Chapter 46: Chapter 46

Chapter 46

Arwen sat in her bedroom, breathing heavily, and attempted to lose that feeling in her stomach again. The bag next to her feet had been filled with trinkets that she cared to take with her. Amren had offered her apartment once. Under the condition that she remained quiet and came alone, both of which Arwen could fulfill. There was no way she could stay in the town house any longer. Not now that she knew how her presence had come to be a burden on its owner. He wouldn't want to see her and she didn't want to see him. If Cassian truly wished to talk to her the coming day, he would find her.

Pushing from the mattress, she left the bag by the foot of the bed and set her mind on something to eat. The only thing that had reached her stomach that day was a few bites of bread and a mouthful of orange juice. Arwen had dismissed breakfast after the events with the servant that infuriated the hunger out of her. Lunch was supposed to be served after the meeting with Thesan and Helion and—

And Arwen hadn't exactly felt like staying around to sip on tea and eat dainty sandwiches with Tamlin sitting across from her.

Holding her stomach, Arwen ventured into the kitchen and let her eyes wander to find what would catch her interest. The apples and other fruits were far too sweet for her complaining stomach. The scent of bread nauseated her even more. Not in the mind for cooking, she passed over anything that would require more than a minute's work to prepare.

Nuts. She could eat some nuts. Not sweet, could be eaten by the handful. Perfect.

They were sitting in a crumpled paper bag that she had placed down days ago from a trip into the city markets. They had been salted as well. Arwen pinched them and plopped them straight onto her tongue. Swallowing, she waited for her stomach's response.

Not as good as she was hoping, but she kept nibbling at them slowly. Until they too started to curdle inside of her. The packet dropped from her hand, contents spilling along the floor but Arwen had already sped away. Barely making it to the sink, she clutched the metal lip and threw up. Her stomach clenched in on itself, making her heave over and over again, each one burning her throat more.

When she had finally given everything she could give, Arwen slumped and opened her eyes. Her lips dried at the sight within the sink. Black ooze splattered across the otherwise silver metal, dripping down into the plumbing. At the sensation of wetness on her chin, she reached up and swiped a finger across it. The same black liquid covered her fingertips.

~

In the House of Wind, Rhysand's office had become the victim of a raging storm. Or something close to it. He sat in his chair, the flat of his boots pressing into the lip of his desk. He had thrown his head back to stare at the ceiling, unable to take in their faces as well as their words. "I know." The words fell from his lips on repeat. He knew he fucked up—and he didn't need them to tell him that. He realised the moment he heard that necklace touch the floor.

He had stopped his rambling then. Nothing was on his mind but the way she looked at him and he couldn't speak. He was going to—he would have found something to say to her but then his arm started burning and he lost all sense again. So when she asked to leave, all he could do was dumbly nod.

Mor led the assault against him, which was deserved but no less infuriating to sit through. Azriel stood at the side of his office, alternating his glares between Cassian and him. He snapped away from the wall where his shadows stormed around him. "I'm going to see her."

Cassian, as if already suspecting the movement, had been waiting near the door. His wings sliced through the air, wide and defensive, and blocked the doorway. He bulked his body to match. "No, Az, you're not."

There was no hesitance in Azriel's snarl. "She's my mate." The air became thicker, wilder.

"And she's my sister!" The word pinged through Rhysand's chest. Sister. Brother. It did not feel like his mantle to carry anymore, but he would. He would carry it until the end of his days. In pride or shame. As a trophy or a wound.

"Are you really going to fucking try and stop me, Cass?"

Cassian pointed his finger to the shadowsinger's chest. "Arwen wants to be alone and right now I'm more interested in what she needs than what you want." Azriel tightened his wings, baring his teeth to test Cassian's hold. Cassian steeled himself. "You want to fight, we can fight."

"There will be no fighting," Mor snapped, daring to step between the two. "Give the poor thing the night to herself. Cassian will see her tomorrow, Azriel, and it will be up to her if she wants to see you or not. Or me, or Rhys."

Azriel held his ground for a few more moments, glancing at each of them. In the end, he retreated to his shadowed corner. Rhysand could sense the strained chains of resistance in Azriel's mind, who glared across the room at Cassian. But then Cassian left without speaking and the glares went to unrelentingly pursuing Rhysand. Eventually, Mor left too, leaving him alone with Azriel.

He wasn't sure if he hated himself more, or if Azriel did.

~

Arwen had tried to climb the stairs to get back to her bedroom, but she only made it three steps before falling back. Her stomach kept seizing, twisting so painfully tight that she began to cry out with each one. The black substance, which was hot and thick, dribbled from the corner of her lip.

Keeping her arms spread to cling to every piece of furniture, Arwen clambered her way across the ground floor of the town house and into the washroom where the long mirror hung. She knocked a vase, ignoring the way it shattered across her feet. Finally standing before it, Arwen lifted her head and looked into the mirror. The girl staring back couldn't be her.

Her eyes were bloodshot and the usual deep, near-purple blue of her eyes had turned this off-shade. A black line trickled from her nose. Arwen stumbled away from it, her back slamming into the opposite wall.

She could taste it now. The acidic tang from earlier had finally washed away and as the trail of it from her nose dripped onto her lips, she tasted metal. It was blood. Her blood. Her blood was black, and she had just thrown it up and now her nose was bleeding.

Arwen screamed and hunched forward, grasping at her stomach as pain stabbed through her abdomen. Something filled her lungs that sent her into a fit of coughs. She covered her mouth with her other arm, each hacking of her lungs only sending more agony into her stomach. When it finally subsided, her sleeve was wet. It was almost impossible to see upon the black velvet, but droplets had splattered down into her palm.

She needed help. There was no pride lost in the realisation, having little to none left after the day behind her. So she pushed her arms out again and hobbled out of the washroom. Arwen made it to the back end of the staircase when the coughs came back. Covering her mouth with her hand, she pushed forward, eyes set on the foyer. What she would do out there—she didn't know. But someone would see her. Call Madja. Something.

Her leg gave way. It faltered under her weight and Arwen crumpled to the floor. The fall sent her into another series of heaving, staining the floor below her with black blood. Before she could recover, even take a breath of air, her lungs filled again. Rocking on her hands and knees, Arwen gaged as she coughed. And it wasn't stopping.

She looked up towards the foyer door, only one beyond that and she would be outside. Arwen crawled. On her damned hands and knees, she crawled forward. But she wouldn't make it. Not with how her legs refused to listen to her and her arms already grew weak holding her up.

They gave in how her legs had. Her cheek burned as it skidded across the length of the rug. Her body wouldn't listen, wouldn't obey. And the blood kept filling her throat, and then her mouth and nose. She couldn't turn.

Arwen sobbed, which turned into chokes and gargles. She did the only thing she could think of. Searching deep inside of her, where that invisible rope had been tied to her ribcage, just above her heart, she tugged.

And tugged.

And tugged.

~

Rhysand now sat forward, head between his hands and stared at the empty desk before him. He'd wiped the papers away with magic. To where, he didn't really care to know. They'd return when he willed it.

"I don't even know what I said to her." He didn't recognise the voice as his own. "I don't remember it."

"You will." Azriel's sharp voice cut through his office. It was a promise and a threat. "You will remember everything you said because she will."

Rhysand sat back in his chair. "I'll erase it," he said. "I'll take the memory from her."

"I'd be swayed to agree if I didn't think you were doing to hide."

He looked up at his spymaster, then immediately to the side instead. The shame crawled through him like bugs he couldn't swat away. He let it. It could eat away at him for all he cared. The necklace now lay on the edge of his desk, picked up by Mor who shoved it in his face. When Rhysand refused to look at it, she put it on his desk to force him to acknowledge it.

Azriel hissed a breath and placed a hand on his chest. Rhysand perked at the sign of pain, entering carefully into his mind to read the issue for himself. It was an odd sensation that he came across—one that shouldn't inherently be painful but the insistence and strength behind it made it so.

Something sunk inside Rhysand at that moment. Cassian had returned stating that none of them were to go down and see her unless she first requested it. Even Azriel. But this feeling—the tugging—it wasn't a gentle urge by a lover. It was a frantic cry.

"Please don't stop me, Rhys," Azriel whispered, desperately, but he barely heard it.

Rhysand opened up his mind, reaching out into the city to find hers. He only stayed inside of it for one beat of his heart. The chair tipped as he flew from it and sped past Azriel, barging into his shoulder and spearing his way through the House of Wind. What he had felt in her mind rattled something deep in his core. Every moment felt too slow, like he wasn't moving fast enough or something was holding him back. He knew Azriel was on his tail, following him out, but didn't waste a second to look behind and confirm.

He remembered nothing of what he passed. All of it was a blur. How long was this damn House? But then he saw the sky and his wings shot out from his back. He tore through the air, taking flight, Azriel's shadow still in the far corner of his eye. As soon as he felt the shimmer of the ward, Rhysand winnowed across the city.

The cobblestone road flashed in front of him and he barely angled himself in time to land without falling. Rhysand rounded sharply towards the door of the town house and barged his way through the front door. "ARWEN." He barged through the foyer door next.

His eyes searched at his height first before falling. On the long rug that ran the length of the main hall was a small form. Finally, the world caught up to him.

Then it collapsed.

His knees scraped against the rough carpet as he landed at her side. Arwen stammered with each breath, her eyes fluttering, near closed. Something black dribbled from her mouth, bubbling over her lips. Rhysand ignored the front door pounding with another entrance. He called her name again, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her weight up, her head lopping against his arm. Her chest started convulsing.

"Turn her over!"

Azriel's deep command snapped him into movement as the spymaster dropped to his knees on her other side. Rhysand twisted her upper body to face back down, holding her there as Azriel lowered even further to watch her face. She vomited across the floor.

Azriel brushed away the strands that had fallen from her bun, whispering to her. "That's it." Azriel lifted his head, stroking the back of hers as his hazel eyes glossed over. He lifted his hand a moment later, eyes dropping to the black substance that covered his fingertips. Rhysand's nose twitched at the scent of blood. "V...Violet's Death," he whispered, struggling to get the words passed his lips. "It's a poison."

The name sat like a pool of dread in Rhysand's stomach. He had heard of it but never seen its use. "Do you know what the cure is?" Azriel nodded. "Get it." The shadows around him grew, then sucked him away to someplace else. As his sister's coughing subsided, he gently turned her back around. "Arwen? Sweetheart?" Rhysand pulled her into his lap, guiding her head to sit in the crook of his elbow. Hazy eyes found him as she panted and let him take her entire weight. She was scared. Tugging her closer, he pressed a hard kiss to her sweaty brow.

The thought kept echoing in his head. Poisoned. Someone had poisoned his sister. And she had tried to tell him. She tried to tell him and he ignored her.

Each breath she took shuddered, and her eyes turned unfocused. Rhysand pressed the heels of his black boots into the ground and pushed himself back, holding her to him until his back hit the wall. He pulled her higher and closer, so she was sitting upright in his lap, head resting on his collarbone.

Bending his head down, cheek pressing into the top of her forehead, he kept speaking to her. "You can hold this over my head. For a decade." Her response was a hissing breath that lodged in her throat and turned into a cough before easing again. He rubbed her knee as she looked hazily along his chest, hoping it would offer something of a comfort. "Want to give me a sign you can hear me?" He held off the beg that came to his tongue but when no response came, it fell freely "Please, Arwen." He watched her hand that was resting near her stomach, nudging it with his own to see if she made any movement for it. At nothing, Rhysand bit the inside of his lip and ignored the tear making a stinging trail down his cheek.

She coughed again, more of the dark blood trickling from her nose and mouth. The following breaths were louder and hoarser.

"You don't get to do this to me." He brought his hand back up to her face, cupping the length of her jaw as he whispered to her. "You get to hate me. You get to throw things at me. You get to sit on my throne—but you do not... Do this to me." Rhysand threw his head back against the wall in a pathetic attempt to let his eyes swallow the tears that flooded them. He sent a biting order into Azriel's mind, wherever he had gone. As she started coughing again, her shoulders quaking, Rhysand sent another plea down the minds he linked to.

A cold touch graced his fingers, drawing his eyes back down. Arwen still wearily looked at nothing, but her hand had stretched to her face and she dusted the tips of her fingers over the backs of his. She barely heaved in any air before falling into another fit and he hated how weak it sounded. How her body convulsed under his grip. Then she didn't open her eyes when it stopped—

"Arwen?"

Rhysand shook her.

"Arwen?"

Her eyes peeled open and lethargically blinked up at him. "Rhys.." Her voice cracked.

Thudding footsteps signalled Azriel's return. The door slammed in his wake and the spymaster did not stop as he marched past Rhysand and Arwen. Rhysand watched him disappear down the hall, holding something that looked like a mortar. "Azriel?!" He reappeared moments later, the mortar gone and in its place a glass. "She's—"

"I know," Azriel cut him off, his voice flat and so low that even his ears strained to hear it. Azriel knelt down in front of him. "I can feel her." He placed his hand on the back of her head and inched closer. Rhysand looked down to the glass in his hand that held a murky green substance as Azriel lifted it to her mouth. He was surprised at how steady his hand was, for Rhysand's own were shaking. But his shadows were wild, hovering around Azriel in a way that he had never seen before. The entire hallway was almost cloaked in them.

As the murky contents tipped into Arwen's mouth, she started to choke. Rhysand's hand snapped to her jaw, pushing it up and forcing it closed. Azriel set the only half emptied glass down and cupped her neck, stroking it up and down, encouraging her to swallow. She fought it, her elbow digging right into his abdomen though he wasn't sure if she was aware or not of it. "You need it," he told her, the strength in his voice fading. "Come on, sweetheart, just swallow." He felt her throat move and released her jaw, letting her make weak gasps for air.

Azriel picked up the glass again and this time Rhysand could see the tremor in his hand. He angled the glass at her lip and tipped it all at once. Rhysand, prepared this time, shut her jaw before she could cough any of it back out. Arwen didn't fight it.

"Is that all?"

Azriel nodded, not once removing his watchful gaze over her. Arwen squirmed feebly, giving a few more coughs but the spasming of her chest stopped. "I use it sometimes," he uttered, almost blankly. Rhysand listened intently. "Takes hours to work but they feel it coming. It scares them. Makes them talk. Waterlily and sap from an oak tree cures it. Makes it a cheap and easy way to threaten someone if you don't fancy a blade."

"You think someone was threatening her?"

Azriel looked up. "Or you." He looked back down and shifted forward. "Arwen?"

Rhysand's neck cried in pain as he twisted it. Arwen's eyes fluttered dangerously fast and he didn't hear her struggles for breath as she hardly breathed at all. "Is it working?" He brushed the hair away from her face, but no answer followed his question. So he asked again. "Azriel, is it working?"

The breaking expression in Azriel's eyes answered where words did not. Rhysand shook her arm and squeezed it in a way that would usually end up with her hand up the backside of his head. "Damn you," he hissed, shaking her harder. "I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry and now you need to stop this."

He imagined her opening her eyes. She would laugh at him, tell him it was payback for the things he said. And he would take it, perhaps throw a comment about how cruel she was being.

Her head lopped off the front of his shoulder. From her ear, the same black blood oozed out, staining the abnormally pale skin of her neck.

Azriel stared at her, hands clenching his thighs. "Arwen." Rhysand slapped her cheek. "Ar... Arwen open your eyes. I can't do this, Arwen. Open your fucking eyes." His ears twitched with each thump of her weakening heart, until it stopped altogether. He stared at her, looking for any sign that his hearing was wrong. That this wasn't happening.

Azriel slumped off his knees, the heavy thud echoing throughout the silent town house.