Chapter 64
Arwen contemplated for an entire day. When Cassian proposed the idea, she had straight-up refused. She could already picture how it would go. He had given her until the sun reached the horizon to think by herselfâto work up the courage and convince herself one way or the other.
So now she stood on one of the House's balconies, dressed in a simple white dress that she knew was once Morrigan's and waited for Cassian to take her down to the town house for a dinner party. Just the Inner Circle, he had promised, with the inclusion of Feyre's two sistersâif they deigned to join.
The idea of being around them all, being around two people she had yet to formally meetâArwen couldn't begin to imagine what it would feel like. Would they expect her to speak, or would she be allowed to slip among Azriel's shadows? Did she even want to remain unnoticed? After so long of being stuck unheard and unseen, perhaps she could be the night's entertainment.
But the urge didn't arouse itself. Not in the ferocious, consuming way it had on that day she pulled the sitting room apart and abused her brother's chest. Since then, that fiery anger had weaned. It still existed, but not in a way that it shrouded everything else.
Cassian appeared from behind the glass door, Azriel on his heels. They were both dressed smartânot in their leathers, but draped in dark, fitted fabrics. Cassian's hair even looked somewhat tamed, half pulled into a tie at the crown of his head. Azriel, she found, looked remarkably handsome. Still on each of their hands were the siphon-embedded gauntlets.
"You said this wouldn't be formal," she demurred to the general, pinching the side seam of her dress. It wasn't the dress that was anything terrible, but her hair was flat and her skin wasn't in its best condition. She could have done with some kohl around her eyes and some colour to her cheeks.
"It's not," he said through a click of his tongue. "But we haven't had the chance to play dress up in a while."
Azriel gave a sidelong glance to his brother. "And he has someone he wants to impress."
Arwen frowned in confusion as Cassian sent him a light scowl, before realising that Nesta Archeron may be present that night. Arwen has her suspicions, but she avoided attempting to confirm them. Nesta had saved Cassian's life, but it didn't blur the rest of her treatment towards him.
"You're no less overdressed than I am," Cassian barked back.
Azriel only shrugged, making a small glance her way.
Arwen let her thoughts rise to her face, but dared not speak them aloud. She looked back down to the city, spying the outline of the town house far below. She wrung her fingers at her stomach. Cassian stepped up to her side, bracing his hands on the ivory railing.
"We can leave tonight at any moment," he told her quietly. "Just give me the signal."
Arwen nodded but knew by this point that she would refuse to use the offer. She was going, and she would stay the entire night. With her mouth dry and her stomach unsettled, she selected to wrap her arms around his neck in an urge for them to leave rather than voice her readiness. She heard Cassian grunt something of a short laugh and lift her off the ground.
Her eyes caught Azriel's over the general's shoulder. He smiled at herâthe movement tight, and made for her benefit, she noted.
Soon they were in the air. Cassian didn't take his time flying this time, perhaps cautious that too much delay would offer her the chance to change her mind. He informed her that Lucien was invited, but had declined on the point that he and Elain had a recent interaction that had not ended well for either of them. Part of Arwen was upset that he wouldn't be there, but a greater part happier to know that she wouldn't have to sit in the middle of that tension.
They landed feet away from the door of the town house.
Arwen looked upon the door. It hadn't been long since she had been inside of it. She knew every inch, where there would be small piles of dust behind forgotten pieces of furniture and ornaments. Where the painting that was always crooked hung. Rhysand would fix it at least once a week, growing more infuriated that it wouldn't remain straight, only for Cassian to sneak along and tilt it once more in full awareness of the agony it caused his High Lord.
But this would be the first time she would enter alive again. It was almost poetic that it was Cassian that had flown her here, just as last time.
She wondered if she needed to knock.
Arwen took the lead since the two males remained at her either side and strode towards the door. Her fingers curled into a fist at her side in preparation to tap against the wood, but upon reaching the threshold, they curled around the handle instead. It was once her homeâwas it still now?
She had planned to leave once. Had her bag packed and the plan formulated in her mind to go to Amren's.
Arwen twisted the knob, hearing the chatter from inside. The door swung open, welcoming her with the faintest of creaks. The voices become louder, even through the remaining foyer door. A shiver trilled down her spine, having forgone her coat as her mind knew the town house would be heated. Diluted light scattered across the fogged glass of the foyer door. She pushed beyond it.
The rug she had died on was long gone.
"Fashionably late," Mor drawled.
Arwen and her accompanying Illyrians moved into the dining room. Feyre had seated near the head of the table, but the rest of the party remained standing. Rhys had his hands braced against the spine of the head chair, half bent over it. Mor stood closest to the entrance, a full glass of wine in her hand. No Amren. No Nesta. But Elain stood between the table and the far wall. The quieter Archeron girl was draped in a lavender gown with a broach of emerald pinned above her right breast. Arwen didn't miss how Elain's eyes went straight to Azriel.
The pang of hollowness struck through her again. Broken. The bond was broken for Azriel. And gone for her. The one freedom she hadn't begged for in all those years of solitude. But the utter pain it caused to see Elain's shoulders soften at the sight of the shadowsinger had Arwen wondering if the bond was indeed entirely gone, for she could not feel such agony without it.
Then Elain's eyes met hers and the torment turned to cold fire. Arwen knew her face held no warmth, nor did she even put the effort to fake a smile that she had once been so perfectly trained to do. It didn't matter if this girl liked her.
Elain shifted, glancing across to Feyre but it was Rhysand who manoeuvred his way towards Arwen. "Elain," he said with a gentle smile, "I'd like to introduce you to my sister, Arwen. Arwen, this is Feyre's sister Elain."
Arwen didn't deign to speak first so after an awkward pause, Elain said, "It's easy to see the resemblance." The strain on the words confirmed that Elain knew of Arwen's once status as Azriel's mate. Even now those doe-like eyes flickered over Arwen's shoulder towards him.
A handâCassianâon her back gave her the urge to speak. "It's nice to meet you." Firm, and though not unkind, trained ears could hear her displeasure. She hoped they'd hear itâhoped they pull the female in front of her away.
Elain glanced to Rhysand, though she seemed just as uncertain of him as she was of Arwen. Rhysand, who either read her tone or the room, made a gesture for Elain to return to her spot and slipped in front of Arwen to replace her, sitting against the lip of the table. "I'm glad you came," he murmured. Words that were meant for none other than her, but still sure to be heard.
Arwen nodded and looked down at her wrung hands. Cassian and Azriel moved out from behind her, the former taking a seat next to Mor, Azriel on his other side. Elain sat next to Feyre, the space next on the High Lady's other side empty in wait for her brother. "You don't have to invite me to these things," she whispered. "I know that... I know that I'm not the most welcomed company."
"No." Rhysand shook his head, bowing it until his gaze could meet hers and draw it up. "No, that's not what I think at all. What any of us think. There's nothing more I want tonight, than for you to be here."
A smile that she couldn't help inched at her lips. "Even more than Nuala's lemon tarts?"
He laughed, the sound of silky night. It was such a paradox to their last meeting. No pounding fists or throat-tearing screams. Laughs and smiles, however little they were. "Yes," he said slowly. "Even more than those delectable treats."
Well, that certainly was a raging compliment.
Rhysand led her to her seat, opposite his, untucking it from the table to let her slip in before he took his own. His hand breezed over the back of his shoulders as he moved. Arwen couldn't decide if she liked the arrangement or not.
Their food soon appeared, each plate already perfectly filled with a fine cut of meat, drizzled in a warm, creamy sauce.
"I heard you and Cassian got caught in that snowstorm." Arwen looked up to find Feyre smiling at her. "Where did you end up taking refuge?"
"Lucien's," she answered, cutting into her meal. It hung in the air for a moment before Cassian added to it.
"You had a sweet little time, didn't you?" he crooned from Mor's other side. "Playing card games and drinking."
Arwen caught Rhysand's soft smile directed at her, a slight furrow in his brows betraying the question behind it. "I seem to remember you doing the same thing," she murmured, eyes set on her plate. "Then practically falling asleep on me."
"You have good cushioning."
Her eyes thinned into a glare, but he was too shrouded behind Mor for it to be seen and dropped it. But Rhysand did lean back in his chair and give a slight warning cock of his head towards his general.
Feyre sipped at her wine. "Lucien can be a fine companion to have around," she told Arwen. "If you're in his good graces, that is."
"I know," Arwen snapped. "I've known him far longer than you have."
Red rose to Feyre's cheeks as she stammered to answer, then decided to take another drink instead. It probably wasn't fair on Arwen's partâtechnically Feyre had spent more time with Lucien than she had. But it was just that people continued to forget she existed before. That she had a life. This wasn't some introduction to their home lifeâthis was her home.
A claw gently scrapped at her mind's constant defence. She let him in just enough to convey her pang of regret before shutting him back out. It wasn't Feyre's fault. At Feyre's smile to Rhys, and then to her, she knew it was shared and the moment forgiven.
Straightening her spine, Arwen looked across the table to Elain. "You haven't spent much time with him." Elain's already pale skin turned ghostly, and Arwen felt the thickening of the air from across the entire table. "He is your mate after all."
The face that was an image of supple beautyânot at all like Arwen's harsh featuresâturned down to her plate as she said. "He is nothing to me."
Arwen ignored the glances that shifted between warning and cautious curiosity. Mor's hand moved towards her under the table, but a second thought held it in a hover. "Because you haven't given him a chance, or yourself."
Elain's knuckles whitened around her cutlery and Arwen was mildly impressed when eyes finally met hers. "I owe him nothing."
"That's not what I said," Arwen replied bluntly. "But you owe it to yourself. A mate is a bond that is for life and you will be connected to him until you die. Perhaps you would not be happy with him, but how will you ever know that if you do not offer it a chance?" Until you die. To those words exactly.
"And I see that you are so close to your mate." The light, flowery tone did little to mask the sharpness of the words. Elain looked to Azriel, then back to Arwen. "Perhaps that shows that they are not always perfect matches. I have no interest in mine and you have no interest in yours."
Arwen loathed the idea of letting Elain have the last word, but her tongue became lead and her mind emptied. She didn't dare look at Azriel. Perhaps at her efforts, the dinner only lasted another half an hour before their plates were scraped clean and wine glasses were left unfilled. Elain left swiftly to the upstairs rooms.
Arwen took her time to migrate into the sitting room. Feyre, Rhysand, and Cassian shared the main lounge, Mor and Azriel each taking to an armchair. Arwen paused at the perimeter of the seats. Azriel's hazel eyes swerved to her. And then left just as fast. Part of her was content to stand thereâit is what she had done for the past two hundred-odd years. Stand there. Watch them talk and drink and play. It became easier to tune it all out, to let her mind wander. Where she could not dream, she learnt to walk within her mind awake.
Arwen couldn't get Elain's face out of her head. Her elegant beauty no doubt would turn heads in every city. The way her face lit upon seeing Azriel. The way Azriel had given her Truth Teller that was currently strapped to his thigh, as it always should be. The way Azriel just avoided her gaze.
Heat burnt the tips of her pointed ears, the hearth's flames drying her eyes as her thoughts became waves in the surge of a storm.
A graze on her hand shattered them. Rhysand had risen from his chosen seat, one hand lightly holding the ends of her fingers, the other extended towards the empty spot. Arwen looked between it all, attempting to discern what she had missed.
"Are you going to stand there all night?" he asked.
Giving a tight shake of her head, she took the three steps towards it and fell onto the lounge between Feyre and the armrest. Her brother perched atop it, folding a leg under the opposite knee. He laid a hand on her shoulder, soft and testing. When she did not jerk away from it, his fingers tightened, thumb rubbing over the bone.
"We were just saying how... interesting the night has been," Mor divulged, a spark in her eye.
Arwen anticipated the reprimand now that Elain had left, but it did not come. Looking to Azriel again, she waited to see if he would look at her. No. "The food was nice," was all she could murmur. The meat's sauceâit had once been her favourite. A special recipe by Sven that Rhysand once had convinced her to give to him.
"Perhaps it was best that Nesta didn't show herself," Cassian replied in the silence. "As entertaining as that was." Mor scolded him. Cassian threw his shoulders to his ears in dismissal. "I love it when Arwen's feisty."
"I wasn't intending to be rude," she whispered, but it seemed to go unheard. And she wasn'tâit was just... Hard to keep her mouth shut. "It was hardly feisty."
Rhysand leant himself forward to speak directly to Cassian rather than over Arwen and Mor's heads, but the tilt of his body lifted the heel of his boot. It caught on the leg of a mahogany side table, its contents rattling. He cursed as the empty vase dangerously tipped, reaching out to grab it.
Arwen flinched at the shattering glass next to her. Rhysand hissed and cursed again. Her eyes drew to his hand that he held open near his stomach. Her brother was too busy glaring at the now broken vase, the shards of glass scattered across both the table and floor. But Arwen saw the thick beads of red that began to pool from the deep cut. It soon turned to a constant stream, a dark line curving to the underside of his hand where beads dropped to his pants.
"We may have a drunkard for a High Lord," Mor said with a crooked smirk.
Rhysand snarled something else, but Arwen didn't hear it. Her heart was in her ears and throat, the latter of which had swelled painfully close. She snatched the wrist of his injured hand, the movement catching them both off guard. He looked away from the mess to her, unspeaking and attentive.
Arwen opened her mouth, but nothing came so she stood and pulled him out of the sitting room. There was no resistance from him. Leading him to the washroom, Arwen pushed him in front of the bath and then pressed on his shoulders until he sat on its edge. Silently still, she searched the draws of the vanity for their scraps of medical supplies.
Seeing what she took out, Rhysand smiled and said, "It is just a cut. It'll heal over before I get to bed tonight."
Arwen stopped moving, staring at the collection of materials she had rummaged out. But she couldn't stop. He was hurt. Rhysand was hurting and she was going to do something about it. "I know," she croaked and turned on the sink. Pulling on his arm, she guided the cut underneath the running water to clear it, very much aware that he was looking at her rather than the wound. "Please just let me." When the water ran clean, she pressed a clean cloth to the deep cut and kept a steady pressure on it.
He sought out her eyes. "Is... Are you trying to apologise for the other day?"
"No," she admitted.
"Good." His eyes were alight tonight, the darkness that usually cloaked him nowhere to be found. Perhaps that was for Elain's sake. "I was going to tell you not to bother."
For fifty years she had watched him be in pain. Constant and draining, with no escape. And Arwen had to stand there. She had tried to do somethingâhad attempted to break the barrier again and choke Amarantha as she lay soundlessly asleep next to her brother, a pleased smile taking to her lips even in slumber. Had tried to pull the knife in Rhysand's leg sheathe free because he couldn't use it against the queen himself. Had tried to stand between them when Amarantha forced herself upon him. Nothing ever worked. Then a young human girl came along and did everything that Arwen couldn't.
When the bleeding stopped, Arwen patted his skin dry and retrieved the jar of white cream. Using her thumb, she lathered the antiseptic across the length of his palm, unable to ignore the sting of tears.
Rhysand let out a breath that might have been a chuckle but left unformed. "You're acting like this is going to kill me."
Sniffing hard, she said, "Well there's no other High Lords around to bring you back from the dead so I'm not taking any chances."
"Considering I'm one of four people in this city that have returned from the dead, I'd say my chances are remarkably positive," he sang, holding his hand in the air as she reached for a bandage. It was deep, but as he had said, it would probably be already scarring by morning. Even the scar would fade within a week. "Apparently, we don't need all the High Lords and my High Lady's power. You didn't."
Arwen shrugged. "Neither did Amren. You brought us both back."
"I brought Amren back through the Cauldron. You were different." He tilted his head, a shadow passing over half his face from her own form blocking the light. "Do you remember?"
She shook her head. A lie.
"Do you remember anything?"
She shook her head again. Another lie.
Tucking the end of the bandage in, Arwen took the escape to turn around and press the side of her thumb to her eyes to plug the tears. Her hands were trembling. Rhysand whispered her name, a soft hand on her elbow turning her back around.
He sat there with her, just watching as Arwen worked through the emotions that rampaged her head, occasionally running a hand over her arm or tucking hair away from her face. Somehow he knew that was what she needed. When the last tear had fallen, they said nothing as she made the lead to join the others, but her feet stuck to the floor in the hallway.
The oakwood door to her bedroom was just down the hall, on the left hand side, closed.
"It's empty."
She jolted. "What?"
He inclined his head towards the room. "Your bedroom. It's cleaned out, but I never let anybody occupy it. It will always be yours."
She knew that it had been emptied not a year after her death but hadn't realised that no one else had been inside after all this time. A raw delight swelled inside of herâa small peace of mind she could have it at any time. "Thank you, but Cassian is taking me home tonight."
"I know. I just wanted you to know that it was there if you ever needed to escape the House."
Thundering footsteps clapped against the staircase.
It was Nesta that emerged from below. Arwen hadn't even heard her go down. The cold female stared at Arwen as she strode across the hall, a slight sneer set on her lips but one that Arwen didn't feel was for her. Rhysand shifted to stand just in front of her, giving a slight tilt in his head towards the Nesta. A warning. A greeting. Both?
Arwen and Rhysand returned downstairs, Rhys informing Feyre that he had been pampered for the small wound. Azriel was near invisible within his shadows and Cassian was in the middle of snarling off at something Mor said. It wasn't hard to guess the cause.
"Home?" the general prompted gruffly.
Arwen nodded and he practically leapt from his seat, stalking from the sitting room. Arwen looked across the sitting room again. "Goodnight," she said and did not wait for their answers before scuttling along after her friend.
Cassian's grip was tight, near painful, and barely gave her a second to secure her hold before they were in the air.