Chapter 84
Arwen and Cassian sat at breakfast like nothing had ever happened. Which was exactly how she knew it would be. The thing she hadn't expected to feel, was the upset gargling of her stomach when Azriel sat down next to her. Like she had done something wrong. He hadn't said anything, which was usually expected on a quiet morning. But today... She knew something was off.
Rhysand flew up to meet them sometime after breakfast, lines of distress marring his forehead. He requested Cassian to go with him to the camps for the day. Of course, Cassian quickly obliged, kissing Arwen on the cheek before flying off with her brother. She stood on that balcony for some time, watching the sun continue to rise, the arms of light reaching across Velaris. It was hours before she even crossed paths with the shadowsinger again. Even then, they only passed in the hall with nothing more than a remark of greeting. But having seen his shadows crawling around all day, there was little chance they weren't reporting to him her every move. They had been for days.
The next morning, Arwen was delighted to find Feyre in the sitting room. "How are you?" her High Lady inquired.
"Fine," Arwen answered, taking the seat next to her. She had come to, strangely, find some sort of solace in Feyre's presence. A soothing like a balm to a burn. In a way, it reminded her of Lucien. Someone that was not her family, or that she grew up around. Someone who she had to nurture a relationship with, rather than have one by default. "How's Rhys? He hasn't reached out to me." Arwen left her mind open enough for him to enter. It was her memories that she kept locked away.
Feyre waved her hand. "He's fine, just busy. I think he doesn't want to stress you."
"He has a habit of doing that," she muttered through a smile, pulling a cushion to her stomach. "Not telling people what's wrong. He thinks it's easier on us if we don't know."
"Don't worry, I'm beating the habit out of him." They shared a laugh. Feyre turned more onto the lounge to face Arwen. "I was hoping to speak with you." She tilted her head, seeking Arwen's gaze. "Perhaps offer you an ear that isn't... That you might feel freer talking to."
Arwen toyed with the frills of the cushion, mulling over the offer.
"I know it's hard when just being alive feels difficult," Feyre continued in the silence. "I've been through that. But it's worth fighting for."
"You have to understand, Feyre," Arwen murmured, her voice raw like she had been screaming for hours, "that it isn't just a choice of giving up or living. If I chose to stay, I lose any possibility of moving on after death. I have watched Starfall every year, and every year I have hoped that when I die, I would become one of them. Reunite with my mother, travel across the universe, even if I'm not consciously aware of it. It's the hope of knowing that I'm somewhere better. That is a belief that I have held since your great ancestors were alive."
"But you give up everything you have here," Feyre added softly. And if she chose wrong, she would be placing herself in a prison. Another silence lapsed between them before she spoke again. "Rhys feels guilty. He thinks that you never wanted to come back. That he forced you here."
Arwen parted her dry lips but her mind ran blank in how to respond. Because what could she even say? Yes, that was exactly what happened. Rhysand had grabbed her and pulled her back when she was finally free. When she finally felt the pull of death's hands, the first thing she felt in two hundred and fifty years, he had snatched her away from it.
Arwen still blamed him for that. Still couldn't help the resentment that she might have been in some form of peace if he had just not reached for her.
"Arwen?"
Arwen pushed Feyre's reaching hand away, snapping back into concentration. Her breathing had turned labouredâloud but weak. She knew her breathing was getting worse by the day as if her lungs were becoming infected or... Or decomposing. "I'm sorry, Feyre. I think I need to lie down."
The High Lady nodded. "Of course. Can I bring you anything? Should I call for Rhys?"
Arwen shook her head and leant back into the lounge.
Feyre smiled tightly and rose from the seating. She took one step away before hesitating, turning back to Arwen with a frown. "If you've already made a decision, I ask as your High Lady that you tell Rhys when he returns. Give him time to process it. If you do decide to leave, he needs to hear it from you. All of them do."
She nodded to her High Lady.
The fire across, raging in the hearth, dried her eyes as she stared at it for what might have been hours. When Feyre left, there was still sunlight visible in the window but when she looked again, it was the velvet darkness of night. Talking with Feyre hadn't felt all that productiveâit just felt like she had to explain herself all over again. Explain things that were hard, no matter how many times she did it, to put into words.
Arwen's solitude came to an end. With the fire the only source of light, Azriel almost melted in with the shadows of the sitting room. His gait was so quiet and smooth that he seemed to glide to the lounge, taking the seat against the opposite armrest. He stared at the fire, hands clasped between his knees. Arwen remained deathly still, unsure whether to move or pretend to be a statue.
"I don't know what to do anymore, Arwen." Ice encapsulated her bones at the empty, harsh voice. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do," he said, and Arwen's eyes glued to the side of his face. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say."
He hadn't spoken more than five words to her in over a day. "I don't understand," Arwen said. "What's wrong?"
"I know, Arwen." Azriel placed a hand on his chest, clutching at his leathers. As the firelight danced across the tanned planes of his face, she could see the pain on them, like he had been physically wounded. "I know that I am not good at figuring out what people need. I know that I struggle to talk some days and I can be hard to talk to. I know this. But I don't know how to keep fighting for you, when you do not want to be fought for."
Arwen's feet slipped to the floor. "I never asked you to fight for me," she said, careful to keep her voice steady. "I don't even know what you mean by that, Azriel."
His eyes snapped from the fire to her. "You are my mate. I-I am fighting to help you. I'm fighting for you to let me into your life. Fighting for your life."
The suddenness of it allâshe didn't know what to do. "We are not mates anymore. You told me so yourself that the bond is broken and I do not feel it. You have no obligation, bond or not, to fight for me."
His body followed his gaze, turning to her. "Bond or not you are still my mate. You were the one chosen for me and I was chosen for you."
"And maybe it was wrong," she cried. "You certainly thought so for many years, if you forget. Not to mention that if I were not here then perhaps you would be down with Elain instead. Or are your affections so fickle that you cannot remember which one of us you desire more?"
They found themselves on their feet. Arwen didn't know who moved first or who followed, but if she outstretched her arm, she was close enough to touch him. Azriel's jaw fell. "Elain?" he echoed, drawing the female's name out like it was foreign to his tongue. "This has nothing to do with her."
"It has everything to do with her." Arwen raked her fingers through her hair. It was getting harder to breathe. "You cannot deny your affections for her, and I do not want someone who is only at my side in a sense of duty that they did not choose. Neither of us chose the mating bond."
"I would have chosen it." Anger stretched across his face now. Pure, undiluted anger. "Elain is kind but I harbour no affection for her," he snapped, as if she was in the wrong for accusing him of what she only saw. "The same cannot be said for you and Cassian. I smelt you that morning. I could smell him on you."
She pointed her trembling finger at her chest. "I do not have feelings for Cassian and nor does he for me. I went to him in search of comfort because I trusted him and did not feel like I could go to you. That is all. There was nothing to betray between us."
"Then how is that not the same with Elain? You were dead, Arwen! At least I didn't do it in your face." Azriel took a step closer. "She was simple and easy to be around in ways that you drove me crazy. I like Elain because she didn't remind me of you. I didn't think of you when I looked at her face."
In hindsight, Arwen knew that was the comment that stung the most. That she was nothing alike Elain; the beautiful female who was so soft and sweet that people could not help but like her. That she was not kind as Elain was. Not as neat and prim and sweet and proper.
"Then why are you not with her now?" Her chest constricted so tight it was a wonder that she breathed at all. "If she is so easy to be around, then be around her."
Azriel stole another step forward. "Because she is not the one that I love."
The word panged around inside of her painfully. Hard and rough-edged. Arwen shook her head, retrieving that space with a step back. "I don't trust that, Azriel." He eyed the movement. "You gave her Truth Teller."
He blinked. "Who told you that?"
"Does it matter?" Arwen's chest shook as she looked at the fire. "You gave it to her."
His hand skimmed the short pommel that protruded from the sheathe kept tight to his outer thigh. "I gave her my knife to borrow. You fucked Cassian. Does that not mean more?"
A single burst of laughter poured from her lips. Empty and cold. "I didn't fuck Cassian because he refused me. And even if I did, it would have meant the exact same as you finding other females in pleasure houses I'm sure you've done over the past two hundred years. You gave Elain Archeron Truth Teller and that meant something. In over five hundred years you have never parted with it, so forgive me if I believe your actions over your words."
"I gave it to her because she was my High Lady's sister and she was scared. If she died out of fear, Feyre would have been devastated. If Feyre was hurting then Rhys would have been distracted and we could have lost the entire war because of it."
Arwen refused to look at him. Refused to acknowledge the tears streaming down her face.
Azriel pulled the knife from his thigh, snatching her hand from her side. He shoved the knife's pommel into her hand, curling her fingers around. "Take the damn knife, Arwen. Keep it!"
Arwen tore her hand out of his, pulled her arm back, and speared the blade across the sitting room. "I don't want the stupid knife!" A searing pain erupted through her shoulder. The blade clanged against the wall, dropping to the ground.
Azriel stared at the spot it fell like it was everything he had to offerânow thrown away.
Arwen clenched her eyes and jaw at the agony coursing through her. Like her muscles were put on fire. She knew the pain well enough. Dislocated. This time she only had herself to blame. Azriel's hand grazed hers. "Don't touch me. Don't touch me!"
"Just let me help you," he whispered, all trace of wrath gone. It was only then that she opened her eyes as he guided her to the floor, that she found the shining tears tracking his cheeks.
Unable to take her eyes off them, Arwen stared at his face, wincing as he moved her arm and prepared her shoulder to go back in place. He murmured a count but she didn't hear it, yelping when it popped. Azriel let her go, falling off his haunches and turning his gaze to the fire. He rested his elbows on tented and spread knees, one hand hanging limp, the other fisting to his mouth. His shadows pooled around him, cloaking him. Protecting him.
Arwen rose, ignoring the lingering ache pulsating through her shoulder as well as the clawing exhaustion. She crossed the room and found his knife, picking it up. When she stood up, her back to the hearth, her ears twitched at the sound of a sob. She didn't want to look.
But she did. Arwen turned with the knife in hand.
Azriel's eyes were shut tight, hard wrinkles creasing out to his temples from either one. She dropped to her knees at his side, placing one hand on his shoulder and holding out the knife with the other. Peeling his eyes open, he glanced down at it, took it, and then threw it to his other side. Truth Teller skidded along the floor, knocking into the stone lip of the hearth where it stopped.
"I don't care about it," he croaked, catching her stare at the discarded blade. "I don't care about a fucking blade. I want you to stay, Arwen. I love you and I can't let you go again. I can't do it."
Arwen reached out. She pulled away his closest arm from his knee, opened it, and slipped inside. Facing him, she leaned forward and rested her cheek on the front of his shoulder, sinking her weight onto him, listening to each breath he took.
His arm settled around her back. It wasn't strong or comforting at first, just there gently resting as he sniffed. Eventually, his hold grew tighter, arm winding around her until she was flush against him and in his lap. Arwen buried her face into his neck, nails digging crescents into his leathers, wishing he wouldn't make this harder on her. He tried to pry her head from his shoulder but she wouldn't let him, not knowing if she could bare looking into his face. The only thing she could give him was, "I love you, Azriel."