𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 73

Chapter 73

In the days leading to Winter Solstice, Arwen hardly saw Rhysand or Cassian—even Feyre and Mor became occupied enough that finding an hour to spend with them became a task in itself. Amren appeared twice, the first time with an excuse to search for something in the town house but the entire visit was spent peppering Arwen with questions about herself and the daily doings of her brother. The second time she simply came around to eat—the sight still shocked Arwen who stared as she guzzled down a good portion of meat that Nuala cooked her. Apparently, she hadn't eaten in hours since she had no food in the apartment, the habit of shopping for it still lost.

The rest of her time was spent skilfully avoiding Elain, and in the company of Azriel. Arwen had asked why he had so much free time to occupy in the town house with her. His answer was that he was able to perform his work at night, which he preferred.

His shield covered them now, a shimmering dome that protected the small rooftop terrace from the breeze, the siphon on each gauntlet making a pulsing glow. Arwen used her own magic to warm the space, letting them sit comfortably at the iron table, a stack of cards between them.

Arwen eyed her set. "Rhys says you're speaking to him again."

Azriel, perched across from her had near perfect posture compared to her lazed slouched, her feet propped on the clawed feet of the table. "Unfortunately, it is part of my duties. Cassian is useless at conveying what I need him to."

Cassian had taken less time to forgive Rhysand's meddling, though she would guess it would take him much longer to forget. And that is why she believed that perhaps Cassian purposefully mis-relayed information, forcing Azriel into proximity.

She placed her card down. "I know you're upset that he went into your mind," she said—carefully, softly. "But I think he did it for the right reason. Whatever memory he gave you was obviously better than the real thing. You were never supposed to find out the truth."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better? It was a lie." 

"A better lie though?" she challenged.

Azriel tipped his head, eyes set on the stacked cards along the table and his own hand. "I could have saved you." He tossed a card down, ignoring her heavy stare. "If I had come minutes earlier it would have changed everything. He changed that part of my memory. In the one he gave me, you died so quickly that there was nothing I could have done. But you weren't in pain. In my real memory we didn't speak. I barely saw you for a minute when you were alive and you died suffering. In the one he gave me, we had dinner together. We spent the evening talking on one of the balconies alone before I took you home."

Arwen could barely look at the cards to think of which one to play, so she pulled one without thought and placed it down. "What did we talk about?"

Azriel frowned at her newly placed card. "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me." She pressed forward against the table. "Rhys gave that memory to you because he thought that is what you would have wanted. I'm here now to listen."

"You won't want to hear it now." Cold. Distant. Spymaster. His shadows swarmed him.

"There is very little you could say to me, Azriel, that would hurt." Her own cold truth. Arwen couldn't imagine anything he would say that would change how she felt. How shadowed her world felt. How the dull clouds overhead seemed a perfect metaphor for her life. "Very little that would change anything."

He played his card, letting his fingers linger around it before he retreated, delaying an answer if he decided to give one at all. "I told you that I loved you. You were upset because you wanted to tell me first and said I had no patience." He leant back into his chair, licking his lips and nodding down to the pile in an urge for her to play her next card.