𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Cassian looked utterly miserable. Arwen hadn't expected him nor Azriel to be at the townhouse, never mind that they were dripping wet. Azriel didn't seem to mind it, standing off to the side of the sitting room near the hearth, beads still clinging to his hair and making strange patterns on the waterproofed leather. Cassian, however, moped.

"Please tell me Amren has taught you to use your magic?" he bemoaned, sitting against the lounge. His wings were slightly spread, allowing him to lean deep into the cushion without too much discomfort. Wet, black tendrils of his long hair clung like whisps to the fabric.

"I didn't spend hours getting chastised to learn how to dry you off," Arwen rebutted. Rhysand and Mor evidently were not home, who would both have quickly whisked away the water before the Illyrians soaked their living space. "But I did bring you this," she added, tossing one of the potted balms in his direction, placing the others down on a table. Cassian snorted and placed it to the side. "Why are you two here, anyway?"

"Azriel received some information from one of his sources down in the Spring Court," he answered, voice edging darker. "We were going to talk to Rhys about it but he's not here and I'm not flying through another storm."

Arwen slowly moved towards the hearth, crossing her arms and turning her back to the flames to dry off her hair as she stood. "The Spring Court?" she echoed softly. "What's happening down there?"

Cassian did not say anything at first, looking first at Arwen, then at Azriel. Arwen followed the turn of attention to the spymaster a few paces to her right. Shadows engulfed him, curling widely rather than the usual rest she would see them with. One stretched along the wall, over the sharp corner of the small shelf above the hearth and towards her.

"It's nothing to worry about," he told her, voice low but soft. "Just that they might reach out to Rhysand and we wanted to give him a warning." Arwen frowned but his gaze remained soft and retreated. By 'they', she guessed he meant him.

"Two of Beron's sons were killed," Cassian interjected, answering the lack of substance Azriel offered her.

Tipping her head, she blankly said, "Praying for Eris."

Cassian snorted again and Azriel turned his head away, all three of them with full awareness of the potential heir of the Autumn Court's history with Mor. Something that was neither easily forgotten, nor forgiven.

"No," Azriel murmured. "Lain and Créan." Arwen could only shrug, not knowing them personally. "His youngest, Lucien, abandoned his court and fled to Spring. Beron sent three of his other sons on a chase after him. Tamlin and Lucien each killed one, the other bolted."

"Lucien?" Arwen whispered, smothering her wince at the High Lord's name. "I remember him. He attended one of our balls in the Court of Nightmares a few years ago. I actually liked him." Not to mention he was quite handsome. It was a pity he had fled south instead of north. "If the Spring Court—" she couldn't bring herself to say his name— "has just killed two of Beron's sons, they aren't going to be on good terms."

It had been hard, being the face of something maleficent and knowing that the person receiving it wasn't aware of the mask when you wanted nothing more than to remove it for them. Of course, she never risked it, lest he say something about her softness to his family. They had to believe how dangerous they could be. How she wasn't a weakness to Rhysand—which people knew she was, or the dead High Lord of the Spring Court would not have come after her and her mother to get to Rhysand. But Arwen couldn't let that happen again. She couldn't let people think that hurting her would be easy.

"No," Cassian drew out in hearty agreement. She imagined he would toast to her if he had a drink in hand.

"And you think they're going to reach out to Rhys?" she circled back, unleashing a chest sound of haughtiness. "For what? An alliance? He's mad if he thinks Rhysand will agree to that." Arwen smiled maniacally at them both, but was met with solemn expressiona. Her chest dropped. "Rhys wouldn't, would he?"