𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Arwen barely spared a second to use her arm and clear the sweat cascading down the side of her face before it reached her eyes. Her fists were raw, having purposefully used only half the bandage that she would normally wind around her knuckles and fingers.

That morning she had awoken with the sun and lugged her weight out of the bed. With the remnants of a nightmare still lingering in the back of her mind, she headed to her brother's room. Only, he wasn't there. Finding him was easy enough, as Rhysand made a ruckus in the kitchen putting something to eat together as the twin wraiths were sent elsewhere.

"Morning," she mumbled to him. He didn't respond. There was only a flare in his nose and a swift glimpse in her direction before he managed to get the stovetop to alight and moved into a search for their pans. He was just as terrible a mood as she was.

It wasn't until Cassian appeared no more than half an hour later that she learnt why. The letter from the Spring Court had come quicker than Azriel anticipated, and her brother received it right through the middle of his stewing fury. The fury that they let him boil in so when the letter was supposed to arrive a few days later, he'd be over it. Before Azriel had left to find her the night before, he had convinced Rhysand to not respond for a few days. Apparently, her brother tried anyway, the quill piercing right through the parchment and the ink bleeding across it.

Knowing it was best to let him deal with his thoughts alone, Arwen took Cassian's offer to join him for training at the House.

She punched his padded hands in rapid succession, eyes never leaving their target. Until she decided to take him by surprise and sent a low cut to his bare stomach. Cassian hunched a little at the blow, his brows arching. "You want a fight?" he asked, not even berating her for the jab.

Arwen stopped, then nodded. Cassian tossed the pads aside and braced his body into a fighting stance. She was certain, at that moment, that her Illyrian blood was no longer in hiding. It surged through her, seeking nothing but to punch and kick and stab and bite. Was this what the males felt every day—this uncontrollable need to break their bones against something? Or break something with their bones?

"You alright there, sweetheart?" he breathed out through a small chuckle. Ducking, he avoided her sharp punch aimed at his face.

"Stop talking," Arwen demanded. "I'm imagining someone else's face."

His leg swept out, catching on hers but she managed to fall into a controlled roll and return to her feet. "I think I'd rather you remember it's me with the way you're punching," he said with a slight grin. Nevertheless, he didn't say anything as they continued to spar.

Mor arrived on the rooftop near the end of Arwen's energy reservoir. She wore her own leather pants and a loose top, stretching and saying something about using a blade.

Arwen held up a shaking arm to signal the spar to end. Cassian stretched his shoulders and wiped his brow. A bruise was forming on his jaw, just by the corner of his mouth. "Get what you need?" he asked.

She nodded, too exhausted for words and looked down at her hands. There were small spots of red beginning to show through. Her hands hadn't taken that much brunt in a long time. Her fingers tremored as she reached for the binding on one hand, barely able to command herself to pinch the white fabric.

"Here." Cassian took her hand in his, gently peeling the wrap away. "I take it that wanting to fight means you don't want to talk?" The question was soft enough that Mor would not overhear from where she was stretching. Arwen continued to watch him unravel the fabric until it fell from her hand and revealed the gnarly forms of her knuckles and fingers. Bruises sprouted up and down her digits, the skin cracked over points of the bone and left open blisters that began to weep.