𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 88

Chapter 88

Arwen was greeted with a honeyed stream of morning light. She stared at the hazy, golden sheen against her transparent curtains for some time, not quite comprehending that she was awake. When she did, she realised just how hungry she was. On the growing, fervent desire, Arwen slipped her legs out of the soft blanket of her bed, pressing them to the cool wood of her floor. Stretching her chest high with a long inhale, she pushed her weight onto them.

And promptly collapsed to the floor.

Her knees jarred against the wood with a loud bang. The stinging pain travelling up her thighs into her hips, her lips parted in a silent gasp. Every part of her felt weak. Broken. Just how she had felt before the abyss took her. The stinging migrated to her eyes. They hadn't done it. Helion couldn't do it—she was still dying.

By the time Arwen had gathered her senses and reigned in her tremors, her bedchamber door creaked open with the approaching footsteps she had heard in the hall entering. It was Feyre that swept in front of her, offering her hands of assistance. Arwen slumped her hands into Feyre's but didn't react to the strength that would support her efforts to stand.

"How are you feeling?" Feyre asked, dropping to her knee instead.

Arwen shook her head in answer. She felt awful.

Dark feet clad in brown sandals appeared in the corner of her eye. "That's to be expected." Helion knelt on her right, his hands clasped over his white-robed knee. "I work magic, not miracles."

Feyre smiled fondly at the High Lord of Dawn. "It was close enough," she said to him before looking back over Arwen. "How about we get you back into bed? It's only been a day and a half, your body still has plenty of recovery to do."

The word struck her. "Recovery?" Arwen murmured, having no strength to speak anything louder. Her eyes widened as violets darted between the two. "You mean—"

"I think if I failed, I might have become your spymaster's next playtoy," Helion said, with a pointed look beyond Arwen.

She followed the point of the gaze, peering over her shoulder. She could just see Azriel on the bed, sleeping on his side. He wasn't wearing his leathers, just plain black pants and a loose-fitting cotton shirt. His uppermost wing was half-draped over him, and his hand was eased in an extension, fingers splayed over the rumpled sheets where she had just been lying.

Azriel was dead still. Something Helion picked up as well. "We heard your fall from the other side of this delightful little house."

"Little?" Arwen echoed in insult, tearing her eyes back. The town house was humble for certain, but it was... a grand humble. Perhaps it stung a little since she would be taking ownership. But that was beside the point. She was alive. She was living. But that meant there was nothing more for her after. This life was it. She shoved that worry into a dark corner of her mind for later. "I'm really hungry," she breathed.

Feyre grinned. "That can easily be cured."

~

Arwen scoffed down a broth despite Feyre's urging to slow. Even if she vomited it up again, Arwen was just glad that it tasted delightful. Soon, her silver spoon was scraping the bottom of the bowl. They had left Azriel to sleep, Arwen teasing that he seemed to need it more than she did. She wasn't oblivious to the quietness of the town house.

"Thank you," she said to Helion. "For everything."

He winked at her. "You can owe me a favour."

Grinning, she crooned, "I'm sceptical about what that will be. But I suppose it is owed, whatever it is."