Chapter 71
Feyre and Rhysand were spending the day at the House of Wind, hosting audience to members of the city. He had invited Arwen to attend as she always once did, but the idea of holding a smile for so longâeven if it was real at seeing the people of her cityâseemed an exhausting act.
So instead, Arwen took the opportunity to spend the day shopping for Winter Solstice. And her companion for the day turned out to be Azriel. While it had been in part because she didn't want to spend the day alone, the offer came far more with the reason that when she mentioned buying gifts, Arwen saw the mild panic in his eyes and the guilt ate at her.
Now prepared for the ghastly temperatures, her face was rimmed by a thick fur hood, her arms were weighted under two jackets, and she had pulled on leggings underneath her pants. Azriel smiled under a ducked head when she came downstairs, donning only a simple sweater himself.
She had barely slept the past two nights, constantly state in of anxiety that kept her tossing and turning no matter how many herbal teas Rhys had her down to relax. She had spent hours into last night with Feyre talking about artâmuch to Rhysand's annoyance who seemed to yearn for his mate's company in the bedroom. Arwen let herself believe that he just innocently wanted a body to fall asleep next to.
With the crooks of her elbows turning red at the straps of bags cutting into her skin, Arwen called for a break. Azriel only had a single package that was easily tucked into the pocket of his pants. He did offer to take her bags, but she waved him away. It was part of the fun, she told him. They found a seat inside Sven's restaurant, giving up their favoured outdoor table for the indoor heat of an oil fire that burned on one of the poles, a glass cover keeping the flames from licking out.
"Stop looking at it," Azriel scolded her.
"He won't know if I eat them," she drawled. "Just a few. I bought him so many!"
The shadowsinger scoffed at her with laughter soon following. They had spent an hour in Tickling Tongues, a sweets store that had just opened in the week past. Arwen had brought a jar of almost everything for Rhysand. The one she held in her lap now became a new favourite after sampling, which had her debating whether she could hand it to her brother willingly. The store had almost sold out of everything by the time they got there, and she didn't know if she could survive until they managed to restock.
Azriel reached across the small, round table and plucked it from her hands before she could even whine. Arwen's jaw dropped by an inch at the audacity but Sven arrived with their meals at that moment and sheforgot about the sweets, smiling at her pasta. Until she picked up her fork.
"Something wrong with it? Can't eat?"
Arwen forced the pit in her throat down with a hard swallow and shook her head at Azriel. "I'll try."
Twisting the prongs of her fork into the dish, she focused on a past memory of how it would taste. How delicious the sauce would be once it lathered her tongue and how full it would make her before she even reached halfway. Pushing a small bite past her lips, she prayed for the same taste. But it turned to ash on her tongue and her throat tightened in warning.
The fork clanged against the side of the dish as Arwen slumped into her chair, frustration curdling in her chest where tiredness already prowled. She wanted the food. She wanted to eat. But her body refused it.
Azriel leant over the table again, adjusting her fork so it didn't risk sliding off the plate and clattering against the floor. Not that she cared. "You ate this morning," he reminded her. "Do you want mine instead?"
She only had to glimpse at his chicken salad to know. "No," she croaked.
Azriel picked at his meal as she stewed in her own irritation, though she could tell that he felt bad for the fact. When Sven returned to check on their meals, worry blossomed on her face at the sight of Arwen's untouched plate. Azriel simply asked if there was anything they could take the food home in. She could try again at dinner.
They returned to the town house mid-afternoon and she nearly floated to the ceiling once she dropped the weight of the bags off, sending them off to her bedchamber with a wave of magic. Elain was working in the garden, tending to the small growth of plants that continued to bloom through even winter. Arwen stoked a fire in the sitting room, planting herself in front of it with a new book.
She only broke from the pages when a steaming mug was placed in front of her. Her dry lips parted, eyes turning towards the window where darkness was beginning to befall the land. "You read my mind," she said, smiling at Azriel as she took the tea.
"Rhys and Feyre will be home soon."
The gentle parting of her lips turned round. He wouldn't remain to face Rhysand. "Thank you for the company today."
His throat bobbed as he glanced off to the side. "I think I should be thanking you. The others might actually enjoy my gifts this year."
Arwen frowned. "They always do."
He said nothing to that, the front door creaking closed a minute later with his departure. Sighing, she placed the mug on the stone of the hearth to keep it warm and returned to her book. She hoped that she could read long and late enough that she might fall asleep in front of the fireâit wouldn't be the worst place. Rhysand would move her if he was awake by the time she did.
But the next sound that had her pointed ears twitching was not that of her High Lord and Lady's return. Arwen turned stiff as Nesta Archeron moved into the sitting room, not even deigning to look down at her as she glided towards the bookshelf.
Thumbing the place in her book, Arwen straightened her shoulders. "Gilded Memories," she said. Nesta didn't stop but her eyes cut toward Arwen. "It's a good book if you like sloppy romance."
Nesta yanked a book free, a perfectly shaped brow raising with disdain. "I don't remember asking for your opinion."
Arwen had miscalculated her reservoir of patience as she already found herself snapping, "Nobody can say anything to you without being struck back down. I haven't done anything to you, yet you act like I'm dirt between your toes."
There was almost nothing to show that Nesta heard her. She situated the book into her arm, cold eyes remaining on those that lined the shelf. "Do not pretend that you are any different from the rest of them. From your brother."
Arwen rose to her feet, back to the hearth's now raging flames. "You judge me on an assumption. And do not dare speak of Rhysand to me like that to me. You stand in his home this very second because of his courtesy."
Nesta spun on her heels, book at her hip and Arwen had to remind her body to remain still underneath the piercing eyes of the oldest Archeron. "It is hardly courtesy. I do not make the mistake to forget that Feyre is the only reason he has not shown me the streets where he believes I should be sleeping."
Heat flooded her cheeks. "After the way you treated his mate, you should be glad your home isn't the pits of the City of Nightmares. They'd make good use of you there."
"At least I recognise when people do not wish to be around me," Nesta hissed between her teeth. Arwen's chest heaved. Nesta jerked her chin towards the distance. "Your High Lord had to resort to sending his general away just so he had a break from you because you cling to him like a child refusing to let a toy go."
Something blunt struck Arwen's stomach. She knew that Cassian was in the mortal lands, but Rhysand hadn't bothered her with the details of the reason for his visit. Was it true? Cassian wouldn't... Rhysand wouldn't have sent him away because of her, would he?
"At least," Nesta continued, making each step towards Arwen a parading march, "I realise what I am worth to these people. I know exactly what they think of me and don't let stupid fantasies control that. You lost your mate's interest so now you'll play with the next best option until they wear of you too."
Arwen saw Rhysand in Nesta's face. The licks of the fire's heat had turned to whips of ice against her legs. She began to relive that day, every strike that her brother's words sent to her soul.
Something caught Nesta's eye in the hazed reflection of the marble behind Arwen's head. A weight set her shoulders lower, but the cold female set her chin high, jaw ticking. She turned slowly and Arwen just made out through her blurred, stinging eyes her brother standing in the threshold of the sitting room.
Mor had a fierce grip on his shoulder, Feyre clinging to his other hand.
Nothing short of hot fury consumed the air around him. "You will get out of this house, Nesta, before I snap your neck because that is what happened to the last person who spoke to my sister like that."
Nesta dared challenge him. "I spill a few truths and you'll ignore what your mate wants for me?"
"Feyre is lucky that I'm even offering you the chance to walk away alive," Rhysand spat. "Speak one more word to my sister and I will rescind that offer. You have an hour, and if I even scent you on her again, you will be hunted out of this city. Have I made myself clear enough?"
Feyre looked devastatedâdevastated at Nesta's actions, devastated at what her mate commandedâbut she did not speak out to argue his order. Mor fought against Rhysand's attempt to move forward, tendrils of darkness slipping over his shoulders like a harness of armour.
"Where will I go?"
The question was aimed at Feyre, but Rhysand answered. "I don't particularly care."
Nesta seemed to stifle all signs of her emotion, bottling them up inside of her and welding the cap shut. Her heels clicked against the floor, the only sound throughout the entire town house. "You're a hypocrite, Rhysand." She tossed the book she had chosen minutes prior onto the lounge and left the sitting room on the far exit.
Feyre murmured something to Rhysand before trailing after her sister up the stairs.
"Is it true?"
It took a moment for her brother to pull his eyes away from the stone glare they were set in that pierced the spot Nesta once stood. "Nothing she said is true, Arwen."
But she didn't believe it. And she had good reason not to. "Did you send Cassian away because of me?"
He took Mor's hand that remained on his shoulder, speaking something to her that went missed by Arwen's ears which had blood rushing through them. Mor nodded and moved to follow Feyre's footsteps. Once their cousin had gone, Rhysand held a hand towards Arwen. "Come outside to the garden with me."
"I'm not moving until you answer me."
"And I won't be able to think straight until I'm not standing under the same roof as her."
Arwen blinked and rocked slightly on her heels. Eventually, she strode forward, but passed the offered hand and led the way out to the frosted garden, the kiss of winter cruel in comparison to the encapsulating warmth inside.
Rhysand was quick to curve her into his embrace, though Arwen settled for lowering her forehead to his shoulder, leaving her arms at her side. "Cassian is not gone because of you."
She used her forearms to battle for space between them. "Do not tell me lies, brother. He has no reason to be there."
He grappled at her wrists, trapping them from tearing away. She didn't still entirely, but she needed to hear the truth, even if she could not handle it. It would break her, but it would be better than living a lie. "He didn't want to go, Arwen," Rhysand said. "Refused the idea."
"But you still sent him." With each second her voice grew louder. "You sent him away because of me."
He dipped his head close to hers, their breath fogging into a single cloud. "I sent him away for you. Not because of you." The remainder of her fight ebbed away, leaving her with nothing but the bitter cold. "I sent him away exactly because of the reaction you had when I told you. What if he had to leave for longerâsomewhere more dangerous? Cassian did not leave your side until I commanded it as his High Lord. So do not for one second believe it is because of what Nesta said." A second passed. "Because of what I once did."
Her shoulders rose and fell with laboured breaths. Her eyes cinched shut as she shook her head wildly. "I don't want to be a burden, Rhys. I don't want toâ"
"Never," he cut her off.