𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 83

Chapter 83

Arwen sat in the bathtub until she couldn't stand how cold the water became, her bones shivering. Memories kept repeating in her head, exhausting her, yet she couldn't shove them away. Draining the tub, she wrapped the thick robe around herself, glimpsing at the star-flecked sky beyond her window. It called to her. 

Clipping her wet hair away from her face, she headed downstairs, following the sound of light chatter. Feyre and Rhys were leaning against opposite sides of the island bench in the kitchen over hot drinks. They greeted her with equal soft smiles.

Arwen swallowed away the dryness in her throat. "I want to watch the stars," she said. Not out of seeking permission or informing them of her whereabouts. It was a request that only her brother would understand. 

Rhysand straightened. "I'll meet you in bed, darling," he murmured to Feyre who appeared a bit lost but not all that fretful at the fact. Feyre moved first, picking up her drink and shared a kiss on the cheek with Arwen. Rhysand slipped in front of her. "Rooftop?"

"Yes," she uttered. As he passed her, Arwen took his hand. They settled on the flattened edge of the rooftop terrace, letting their legs hang down the gentle slope. Tilting her head back, the breeze skimmed across her bare neck. Each star winked at her as if to remind her that they were watching.

"You've been thinking," he said after minutes of silence. "I've seen it on your face all day."

"I have been," she admitted. All day, true to the observation. Awakening from a dream that had her guts wanting to fold themselves inside out, it was all she could do.

He rubbed the knuckle of her thumb of their still interlinked hands. "Want to let me in? Have you decided?"

Her head dropped back down. "That's not what I've been thinking about." Rhysand watched the side of her face. She frowned—or maybe it was a wince—and restrengthened her grip on his hand, confirming that she could feel it. "I can't stop thinking about you being Under the Mountain. With Amarantha." Maybe it was a way for her to avoid thinking about what should matter at that second.

He continued staring at her and though there was nothing visible on his face, she sensed all thoughts in his head shifting. And there, in his eye, a haunting. "She's dead. You don't need to worry about her."

"I'm not—" Arwen cut herself short. She wasn't worried about Amarantha. She had watched Tamlin sink his claws into her and it was the only time that she ever felt a slither of gratitude for his presence. Her tongue ran over her cracking lips. "You were all alone, Rhys. For fifty years."

He hummed. "I was protecting this place. This family."

"Alone," she repeated, snapping her neck to look at him. To let him see the tears beading on her lashes. She knew that feeling, knew how crushing it became and he kept pretending he was alright. "I hate it. I hate the idea of you not having anybody. I would have given anything—anything—to be there with you, just so you weren't." 

Arwen was there. But she wasn't there. She couldn't offer him anything, not even a whisper in his ear. There were days that he was so shattered that he sat in his private chambers and just sobbed, his entire body shaking and she could do nothing but stand there. Even drafts from opening doors held more power than her.

"No." Rhysand shook his head viciously. "No, Arwen, that is not what I would have wanted at all." Relenting the hold on her hand, he took her jaw instead and leant closer. "Yes, I was alone. But alone meant that the people I cared about were safe. If you were there, that meant I would have failed. I cannot even stand thinking up the idea. I would do it all again even if it was just to protect you."