𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The next morning, Arwen was barely able to push herself off the bed where she had been moved to. Overnight, the ache in her back tenfolded. The scars on her back felt as fresh as the day the wounds were made. She choked on her whimpers and suffocated the thoughts that came with each blinding strike through her muscles.

Making way to her mirror, Arwen lifted her black shirt that was from the previous morning's training. Her scars marking where her wings had once been, as brutal as they were, looked no different from before. Releasing her grip on the material, she knew there was no way she would be changing any time soon on her own. Fortunately, the twin half-wraiths were always around to help with such things, but she'd call for their help later.

In need of something to break her fast, Arwen ventured downstairs, each step slow and calculated. As she climbed down the stairs, Mor was sweeping around. "Morning," her cousin called. "Sleep alright?"

Arwen tipped one side of her mouth upwards. "Like the dead." Which was a good thing. And it became clear that the gods of sleep favoured her over her brother. Her jaw loosened when she found Rhysand in the sitting room. "You look ghastly."

Rhysand's eyes were sunken and flat, his usually tanned skin paling to something more akin to Morrigan's than his Illyrian ancestry. He raised the mug he was drinking from in greeting. "Morning, sister," he said flatly, lips curved in a humourless grin, not taking kindly to her first words of observation for the day. "Delightful as always to see you."

"Doing my duty to make sure you don't enter the world looking like some Middengard Wyrm," she muttered. "Or would you rather it be the people of Velaris telling you?"

He flared his arms out in theatrics as she took her time to sink into the lounge beside his favoured armchair. "You could at least start with, 'Good morning, dearest brother. I am so fortunate to have you, but I must warn you that you are looking a bit peaky today. May I offer you a warm tea?' Or is that too hard for you?"

Arwen stared at him with pursed lips. After a moment of silent deliberation, she said, "I fell out of the sky yesterday. I'm allowed to be short."

"Don't start using that against me already," he responded, but his mirth had dried out. Arwen only lifted her hands as if to say, 'what can you do?' He had indeed been up the entire night, reading whatever book he thought might lead to a clue of what happened. When there was nothing left in the town house, he debated going to the library under the House of Wind but couldn't bring himself to leave the town house without someone awake. Cassian had hauled her into her room some hours into the night to return to his own up at the House with Azriel, Mor electing to stay with Rhys. But he was glad to see, at least, that she managed to get rest.

Arwen made the decision once she sat in the comfortable cushioning of the lounge, that she would not be getting up for some time. Nuala thankfully handed her a bowl of cooked eggs; a favourite of hers. She debated whether the wraith could read her mind as she ate.

Just as her spoon was scraping the juices in the bowl, the front door rammed open. Two heavy sets of feet, albeit one considerably lighter than the other, announced their identity. Arwen smiled over the top of the lounge as Cassian first sauntered in, dressed in a loose shirt and trousers. He stopped just beside the length of the chair, arms folded as he looked at the High Lord.

"Mother's tits, Rhys. You look like fucking shit."

Rhys slumped into his chair, even more exhausted. "Morning, Cassian." His violet eyes fell onto the floor as he seemed to be speaking to himself. "What happened to polite good mornings?" He made an exploding gesture with one hand. "Gone," he whispered just as Azriel trailed in.