Chapter 90
Rhys never came down that day. Or the next. Arwen didn't know whether she was glad about the fact or not. Feyre returned with Cassian to the House of Wind but Elain elected to remain at the town house. Taking the opportunity when Azriel was busy bathing, Arwen joined Elain in tending to the garden.
Well... She looked at the flowers. Arwen wasn't exactly sure she could tell dirt from fertiliser.
Elain's face had betrayed her shock when Arwen approached her, quickly asking if there was anything she needed. "I would just like to talk," Arwen assured her, her own stomach unsettled at the situation. Elain continued to grip her small shovel, dirt crusted under her nails, like a weapon. "I'm sure you've heard that Rhys and Feyre are building an estate. It will be their private residence."
"Yes." She looked away. "It's all a very exciting prospect, isn't it." It didn't sound as though Elain agreed with that observation.
Arwen jumped right to her point. "You're more than welcome to remain here once they move out."
Elain's plump lips parted. Her cheeks had tints of red from being under the sun for so long. "Oh," she breathed. "I'm... Not sure what I will be doing. But thank you."
"Of course." Arwen smiled. "It isn't house arrest, just an offer of an open door. If you see Nesta, tell her that the door is also open for her as well." She doubted the eldest Archeron would ever return to the town house willingly again, but it felt right to at least offer it. "I promise my brother won't hunt her down."
Elain fiddled with her garden tool. "I don't think she'll take accept. She doesn't really listen to any of us these days."
"Just let her know then." Arwen paused but knew she had to continue. "You should know that Azriel will be here more often with me. I'm happy for you to be around each other, but I thought you should consider that before you decide to stay or not. If you're alright being around him. And me." Elain said nothing, frowning at the space between them. Arwen pulled at the light sleeves of her dress. "Fae senses are strong," she spat out. "You'll... smell things. Know things that you might wish you didn't."
Elain nodded. "I can sense the bond between you."
"Yes, the bond." Damn Azriel, putting her mind in filthy places. "I won't assume what you can and cannot handle. The decision is yours. There are plenty of rooms in the House of Wind, but you'll need an escort any time you intend to leave unless you want to go up and down those stairs. And trust me," she chuckled, "you don't want to."
Elain gave a small laugh. "No."
Arwen smiled and gave a small nod of farewell, wandering back into the town house. Nuala and Cerridwen were both in the kitchen, cooking up a marvellously smelling lunch. Arwen grinned, hovering over them, thrilled to know that she would be eating more than her fair share and keeping it down.
Azriel entered, laughing as she stood between the wraiths. "Let them work in peace, Arwen." He pulled her out of the kitchen. "How was your talk with Elain?"
"Productive," she decided. "Sort of. She didn't seem eager at the idea, especially when I brought you up." Arwen twisted her hands by her stomach. "I extended the offer to Nesta too. I don't think she will accept and neither does Elain but..."
His arm settled around her waist as they stood in the windowed alcove that overlooked the quiet street. "You're Arwen," he finished off, though it wasn't exactly the phrase she was thinking and gave him an odd look for it. Azriel smiled down at her. "You forgive."
Arwen pursed her lips. "Perhaps I will learn how to hold grudges longer if you all think I'm a pushover."
He laughed, the sound beautifully light. "Pushover isn't the word I'd use."
"What is?"
"Someone that doesn't like conflict."
"That's more than a word," she huffed. "And if you think I don't like conflict, then you'll be interested to know that I was the one who lost Cassian's knife all those years ago and blamed it on Rhys after he broke my favourite pair of heels. He was bitter about it for a decade."
"You mean you felt so ashamed that you couldn't stand the idea of Cassian being upset at you so you put the blame on someone else?"
To her annoyance, he wasn't surprised at the fact she was the one who stole Cassian's knifeâwhich meant that he must have known. "I mean, that I am cunning. Devious. And have the ability to hold grudges."
"If I continue arguing, how long do you think it will be before you forgive me?"
Arwen frowned. "I think that might be a trick question." Azriel squeezed her waist and grinned. She laughed and leant into his side. The comfort that swept through her was enough to lull her eyes closed.
"How are you feeling?" he asked softly.
"Tired," was her answer. She felt awful. Her body still ached and everything about her was weak and close to breaking. Pushing herself out of her bathwater had been a battle. But she was healing now. She could eat and breathe again. So tired seemed the most fitting.
Azriel turned her in his arms, her back to his front. He sat on the cushioned alcove seat with her in his lap. Adjusting them, Arwen lay along his front, their legs entangled as they stretched underneath the window. "You are going to hurt your wings," she murmured against his neck.
"I'm comfortable enough," he whispered back. "Go to sleep, Arwen. I'll wake you for lunch,"
She was already halfway there. "Why do you always use my name? You've never used anything else like the others do."
"Your name is perfect enough." His fingers made lazy circles on her stomach. "Would you prefer I call you something else?"
She shook her head. Her name sounded perfect in his mouth. Arwen peered through the dark mess of her near-interlocked lashes through the window. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "That I thought about leaving. I wasn't thinking about anybody else but myself."
"As you should," he whispered back, holding her tighter. "If it was truly what you wanted, I would have learned to let you go. But I wouldn't have if you weren't certain."
Her lips pressed together. "Cassian thinks I should have thought about you all." That wasn't the exact situation they had been talking about, but the message crossed over. "That I hurt people."
"Cassian," Azriel began with a low cough, "has a need to feel like everybody's saviour. Want's to be a hero. When he can't be, it frustrates him."
~
Rhysand sat on the edge of the rooftop, his feet hanging over the edge. In his hand was the half-empty wine bottle he had been appeasing himself with for the better half of the day. He could see the town house from his spot. The scent of her blood wouldn't leave his nose, no matter how many times he wiped at it, washed and changed his clothes, or sprayed Feyre's perfume around the bedchamber. His poor mate had gone into a coughing fit when she walked in not a minute later while he desperately breathed it in.
He kept seeing it whenever he closed his eyesâthat pale lifelessness. The blood. Kept hearing weak but erratic thumping of her heart. Rhysand wanted to blame Azriel for it. It was his brother's suggestion after all, but he knew that he was the one to push. He had been too caught in the imagination of his fear that she would leave again to not see what was happening before his very eyes.
But she never really left, did she? No, she had been chained to his side all these years. Had watched him no doubt tear down her room, threaten the bringing of blood if her name was spoken aloud. Watched him bury her body and then refuse to ever visit that site again. Rhys couldn't blame her for believing that she had been forgotten about. It was his aim, after all.
He failed miserably though. But she couldn't read his thoughts. Hadn't seen into the nightmares he refused to tell anybody else about. Didn't know that he spent a moment of every day in mourning, or that when he looked up to the skies, he searched for the constellation now tattooed on his chest. Every Starfall he would look up, wondering if one was her, hoping for some sort of sign. He had even come to believe the one that landed on him not a year ago, the one that had brought a smile on Feyre's lips, had been from her. A blessing of sorts.
Rhysand's mind reeled back to the day he saw her again, in his own death. He had already admitted to Feyre how Arwen's reluctance to take his hand had become a guilt he burdened. But at least... At least he didn't know why. He could pretend even if just for a day that it had been in confusion.
Now he knew the truth.
Arwen hadn't wanted to come back. She had been living in her own prison for longer than she had been alive, remembering each and every day. She had wanted to go, feeling the freedom at her wrists when the tether finally disappeared. Then he created a new one. Bound her back to life. Arwen would never act to take her own life, but she would let death take her. As it almost had again.
Rhysand took another swig of his drink. It wasn't anything fancy or expensive. He didn't deserve to taste those. But it was doing its job, numbing his mind piece by piece. By the time he finished the bottle, he might just believe he could fly without his wings.
Arwen was Under the Mountain with him. He had seen the memory of her standing at his side. Watched through her own eyes as she fought to protect him in any way she could think of, only to fail each and every single time. And each time, something new broke inside of her.
She never said a word of it.
Rhysand's private moping came to an end at the sound of heavy but slow footsteps approaching. Cassian sat down on his left, mirroring his position. His brother snatched the near-empty bottle from his hand.
"That was mine."
"I'm pissed and don't care."
Rhysand sighed and could empathise with that. Another bottle would come the moment he willed it anyway. He didn't bother asking what Cassian was pissed about. It either didn't matter or would only make Rhys pissed as well as mopey. So they just sat there and watched the sun set over their city.