Chapter 9
Arwen had been poked and prodded, assessed and tested in every which way. To the point where she was no longer upset and gone was the disorientation, now just tired and hungry. And she still hadn't had dinner. They had asked her questions like she knew the answers, then gave the same ones to Madja who looked over her. No answers came.
She had just vanished. Physically. What would have happened if she hit the ground? Rhys had caught her seconds before, then she slipped through him again. But as soon as her back hit the water, the pain had been excruciating and enough to knock her out.
A rapping at her door broke Arwen from her self-absorbed trance. "Come in." It was Azriel, who opened the door, his handsome face peeking before his leather-clad body did. Her smile was already growing but shot wide as a plate full of food appeared with him. "Is that for me?"
"No, it's mine," he said. "Thought I'd eat it in here."
Rolling her eyes, she stormed from her seat at the vanity and snatched the plate from his hands. Arwen made it a step away before spinning on her heel. Azriel stood with his hand still hovering, a flash of surprise in his eyes. "Thank you," she told him. Her mind was so fuzzy it was hard to think. "Sorry, I'm just so hungry andâ"
"It's fine." He added a lift of his lips, dropping his hand. Arwen took her plate and sat on the edge of her bed, balancing it on her thighs and was already cutting into the meat. He remained in the doorway for a moment, contemplating just leaving her be. "How are you feeling?"
"Crazed," she answered in a humourless chuckle. "I don't know, Az." The nickname always turned something in his stomach. Cassian and Rhysand caught him up as they spoke to Majda about how she had been feeling strange all day. He listened intently to every word. "I really don't know." She chewed fervently on her dinner, using her utensils in place of her hands as they waved around. "I meanâI just moved right through everything!"
Azriel nodded in agreement as he took in her room. He hadn't been inside it for years. Not since he felt the bond snap into place. It wasn't like he was in here often before that either but made a point of avoidance more regular. He wasn't sure if he should stay but knew her well enough that she'd it clear for him to go if he wasn't welcome. He chose to sit on the chair near her vanity, turning it to face the bed.
Arwen sighed and smiled again at him, pleased that he decided to stay a little longer. She missed him. Missed him being Azrielânot her mate. The one that would sit and read silently with her when Cassian had managed to piss her off or offer her hiding spots in his shadows when her brother or mother came looking.
She looked down at her steamed beans. "Do you want my beans?" Poking one with her fork, she extended it towards the spymaster.
Azriel hesitated a moment, but leant forward and took the green bean from the prongs. Arwen nudged them all to the far side of her bowl, gesturing with her head for him to join her on the bedding. He sat down, bringing the bean to his lips.
She didn't even have time to gasp.
Her hand slapped his, the bean flying across the carpeted floor of her room. Azriel's jaw unlocked before he suddenly realised why she had done it. He had almost eaten food offered to him by his mate.
Arwen's hand flew to her mouth. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to slap you."
He flexed his hand then clenched it shut. "No, that was probably the best thing to do." Arwen hummed and dove back into her meal. Gods, she really had been hungry. Or just wanted to avoid speaking any more to him.
But he was proved wrong to that second thought when she gave a bitter chuckle. "Maybe someone put a curse on me." Azriel smiled at her amusement, but he tucked the idea away to bring up to Rhys later who was worrying himself downstairs. He had wanted to bring her dinner up, but Cassian stalked across the room, took the plate from Rhysand's hands, handed it to Azriel and shoved Rhys into a seat. Apparently, the calm exposition of the shadowsinger was thought to be better company than a nail-biting High Lord for the half-Illyrian female.
"Perhaps," he replied. "Annoyed anyone recently enough to warrant it?"
Her head rolled around. "Certainly. It's narrowing the list down that is going to be the issue." His eyes thinned as he laughed, a detail that she took great notice in. By the Mother she wanted to embrace him. Arwen wanted a source of contact with another, the fear still at the forefront of her thoughts that she wouldn't be able to at any second. And that was heightened by the drive of the bond. But Azriel wasn't one for contact, least of all affection, so she resisted. "If it is, Helion could help. Couldn't he?"
He nodded immediately, both to soothe the growing anxiety he could hear in her tone and because it was the truth. They were on good enough terms with the High Lord of the Day Court to ask for his help, even on a personal matter. "I'd take you to him myself."
"Thank you." With her meal near finished, the slowed her eating. Violet eyes drifted down to his lap, where his hands were safely being held. "Sorry," she said again, seeing the streaks of red on the back of his scarred skin.
Azriel shook his head with a soft laugh, rubbing at the markings of her fingers with the thumb on his other hand. "Trust me, it was barely anything."
"The fact that a slap hard enough to leave marks is barely anything to you does not make me feel better," she drawled flatly. "It shouldn't be barely anything. You should be scowling and complaining how tender it is."
"I should be?"
"Yes. Because that's what people do when they haven't been hurt before." The muscle under the skin of his jaw rippled. "They don't know pain, so when it comes, they hurt. Experience can be numbing."
He pursed his lips after a moment of silence, then leant down closer to her ear. "Maybe I'm just tough," he whispered in a light tone. He didn't want to talk about it. Not about the pain he's been through or how the slap of her hand was barely the swat of a kitten paw to him. She knew enough already of his life and he wasn't interested in inviting her deeper into it. "I'm a warrior after all."
"So's Cassian," she muttered. "But he complains like a babe if you step on his toe."
His lips quirked, wondering if his brother could hear their conversation from downstairs. He wouldn't put them above eavesdropping. "I'll keep my mouth shut on that," he replied, earning a slight nudge of her elbow into his side as she likely had the same train of thought.
Arwen felt the bond between them. Her thoughts slowed at it, mindlessly plucking at the invisible string. There were good reasons why she hadn't acted on the bond, and good reasons why she often thought of rejecting it. They just hadn't been spoken aloud, least of all to him. She didn't have to wonder what he thought about it. His reaction on that day would never leave her mind.
"Thank you for bringing me dinner."
Azriel knew the tone well and was on his feet within the second. The hard, dismissive tone that signalled she desired guests to depart. She was a sweetheart by nature, as Cassian would call her, but she wasn't a child anymore, nor a simpleton. It was the voice that belonged to the daughter of the High Lord that was her father, the tone that her brother carried too. The one that put her third in charge of the Night Court, seconded to only Amren.
It wasn't that Rhysand didn't trust his sister to be the next in line, but he knew that if he fell for whatever reason, his sister would be in no quick position to take power. He knew that by his own actions at her near death and that of his mother's. It was dangerous and an impulse-driven surge of emotions. Though he did not regret seeking revenge, he was in no place to lead a court for some time after, leaving the others to take control as he tended to her and to his own grief. If he fell, then it was to a something beyond him in strength and he needed someone who was even stronger, colder, harsher to seize control. If Amren failed that, if it wasn't power and magic that the Night Court needed, then his sister was the one he entrusted.
Azriel didn't know what had caused the sudden change of tone, but he made no point to question her. He treated her words as orders and unless he had reason to argue, orders were not questioned. He gave her one last look over his shoulder as he neared the door, a firm nod in acknowledgement and then he was gone.
Arwen looked back down at her plate, the ache in her back growing. It had started from where it hit the surface of the water but she had ignored it in favour of other woes and worries. Now it was like a blister that she had left untreated. She finished her meal; slower and picker about which tastes she put on her tongue until only the beans were left. By that time, the Town House had grown quiet.
With a wince, Arwen pushed herself from the bed, plate in hand, and wandered back down to the main floor. Azriel seemed to have left, but Cassian was lounging in the sitting room. He laid stretched across the lounge, an arm behind his head. Arwen passed him to the kitchen instead.
Rhysand was in there when she arrived, braced against a bench. He blinked, dragging in a breath as he looked up. "How was dinner?"
She looked down at the plate. "You gave me beans." It was a little sharp, perhaps a little accusatory. "You haven't given me beans since I was fifteen."
His eyes dropped to the plate then closed over as his shoulders sagged. He was well aware of her distaste for them. Not even a simple distaste, for the last time she had eaten them when they were cooked into a stew he made, she had vomited for an hour after. "Shit. Iâsorry." With a wave of the magic she barely possessed, the plate disappeared. "Are you alright? Did you eat any?"
"No, I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about."
Her brother stared at her, the two pieces of information floating in his mind but the link not yet made. "Me?"
"You haven't put beans in my food since I was fifteen," she restated with more emphasis on each word. "One hundred and eighty years ago. Meaning I know it's not a mistake that you make usually. So are you alright?"
He blinked again, then nodded loosely. "I'm alright," he affirmed. "My mind just isn't sitting straight at the moment." Arwen nodded as she knew exactly how he felt. "Madja is going to do some research for us, see if there's any record of this happening."
"I'm not sure a healer is what I need."
Rhysand leant his hip against the large island bench, drumming his fingers. She was right, he noted. This didn't seem to be an ailment that needed herbs and a healing touch. Arwen had become intangible. That was something else. Something magical. Before Azriel had made his swift and quiet departure, he had murmured to Rhys about the possibility of a curse. Neither had any idea what curse could cause such a thing but it was a possibility until ruled out.
He wasn't alright. But neither was she and she needed him to be, so he would be. And if he was making guess, he would say that her 'un-alrightness' was far worse than his. It was his duty to be alright. As a High Lord and as a brother. "Stay in the house for the near future," he said. "I... I don't want you to be on the mountain or in the air until we figure this out."
Arwen agreed with a stiff nod, her toe scuffing the floor, wondering if she would fall through that too. "I'm going to take a nap. Or just sleep, I suppose. It's late."
"I'll be here. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Rhys."
She sauntered back across the main floor, thinking about her bedroom. But she still had that itch of touch, the one she refused herself from taking from Azriel. Just the idea that at any moment she might not be able to ever again, drove the urge and her feet towards the sitting room. Arwen and Cassian had a habit of taking naps together, usually from falling asleep after a hearty meal and talking. Or even after training that exhausted even the endless mounds of energy the general seemed to have in reserves.
Standing over him, she lifted her bare foot and nudged his ribs. "Move over." Cassian tilted his neck and arched a brow. "Please," she added with a smile. With a grunt for show, he inched himself closer to the back of the lounge and rolled out his arm. Arwen lay on her back, knees pitched towards the roof next to him, head rested on his arm which curled back up, his palm slapping against her forehead and roughly brushed the hairs back. "Goodnight, Cass."
"Goodnight, sweetheart."