Chapter 113
Arwen found Feyre in her painting studio. She hadn't been intending on finding the High Lady but it had been a welcomed surprise. Arwen sat on the studio floor, tongue in cheek as she painted something that began to resemble a mountain.
Feyre, on her stool and palette hooked over her thumb, said, "You look incredibly uncomfortable there. There are plenty of seats and easels for you."
"I prefer having it laying down," Arwen said. "I'm used to having a drawing pad in my lap so my hand isn't trained for doing things upright." Painting wasn't something she usually took up, the flecks of it drying on her arms irritating already, but she hadn't wanted to return to the town house yet. She hadn't returned to it at all since coming back to Velaris hours ago. Sighing as she washed off her brush, she added, "Though I think my neck would appreciate the change."
Feyre laughed, focusing on her own thin line of white as she detailed clouds of a storming beach. "I've painted on all types of surfaces. Having an easel is a luxury that I don't take for granted."
Arwen wiped the brush dry on the dirty apron laid over her thigh. "Ah, so this is just another way to tell me I'm spoilt." She chuckled as Feyre's head snapped around with a regretful expression. "Where do you think I got the nickname princess from? I've had a spoilt upbringing, I'm very well aware. Cassian never lets me forget it." His name left a sour taste on her tongue.
"Spoilt in material things, I'm sure," Feyre said quietly. "But I do not, and you should not, forget your own hardships. I would hardly consider your life luxurious."
"I have not only one house to live under, but a choice. I have food brought to me by well-paid servants. A bed that I could sleep in all day and the pillows would not flatten." Arwen mixed blue with a drop of red and white, creating a soft lavender. "Most importantly, I have people to turn to. I speak one worry and it is dealt with. I had a mother who loved my dearly and a brother that has given up many things for me. So I am spoilt with things, yes, but I also have the luxury of my family. I think you would say the same, Feyre. You have had hardships, but this life you live now isâ"
"A luxury." Feyre nodded and smiled.
Arwen used the lavender to stipple on flowers across the bushes at the base of the mountain.
Mor turned up not an hour later, waving her hand off at the suggestion of joining and instead produced a bottle of wine. Arwen was quick to raise her hand and lay her claim on a glass. The paintings were forgotten about, left to dry and their paintbrushes to sit on the palettes. Mor grumbled when the ends of her dress got caught in the mess of Arwen's floor painting but the little stains were quickly forgotten about when Feyre flicked a splatter of blue across the bodice of the crimson chiffon. Mor laughed in disbelief but turned the situation on its head, declaring that she would set a new trend within the city.
Arwen couldn't deal with the paint on her any longer and left them be to wash off at the large sinks. When her arms were as clean as they were going to get for the time being, she looked up and met her reflection. A dash of that blue had stuck her cheek, deep and azure like the heart of an ocean. Her heart ached in longing.
Dusting her hands dry, she returned to Mor and Feyre. "I think I'm going to head home. I'm not sure where Nuala and Cerridwen are and I might be making myself dinner." Which meant that Azriel would have to source his own food. If he was even at the town house.
"Would you like us to walk you home?" Mor inquired, lounging along the paint-covered floor, a new glass in hand. Arwen shook her head and wished the farewell, thanking Feyre for letting her use the studio. Arwen could use it at any time, she was told in response.
The walk home was a quiet one, despite the city alive and buzzing around her. None of the chatter seemed to make its way from her ears to her mind, becoming a dull humming in the background. When her eyes set on the town house, distant down the street, she took a long breath and willed herself to continue.
The familiar brass handle clicked open without restraint for her hand. The town house was quiet. Elain sat in the sitting room with needle and thread, making something that Arwen didn't bother to try and distinguish. The Archeron sister looked over the back of the lounge and the disappointment across her supple faceâit was hard to ignore.
"No, I'm not Azriel," Arwen muttered, unable to grapple the words back into her throat. She wasn't in the mood for pleasantries and dignity.
Elain straightened her shoulders. "Of course not. Azriel is already here."
Arwen's eyes shot to the hallway but she could not hear signs of his presence. The ache in her heart grew. Azriel had spent time here with Elain. There was no other reason to be here. He still had many of his belongings up at the House of Wind where he spent his days if not with Arwen.
Her eyes moved back to Elain who rose from the lounge, eyeing the way the young female sauntered near. "You hurt him, you know," she said. Her voice was soft yet it pierced Arwen like daggers. "He will not say it aloud, but he is hurting and it is your fault."
"So you see yourself as his hero?" Arwen whispered. "He does not need one, Elain. I do not fight battles I know he is capable of."
Her face tightened. "He will not fight the ones against you though, will he? I have been cooking for him every meal because he could not bring himself to make anything. I have made sure that he knew he had someone to talk to while you were off dallying in another court without a care."
The anger, but mostly the pain, piled. Arwen lifted her chin. "Don't forget who I am, Elain. Or whose roof you stand under. Do not forget that you have a mate that you have hurtâa male I care for. I'm not in a particularly nice mood today and I would hate for you to push it over the edge."
Elain, she knew, was silently considering the battleground she had just made for herself. Arwen stared at her, it was all she could do to hold the sting of tears from becoming truth. Elain made a longing glance towards the hall. Arwen looked too, expecting to see something or someone but upon finding nothing she looked back to see Elain retreating into the sitting room.
Knowing Azriel was here, under this same roof, made her want to run. She did not let herself stop. Wondering which room he was in proved pointless as soon as she reached the second storey. A window at the end of the hall in which her bedroom lay in, stretched light across all the doors except hers. Though she had never knocked on her bedroom door before, the sudden need overwhelmed her.
Arwen ignored it and turned the handle into the familiar space.
Azriel sat on one of the cushioned chairs she always had brought up near the window. He did not turn his head at her entry. He had no need to. His scent was a calling to her as hers would be for his. Arwen took her time to cross the room, each step more daunting than the last.
It was only when she stood next to him, looking out across the view from the window, did he acknowledge her. "Arwen," he breathed. "Iâ"
"I don't want to talk."
He silenced.
Arwen dragged her eyes away from his reflection in the glass and took a tight hold on his wrist. He rose from the chair at her tug but did not lift his eyes with it. Arwen pulled him like a dog on a leash from her room, across the hall and down the stairs. She passed Elain without a second glance, eyes set on the front door which she opened and pushed Azriel through.
He stumbled onto the street and that is when she got her first true glimpse of panic. "Please, Arwenâ"
She jerked her head to the mountain. "Take me up."
His lips parted as she followed him down onto the street. "What?"
"The mountain. Take me up there."
Azriel looked across to the mountain that cut through the sky then back to her. He nodded and opened his arms for her to step into. Arwen hooked her arm around his neck and let him take her weight. It took a moment for him to push into flight. They soared across the city in silence and she was glad for it. They reached the main pavilion and he gently let her down. Arwen took a hold of his wrist once more and led him into the maze of the House.
"May I ask where we are going?"
"No," she said. "You may not."
They breezed through the corridors, Arwen barely noticing anything, her vision tunnelled. They did not stop (not that she gave him a choice) until they reached the music room. She could feel his uncertainty through her grip. Pulling him further into the room, she finally turned back to him.
"Play," she whispered.
Azriel glanced between her and the pianoforte. The portfolio she had given him still lay on the stand, the leather bounding closed. "Play for you?"
Arwen shook her head. "Play for yourself. I want to hear what you want to play."
It was another moment of hesitancy before he quietly moved towards the pianoforte. Following, she sat down next to him on the narrow bench, close enough that her entire side was pressed against him. Azriel was not a male of words and Arwen felt like speaking even less but she needed to not feel alone. She needed to hear his voice, even if it came in the sound of keys. It was simply only another language to speak, after all.
She needed him.
Azriel opened the portfolio and flipped through the pages. Arwen watched over his shoulder. He pinched the corner of one, glancing at her again as he pulled it free. She did not recognise it. "Arwenâ"
"Play."
He did. A soft medley of darker, lower tunes yet it did not feel... Dark. Not empty and endless like an abyss behind closed eyes. It was like his shadows, living and moving. And as it played, she settled her head on his shoulder, feeling his muscles glide under the leathers as his hands danced across the ivory keys. Arwen listened.
When it came to a trickling end, almost too slow as if he was scared for it to end, she didn't move. Closing her eyes, she turned into him, looping her arm around the front of his neck as she had while they were flying. "Watching you leave, Azriel," Arwen whispered, "watching your back turn on me was terrifying."
"I'm sorry," he said. "That I didn't fight to stay."
"I would have never ever done something to make youâ"
"I know." Azriel angled himself to her, arms enveloping her back and shoulders. She hid her face in the shadows of his neck. "Are you okay?"
She looked up. "Are we okay?" she amended.
His hooked finger grazed over her chin. "That's never a question," he whispered. "But I need to know if you are."
She shook her head, the tightness in her chest painful. "Noâno I'm not and I don't know how to fix it." The arms around her tightened, holding her until her entire weight rested upon him.