."
"He'd like it." Arwen tilted her head down to him. Rhysand read the flat expression and sighed through a flared nose. "He'd appreciate knowing his mate thinks of him," he added softer.
"You don't... He wouldn't. Trust me."
"Are you ever going to tell me what happened between you two?"
Arwen shook her head. She was just grateful Rhysand had the mind to not scour through hers or Azriel's for the memory. It was a privacy she pleaded him for. He hadn't liked it, if only for the sake of understanding why she was in such a state, but agreed. "I'm happy just being here, Rhys. With you. With Mor and Cassian, even Az and Amren. It's enough for me."
"I don't think it is, princess." Rhysand pushed himself up to sit beside her, his violet eyes flooded with sorrow that she couldn't bear to hold. "You and I both know you aren't happy. Not in the way you used to be."
Her dark brows merged. "Can you blame me?" she croaked in a whisper. The confession, one that only happened in the weak moments of her mind, brought the sting of tears. And moments before they fell, she managed to mutter, "I want Mother."
Rhysand drew her closer. As he idly stroked the back of her hair, leaning against the headboard with his cheek against her hairline, he said, "I want her to."