𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 78

Chapter 78

Arwen awoke slowly. Her tight throat gave a whimper at the ache in her muscles, despite the soft fabric that draped across her and the mattress underneath. She pushed against the bed off her stomach into a seated position, letting the blanket pool at her hips. It was her bed—her room. No sign or scent of Cassian. It was dark, her curtains drawn closed and no candles were alight. Someone had changed her into a matching silk set of a singlet and pants; she didn't remember doing it herself.

Arwen shuffled to the edge of her bed, taking the time to test her weight on her feet. It was her hips that complained the most, as though she had been on horseback for hours. Wiping away the drowsiness in her eyes, she hobbled across her room and to the door. It had to be early if the sun wasn't even peaking through the gaps of her window drapes.

Yet when she ventured into the hall and looked down the stairs onto the ground floor, warm light flooded the town house. Arwen gripped the railing of the stairs as she climbed down, following the sound of soft murmurs towards the back and into the kitchen.

Azriel, Mor, Rhysand and Cassian were all huddled in there, talking over warm drinks. When they looked at her, the solemness and gravity did not lift. Arwen couldn't meet Azriel's eye. "Didn't expect you all up this early," she grumbled, heading for the milk and kettle that was left out, the latter still steaming and intended to put a tea together for herself.

But her movements were stopped by Cassian who took the kettle from her. "I've got it," he murmured. "Honey?" Arwen nodded.

"It's actually rather late, sweetheart," Rhysand said. She frowned at him. He nodded towards the window where nothing but black sky and shaded silhouettes could be seen. "You slept a while." Her lips rounded to a small 'o'. She'd slept an entire day. He walked to her, eyes set on something just lower than her face. He thumbed her jaw, eliciting a wince. "That should have healed by now." The bruise, she recalled—gained by the bone of a wrist being pummelled into her in her battle with Cassian and Azriel.

"Would you like any dinner?" Mor asked, her tone oddly light in comparison to everything else. "There's leftover pie."

"N..." Arwen's voice failed her. "N-no thank you." She wasn't even sure she'd be able to keep tea down, but it was worth the try. Looking over to see if it was near ready, she found Cassian pouring something deep and red out of a vial into the mug. "What is that?"

But before she could even finish the question, the scent answered it. Blood. He was putting blood in her tea. "Feyre's blood," Cassian answered without looking back.

"Feyre's blood has healing properties," Rhysand added before even more questions could be raised. But Arwen understood their intentions. 

Cassian placed the steaming cup in front of her. "Drink up, princess. All of it." Arwen took a slow sip, wrinkling her nose.

"We're taking you to the Day Court in the morning." Azriel's voice cut through the growing tension like it was a knife to silk. Rhysand glared at him. Azriel ignored it. "The only reason you're not there now is because we didn't want to winnow you while you were unconscious. We don't know how that type of magic might affect you."

"Oh." That had been the deal she made. Go see Helion Spellcleaver after Solstice. Rhysand thought he would know something. Considering she had no idea either, it seemed stupid and futile to refuse.

"How do you feel?" Cassian inquired.

Arwen dragged herself into the high seat. "Not amazing," she admitted.

He braced his elbows against the table next to her, nudging one outwards to knock into hers. "Yeah, well you don't exactly look amazing either." Arwen glared at him but dropped it quickly in exhaustion. "Should have seen yourself last night when dear Az carried you back here. Looked like a corpse—"