Chapter 17
Arwen had her fingers entangled by thick tendrils of black and silver threading. She wound them in a pattern, crossing under and over with muscle-engrained memory. There was already one bracelet finished, tied off around her left wrist.
Her feet were kicked up on the back of another chair, black slouched against the one she perched in. The black tresses of her hair had been bound into a high in an effort to keep the strands from falling across her face as she diligently worked away.
At the sound of footsteps behind her, she pinched all four strands of thread between two fingers, leant away from the chair and clasped her brother's writs. He made a sound of discontent as she yanked his forearm under her armpit and held it steady, encircling the woven bracelet around his wrists.
"You're twisting my arm," he griped.
"Cauldron's tits you have fat wrists."
Letting his arm go, Rhysand straightened back to his full height and made a show of readjusting his black sleeve. Then, with a frown, measured the width of his wrists with his other fingers. "What are you making?"
"I'm making friendship bracelets," she said, tipping her head to grin up at him. "And you're going to wear it everywhere you go."
He snorted, bracing his forearms across the back of her chair. He reached over her shoulder and plucked her adorned wrist to inspect the finished product. Arwen paused her crafting and let him. "Are you going to make me wear it in Hewn City as well? Their fearsome High Lord wearing a matching friendship bracelet with his sister. Hmm."
"It's the entire reason I'm making it."
She soon finished it with Rhysand still watching over her shoulder. Arwen made a motion with her hands for his own. Winding it around, she knotted it in a way that would be impossible to remove without cutting it or using magic. Flinging her arms out with a sigh, she declared, "I am a craftswoman. I should start my own business."
He inspected his new adornment with a slight smile. "You know Cassian would love one."
"I'd bet he'd wear it proudly everywhere," Arwen said, her lashes fluttering with soft blinks towards him. He set a line between his brows, tugging the end of his sleeve down to reveal it more. Laughing to herself, she knew that he would now raise to the challenge of proudly bearing the child's jewellery. Just as she planned.
Rhysand stood back up, taking a step away as he remembered his initial reason for wandering into the open dining area. Gods, he knew well what she had just done. And now he'd have a constant reminder at his wrist that she always got her way with him. At least if she did make one for Cassian, he'd be able to point out that the warrior fell to his level as well.
The rest of the day passed over quietly, and so did the morning of the next. He awoke later than usual, unbothered to change from his loose trousers that he had been sleeping in or even look in the mirror to tame his morning mane. As Rhysand wandered heavy-footed into the sitting room with a yawn, his pace slowed to a halt as Arwen stood at one of the bookshelves.
The dress was familiar. Simple, black, and elegant, it hung gently across the upper scope of her body, loosening from the waist to the floor. The sleeves were tight and long, ending at her wrists. All of it was familiar to him because he used to see her wearing it at least once a week since the day she brought it thirty Starfalls ago. Every week, that was, until ten years ago.
The plunging back was the only daring thing about the dress. It was a sharp cut, right down to an inch above her tailbone. And it left on display the marred canvas of her back. The wicked scars were still a mix of fleshy pink and white. The marks of the deepest grooves where the stems of her wings had been hacked off.
Rhysand furled his right hand. The memory stained his mind, pressing that hand against the gaping wound. It seemed to do nothing as blood continued pouring from it like it wasn't there. Even his throat turned hoarse in an echo of how it strained when he called for help.
He hated the part of him that was glad for her decision to wear clothes that covered the scars. It helped him forget too.
Very well likely feeling his stare, his sister half-turned back with a book in hand. "I miss wearing it," she said absently. "So please don't stare, because you're the only one I feel comfortable wearing it around."
He turned his eyes away with a flush of heat that wasn't from any sort of embarrassment. "Nobody will care that you do," he said when he looked back. "It's no secret to us. Nothing to be ashamed about."
"So, I'm just supposed to forget that they're there? Forget what happened."
"That's not what I'm saying."
"Then how am I supposed to do that?"
Despite his own guilt-driven pleasure at not having to see them every day, it still stung to know that despite his efforts, he had failed to create a space for her to feel comfortable enough to even wear her long-loved dresses. It had taken years for Azriel to comfortably accept the touch of their hands, but they were still forging their brotherhood at the same time.
But she did feel comfortable around him, and that was a start.
"You're supposed to accept that it's now a part of you."
"Supposed to?" Rhysand knew he chose the wrong words even before Arwen full turned around, a flash of hurt spreading through her eyes. He silently blamed his still half-asleep mind. "I didn't know there were rules and benchmarks that I was supposed to meet. How late am I to the one where I am supposed to be letting strangers touch me in curiosity?"
He took careful steps forward, hands gently raised with palms facing the roof. "Arwen, you know that I don't believe that." As Rhysand walked closer, she shied away from his attention. Still, the evidence of confliction was painted like a flame in the darkness. Not confliction with him, he realised, but at her own thoughts. "Do you need space today?"
Arwen tugged to book close to her stomach, nose flaring in a soft sigh. "Can we go flying tonight?" Rhysand opened his mouth, but the only thing that came from it was a crack in his throat. "Please."
"We can't risk it," he murmured.
"I want to go flying."
"And I won't risk it."
It was a rare moment that passed between them then. He had placed his foot down, words teetering on the edge of a High Lord's. From we to I, he had made the decision in his own powerâno longer a negotiation. This was the line he drew.
From a voice that was meek, almost like she never intended for him to hear, she said, "Azriel would take me if I asked."
"Then maybe you should ask him," he replied before the words could be deliberated in his mind. "But he will give you the same answer because it's in our best interest to keep you on the ground."
"Or maybe he will because the risk works in our favour."
Rhysand opened his mouth, expecting a retort to come to his lips within seconds but he froze as those words registered, echoing through his skull. "What do you mean by that, Arwen?" he demanded. Her eyes turned away, feet soon following. She made it a step before he grasped each side of her face and turned it back towards him. "You tell me what you mean by that." Something fluttered in his heart. A small, but stomach-sucking fear in a form that he hoped he would never experience.
"He never wanted me as a mate, Rhys," she whispered.
His grip was fierce but gentle. The point in his throat bobbed as he asked, "What did he say to you?" What had he made her believe, was the better question.
Arwen leant away from him, eyes refusing to meet. "It doesn't matter. I just wanted to wear the dress so my mind is on it, is all."
"Why did you decide to wear it today?"
Her lips parted, a soft crack erupting from the back of her throat before she answered. "Because it is just us here," she said, though it sounded more of a question. As though searching for the words that would seek his approval.
Rhysand hated the assumption he was going to make, praying to the Mother that it wasn't true. "Because Azriel isn't here." How desperately he wanted to venture into her mind, but he wouldn't break that promise. But he'd find ways around it.
"I want to change."
He hadn't even the time to read what his words did to her, fingers splaying across empty air as she twisted her cheeks from his palms. There wasn't even a voice consciousness enough inside him to convince her otherwise.
Rhysand hadn't known how to take the mating bond between his sister and closest friend initially. He recalled smelling it first on Azriel, demanding with a joyous smile to know who it was. At the reluctance to answer, he had backed off to allow time for his spymaster to recuperate the new discovery (and warning Cassian and Mor to do the same). Then he had gone home where his sister was curled up in the sunroom with her sketchbook. He had watched her from behind in the doorway for a few minutes as she continued scrawling unaware, before realising that he still smelt the bond.
The first thing that had flooded him was dread. He couldn't comprehend at that moment what it quite meant for them. The first image that came to mind was his sister with an Illyrianâthe ones he had lived with in the camps. Their bloodthirsty nature and rotten morals when it came to females. It had taken his own time of recuperation to come to terms with the fact that it was someone he trusted with every fibre of his life. Of her life.
She hadn't responded to itâhadn't made a hint of the new bond between her and the shadowsinger for the next few weeks even though the Inner Circle grew well aware of it. He had placed it to the fact that it was only two months after the attack as Arwen barely talked during those times. Barely left the town house. Nobody pushed for answers or information. The first sign that she was even aware of it, was when he finally pried to know how she was feeling and she shoved him from her bedchamber. He waited on the other side for over an hour as she cried, unable to open the door that she leant against and he couldn't bring himself to force his way in. When she finally opened it, he found nothing to say.
Rhysand kept near Arwen for the rest of the day, lingering near her in the cabin when she read, now dressed in pants. He wouldn't let go of what she said. Or maybe he will because the risk works in our favour. It was sickening enough to think of Azriel desiring the worst outcome of the riskâone that he was certain Azriel would never intendâbut to hear her believe it... In our favour. She thought that of herself.
The line that he drew when it came to letting her keep things to herself suddenly became a whole lot blurrier.
Rhysand placed down two bottles of age-old wine on the low table in the middle of the sitting room along with a packet of cards they had already played during their current stay. "Put that away," he said, motioning loosely to her book. "We're doing something actually fun."
Arwen raised a brow but placed her book aside and sat up in the chair she laid across. "What are we playing?"
"High Gamble."
High Gamble was exactly what it sounded like. They each held ten cards and placed one down so the face was hidden each round. When they turned them over, whoever had the lowest card drank. The game was mostly luck with a little bit of skill as you didn't want to waste your high cards each turn but placing too low would ensure defeat. For most players, it was figuring out patterns in their plays. For a daemati, it was slipping into their minds.
The siblings sat opposite each other on the floor, staring at their hands. Arwen had a trench between her brows, eyes thin and sharp as she examined her choices. Rhysand sat with a tented knee, pretending to look.
She placed hers down first. He followed, then flipped them both. He won. "Drink," he commanded.
Arwen laughed at her own defeat and poured a generous amount into her small glass. "You know, losing isn't really losing when you get to drink this."
He grinned. "It isn't right now, but by morning I'll certainly feel like the victor."
They continued playing, though he ensured that every few rounds he lost and indulged in the wine. She was getting worse each time, her eyes no longer sharp, nor her mind. Arwen's cheeks turned a soft red, as did her temple where it leant against her fist. He could feel the slight warmth of his own drink settling in his blood, but he was far behind in the race to intoxication.
"How are you feeling?" he taunted as she blinked warily at her cards.
"I don't exactly remember what we're playing," she admitted.
Rhysand shook his head and held his laugh. "Just place a card down, sweetheart." She did as she was told, face upwards so he could see exactly what it was but fortunately, his was already down. Arwen stared at him, waiting for more instruction. "You've got to drink."
She pointed a finger at him, as though stating that his idea was fantastic and grasped the bottle with both hands. "The last time I was this drunkâwhoa!" Rhysand lurched forward, grabbing the neck of the bottle before she spilt it everywhere. "Last time I was this drunk, it was with Cassian on your birthday and we ended up trying to swim in the Sidra."
"I know," he said, smiling at the memory. "I was there and had to fish you both out. You tried to drown me." He had tried convincing her to come back from the edge, then flew overhead but she would duck underwater each time he reached for her and ended up having to go in himself, fearing that she would drown herself. Cassian had begun pulling off all his clothes and Rhysand had never been more thankful for Azriel's shadowing abilities.
"I wasn't trying to drown you. I wanted you to see how beautiful it was underwater."
As Rhysand helped guide the glass to her lips across the table, he said, "Azriel was worried that you would hurt yourself." He shot the arrow, now he had to face what it struck.
Arwen winced away, though he was unsure if it was from the alcohol or the mention of her mate. He placed the glass aside, then with a wave of magic, sent the cards and drinks away. He would never let her get anywhere near this state anywhere outside of their home, or under careful watch.
"He'd think it was a blessing."
There it was again, though this time the truth was raw and unfiltered. Rhysand shuffled around the short end of the table, making sure that she wouldn't trip over by attempting to stand. Or let her shy away again. "Why's that?" he whispered, curling strands of hair away from her face. "Why do you think that?"
Arwen was now a beating red, the violets of her eyes hazed. Again, he couldn't tell the cause. "Because he never wanted me as a mate." The same words she had said before.
So he said again, "What did he say to you?"
Her chest heaved in ragged breaths and he held her shoulders just in case. "He said nothing. Nothing, Rhys. Have you realised that he's never even said that I was his mate aloud?" A flat laugh followed from her as he frowned. It was true, he realised. "The only time he's come close is when the bond snapped. And he...he..." Arwen closed her eyes, seeming to recollect her composure.
"Arwen," he urged softly.
"Not you." She opened her eyes and stared at him with pondwater eyes. "That's what he said to me the moment he realised. Not you. Anyone but you. Not Arwen." She repeated the words like a chant as Rhysand remained deathly still. "H-he pled with the Mother to change her mind. He vomited on the floor!" Arwen let out an airy wail as hysteria enveloped her. "I-I couldn'tâhe was my mate and heâ"
Rhysand fell onto his haunches as he took her weight, staring at the fire alight in the hearth until it dried out his eyes. He wished he hadn't done what he just had. Wished that he never knew the truth of what her mate had said to her. He didn't even see him as his brother at that moment.
He deigned himself to not moving, letting his tunic soak with tears and wrinkle under fists. He deigned to letting his arms grow tired holding her entire weight, one around the backs of her thighs, the other at her shoulders. He deigned himself to not doing anything until alcohol-induced sleep finally took hold of her, and Rhysand winnowed them away.