𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 58

Chapter 58

Cassian wiped his hand down his face, hoping that he would wick his tire away with it. He had been in and out of Velaris over the past two weeks, dealing with the surging unsettlement within the camps. A stone weighed on top of that responsibility; Arwen hadn't been handling his disappearances well. Mor recounted to him over a late glass of wine that she had become more volatile of late, particularly in those times when he left. That night, before he had returned, she had broken her drinking glass in her hand and fled the dining chamber after Rhysand tried questioning her.

Cassian wandered down the House's shadow-shrouded corridors, half thoughtlessly, half with an end place in mind. It was late, but not so late that he felt like accidentally waking her would be rude. He hummed softly, feet taking him a right through the familiar corridor.

At her door, he knocked twice, almost too light to be heard. No response followed so he reached for the handle and edged the door open. Arwen's bedroom was just as dark as the halls, except her window remained open, allowing a stream of the waning moon's white light to sweep across the hardwood floor. Despite being in the early weeks of winter, Arwen had kicked her blanket off and lay exposed on her back, arms bent to each side of her head. On one hand, he could see a makeshift bandage, crafted from a scrap of fabric. Had done it herself, he concluded from the simple fact he knew the others wouldn't have settled for such a poor method.

Silent in step, he made his way to her bedside and sat on the edge of the mattress, picking up her injured hand. Blood already seeped through the light blue fabric, but it hadn't soaked which meant that it was healing as it should. He'd check it in the morning for infection.

Cassian carefully placed her hand back down then reached for her head, letting his fingers stroke down her temple and to her cheek.

He frowned. She felt wet, as though she had just gotten out of the bath or come inside from the rain. A quick sniff of his fingers confirmed that it was sweat. His gaze moved down to her chest, which moved at a quickened pace. He called her name. "Arwen?"

Her eyes jumped around under her eyelids, twitching at the sound of his voice. A nightmare, he quickly reasoned, only this time she wasn't thrashing and screaming for them to be warned. Cassian slid off the mattress and instead turned towards it, bracing a knee on the blanket at her side.

He grasped either side of her face. "Arwen," he called again, louder. "Sweetheart." As she twitched again, this time shooting through her entire body, Arwen inched under the moon's gleam and he saw the extent of her condition. Her skin was slick, tendrils of raven hair clung to her neck and forehead, a patch of the bed just under her darkened from it.

Cassian brought his body forward, digging his arms under her back and neck, lifting her into a seat. Arwen's head lopped against his arm, her chest making small convulsions. He kept calling her name, but it was until he decided to jostle her that her eyes opened. They peeled apart slowly, like a painting breaking from its frame over years. Unlike before, there was no panicked flurry, no hands flinging out to grasp the nearest thing, no gasping for breath.

Cassian readjusted her to lean against his front so he could use a hand to lift her still lopped head. "Hey, hey," he whispered, unconsciously falling into gentle rocking. Arwen tipped her head against his shoulder, the only effort given were a few, weary blinks. "You know where you are?"

He got a small grumble in response.

Cassian held her for a few minutes as he decided what to do. She did nothing but continue to lean against him, her breath fanning across his neck. "I'm going to make you a bath," he told her. Moving to lie her back down, he was stopped by a weak noise and her hand clutching at his shirt. He pried it off to hold it instead. "Come with me then," he said.