Chapter 13
"I think I know something."
Rhysand, sitting in an ornate chair in the generous sitting room, nearly spilt his morning tea over his lap. He recovered the tilt of the cup, managing only a few droplets to spill over as Amren circled around the chair, a hefty book in hand. "People have forgotten how to say good morning in this city," he muttered, eyes flashing around for sign of anybody else. The town house had been remarkably quiet that fine morning, with Arwen still sleeping away and the others at the House of Wind. He had least of all expected Amren to show up at the hour of dawn without prompt. "What do you have there?"
"An answer," she answered. Amren donned her usual grey assortment of a cropped blouse and loose trousers. It was un-uniquely plain until one looked at the jewels adorning her neck of a blood-coloured ruby necklace. Rhysand sat straighter against his chair as Amren dropped the book on the lowered table in front of the lounge and flicked through the pages to the one he could see marked. "It's been stuck in my head ever since you told me what happened, and I couldn't figure out why."
"But you have," he filled in, placing his tea aside. "You know what is happening to Arwen?" He glanced up along the staircase he could just see through the main hall, wondering if he should awaken her. No, he needed to know first if it was something worth informing her of. Mother knew she was better off sleeping in any case.
"I've never met one before, but there was one alive that had been recorded sometime when I was in the prison." Rhysand crouched next to his Second, eyes scanning the words of the page. He recognised the label before it was givenâone. One of something. Amren murmured to herself before an elegant finger landed on the right page, mid-way through a passage. "There. 'A being that could move into a plane beyond our existence'."
His mouth parted wide with a slow blink. "I don't even know what that means."
"It means a spiritual plane, Rhys," Amren stated flatly. Her finger moved down to a single, italicised word. "A celestian." He stared at the word for a pregnant length of silence until she grew tired of patience. "You are tied to your bodies just like I am tied to this form. But my existence is tied to something else, just as yours also are."
"I still don't understand."
"How you are a High Lord, I will never understand," she crooned. Rhysand spared her a quick smile, choosing to take the jest from the insult. "There is a reason, Rhys, that you call the yearly migration of spirits, Starfall."
It was too early in the morning, he reasoned against his slow comprehension. But his mind finally started working. "They move through a celestial plane," he said, the words echoing softly. "We move into it once we die. But Arwen is alive. I think I'd know if she wasn't."
Amren failed in smothering the roll of her eyes. "Cauldron Rhysand, I know she's not dead. But like me, she's in a form that's not completely natural to her."
Rhysand splayed out his fingers in front of him, forearms pressed into the edge of the table. "But she's my sister. I was there when my mother gave birth to her. She's Fae and Illyrian."
"And your spymaster is full Illyrian, yet we call him a shadowsinger. You have powers too." He fell silent again, placing pieces of both said and unsaid information together. Amren waved her hand across the page. "This is the only written source I could find. It's not enough to tell us whether it was inherited or just chance, but it is the only thing that makes sense."
He buried his face into his hands, stretching the skin until he deigned to look back up. "I still don't understand what she is. What does it mean for her?"
"I'd like to know too."
His gut twisted, both physically and metaphorically as he snapped his upper body towards the large arched entrance into the sitting room. Arwen stood in her nightgown, her lips thinned into a single line.
"Or would you like me to return to my chambers so you can continue talking about me while I'm not here?"
"It wasn't like that," he said, but his urge to argue with her that morning was weak, even to defend himself. After a heartbeat of nothing, he extended his arm towards her in a gesture to join. Arwen glanced over her shoulder but dropped them and quietly moved across the sitting room, kneeling on his other side. "Amren thinksâ"
"I heard," Arwen declared stiffly. "I was standing there for a while."
He examined her, waiting for her eyes to meet his but she diligently stared down at the page, only looking up to Amren. But her closeness to his side told him that her frigid temperament wasn't aimed at him that morning. Though he had been the one to take the bite of it in the last few days. "Why now?" she asked. "Azriel has had his power since he was a boy. I haven't even shown signs of magic before the other day."
"Azriel was likely born with his powers, but I would bargain my jewels to say that they only came out when he was pushed to emerge," said Amren, her voice toned with the usual flat drawl.
Arwen pursed her lips tighter as her mind flooded with the memories that had been shared with her of that time. How he had been locked away every day, except for one hour. Every day trapped in shadows until they became his companions.
"I'd also say we'd have more shadowsingers in the world if there were more circumstances to bring that power out."
"I count it as a good thing we don't then," Arwen said bitterly. She raised her palms to the air. "I really..." She cut herself off, dropping her forehead to the table and encircled herself within her arms. Just as Rhysand's hand skimmed her spine, she lifted it again. "I'm going to get something from a bakery for breakfast."
"I thought you wanted to know more," she heard her brother croon in a low voice as she stood.
"I trust that you will tell me what you know when I get back. Did you want anything while I'm out?" He barely got a 'no' in before she was up the stairs again. Arwen changed into a dress of midnight blue, the sleeves short and hanging off her shoulders. She let her hair remain loose to hide the peaks of the gnarly scars that showed through the top of the material. Giving a short wave directed to the living room, she was soon out in the city of Velaris, mingling amongst the morning crowd.
Her nose filled with the scent of the morning happenings. Freshly potted flowers, the scent of the earth after the rain that passed through the night that still left a glistening sheen over the road. Arwen followed the warming arms of fresh bread. The young baker was more than happy to serve the High Lord's sister, boasting his best selection. Deciding on two slices of a fruit bread that was cut for morning wanderers such as herself, Rhysand's denial of needing anything permitted her to remain within the city to her heart's content as she ate.
It was a rather splendid morning if she were in the mind to enjoy it. But the only smiles Arwen managed were those in return to the greetings she was gifted by her people. And when a familiar shadow drifted past from something overhead in the sky, she didn't even bother with them anymore.
Azriel landed beside her with swift grace. He was dressed in his leathers, all the knives and his sword strapped into place in the way that she called recall with her eyes closed. "Good morning," he said, striding alongside her as though he had been there the entire time.
"Morning, Az," she murmured. He, along with Cassian and Mor, had retreated to the House of Wind days ago and she wasn't naïve enough to not know why. She was only surprised that it was him and not Cassian that took the first step to talk to her, if anything.
"Would you like to get breakfast?"
"I've had it and I guess that you would have already too." She looked up at him through her lashes, his expression confirming the presumption. "I don't particularly feel like talking if that's why you're here. Especially if Rhys sent you."
"Why would he have?"
So he was going to play the game of ignorance? "My point still stands."
"I thought you might like company on your morning stroll," his flat voice informed her. It was unnervingly deep sometimes, particularly in the morning Arwen had noted. "I don't have to talk."
She supposed that was the best type of company she could take. Cassian would say something stupid to annoy her, Mor would attempt to distract her with nonsensical topics, and Rhys would try to slyly get her to talk to himâfor her own sake, he would reason. Amren at least wouldn't have offered in the first place. Despite herself, Arwen growled out, "So you're finally taking to seeking me out now that my existence is being questioned?"
Azriel stopped walking, though she continued for another few paces. "What?"
She waved her hand, unbothered to try and explain herself more. He continued to follow her, sometimes a few steps behind her, others directly at her side as she wandered through the open market stalls and looked through the shop windows. When she caught sight of her own pondwater eyes in one, Arwen quickly blinked anything away before they could fall.
"I'm heading home," she declared, already moving before he could contend. Azriel still followed behind her like a silent guard, as he often did whenever they went to Hewn City. They weaved in silence back through the city streets until the town house stood before them. Arwen reached the door first, pushing through it and then the next out of the foyer.
Inside, Cassian leant against the staircase banister, speaking with her brother who seemed to have just walked down from it. He grinned at the sight of her. "There's the sunshine," he bellowed.
Arwen flinched at the loud voice, giving him an odd look and strode past him along the stairs. Cassian said something to the others, but her mind was elsewhere and it muffled to even her tuned ears.
'That was rude.'
'Fuck off, Rhysand.'
He said nothing more, which was good for the sake of his balls (since he would hide his wings at the first sight of a flare in her eyes). She huffed aloud at the thought of the memory he once shared with her, showing how she would tug at his wings as a babe whenever she threw a fit. It was effective to get his attention, so she supposed the habit never died. Though Arwen did feel an inkling of guilt using such a sensitive target. If she were anybody else, her head would be long gone. It was a leniency she tended to abuse.
Gathering her sketchbook, she retreated to a sunroom that overlooked the garden, with a wall of pristine glass. The floor was drowned in sunlight, so she moved the cloth-covered chair right into the centre of it. Draping herself across, Arwen pulled her sketchbook into her lap and began something to resemble the view of the Sidra from the other side of the city. She knew what it looked like there by heart.
It was only a few minutes, as she was still lightly etching the outlines of the pathway when the door to the sunroom opened. Arwen expected another verbal reprimand from her brother, but the scent that wafted through was too different. Her only acknowledgment of his entrance was a slight glance up at the sound of his footsteps.
Azriel himself looked like a shadow in the small room of sunlight, creams, and white. He took a quick look at her paper before stretching down on the cushion-lined seat that stretch the length of the alcove shaped windows. He bathed in the morning sun that lightened his tanned face and gilded small flecks in the hazel of his eyes. "Cassian is talking too much, and I have a headache," he said after a few moments, as if only just remembering he should give an excuse.
Arwen looked at him, to her drawing then back up. She offered him a small nod of acceptance before her pencil started moving again.