Chapter Text

Chapter 69

The sun was beautifully warm against the back of Arwen’s neck that early morning. Despite the blanket of snow covering most of the land, the sky had not a cloud to be seen and was a pleasant companion as she sat on the mountainside rooftop.

Cassian, however, was not.

They sat across from each other, one of his knees tented toward the sky with his elbow thrown to rest on it. In the other hand, extended to her, a chunk of apple was being offered. Arwen shook her head, her voice breaking. “I can’t.”

“Then we don’t train,” he stated. “Simple.”

The bargain she had accepted the day before. Eat more, she could train with him. She cladded thick leggings and a loose black sweater, keeping her arms warm until she was feeling the heat of a training session. All he expected of her this morning was to eat the apple. The red skin was beautifully ripe and the juices looked sweet as anything, but the mere thought of it in her stomach was revolting. He had even cut the small piece of offered her now with his knife. Bit by bit, he told her. He would sit there with her until the entire thing was eaten.

Reluctantly, she took the small piece from him and forced it into her mouth. The initial sweetness turned to ash on her tongue, and she barely held back a gag. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t eat the whole thing.

Cassian cut a new piece.

“Do you take pleasure in being cruel?” she drawled, clawing at the piece and shoving it into her mouth as she had the first.

He pointed a hard gaze to her. “I take pleasure in seeing you healthy. Trust me, I want to train with you. I like knocking you on your ass.” He cut her another piece and winked. “I get a good view out of it.”

Arwen took it, but this time she had to pause when it reached her lips. Her stomach made a loud complaint and her mouth dried. She pled with her eyes, letting the paleness she knew had overcome her face speak for her. But Cassian only arched his dark brow. Squeezing her eyes tight, Arwen forced it past her teeth, each chew slow and like grinding through dirt.

As soon as she swallowed she knew it was a mistake.

Lurching off to the side, it all came back up her throat, leaving an acidic taste in her mouth. She threw up all the small pieces of apple she had eaten then dry heaved as her stomach cleared itself off any remaining traces. Cassian pulled her already tied hair away from hanging at her neck. With the contents of her stomach fully expelled, Arwen slumped back against his front, her chest shaking in a dry sob of exhausted frustration at herself.

“I can’t train you like this. In fact, you should be in bed being checked over by Madja.”

She pushed away from him, burying her forehead to her knees. “No.”

He sighed. “Let me take you down to the town house today. I’ll have Rhys send for her—”

Arwen slapped away the hand that aimed for her shoulder. “No.”

“Fine.” Cassian pushed off the ground and left her to sulk alone, moving on to stretching by himself. It wasn’t long before he was joined by Mor, Feyre and Azriel who all donned their training gear.

Arwen buried her head deeper between her knees, stubborn enough to not move from the rooftop as they trained off to the side of her. But everything inside of her felt weak and broken. She was sick of it—sick of feeling sick. Sick of crying and being like she was.

At the sound of boots against stone, she forced her head high, watching from the corner of her eye as Feyre sat down next to her, a glass of water in hand. Despite being mid-winter, the High Lady had beads of sweat across her forehead.

~

Cassian glimpsed at the sight of Feyre and Arwen in the short distance, using the break to set up new equipment. A good part of him was glad Arwen couldn’t keep to their deal. An apple wasn’t enough, even if she ate the whole thing.

Azriel edged up to his side, his sights set on the same spot. “How long has it been?”

“Two days,” Cassian answered under his breath, using Feyre’s voice to cover his own. “Can’t keep anything down.” The torment in the shadowsinger’s eyes was more vivid than any paint Feyre used. Cassian had to wonder how it felt—how strange it would be to know you are seeing your mate but not feeling that bond anymore. If Azriel was clinging to something that he used to feel, or if the mating bond had nothing to do with what he felt now. “Have they ever talked alone before?” he asked, gesturing towards the females again.

“No,” Mor answered.

“Eavesdropper,” he shot at her.

Mor lifted her hand with a vulgar gesture.

~

“Rhys is glad you’re not upset at him,” Feyre said. “Drunk himself into a mess the other night because he felt so bad.” Arwen played with the laces of her boots. “You’re not angry with him, are you?”

“Do you think I should be?” she inquired, looking at Feyre through her lashes.

Feyre frowned to the ground. “I’m not sure how would feel if I was you. I just know when you’re upset at him, that he’s upset with himself.”

Arwen sniffed and wiped her sleeve against her mouth for the umpteenth time, trying to remove any trace of the taste of her own vomit. “Our last memories together weren’t so spectacular, Feyre. Even without being poisoned, it was near one of the worst days of my living life.” Second to her wings being shorn out of her back and her mother being decapitated in front of her very eyes, knowing that she was going to be next. “So part of me wishes he changed my memory too.”  

“Rhys told me what happened.” Feyre lengthened her legs, pointing her toes into a stretch. “He said he would take it all back if he could. If you asked him to take that memory from you, I think he would.”

Arwen squinted against the bright horizon, breathing in the vastness of the land. Taking back that day wouldn’t change how she felt now. He would have to wipe two hundred and fifty years’ worth of memory. She wasn’t sure if her brother was even capable of that, but she did know that he would have to see everything in order to take it. And that wasn’t happening.

Arwen knew exactly how it would make him feel to know that she had been with him Under the Mountain with him. And she wasn’t interested in letting either of them relive it.

Feyre must have mistaken her silence for ignoring. “Arwen… H-Have I done something to upset you? Said something? I feel like you do not wish I was here.”

She looked over her High Lady, remembering what she once was. A mortal with skin hanging to bones and hollow cheeks. A young girl with nothing but a bone to throw at Amarantha. Arwen decided to speak her truth, or at least part of it. “I resent you, Feyre Cursebreaker.”

Feyre blanched, Arwen’s words striking her like a blow to the stomach. From the corner of her eye, she spied the others tuning into their conversation.

Arwen looked back to the horizon. Feyre had done everything she couldn’t. Had been there for Rhysand—had been his salvation when Arwen wanted nothing more than to be that for him. She blinked away a weariness. “For reasons that I can’t explain to you. But please do not take that as me not liking you. It is hard for me to talk to anybody these days. My resentment of you is my own fault. Rhysand treasures you, and so will I.”

Feyre’s voice grew soft and low. “I wish to understand. He treasures you also and I know that I am more than glad we all have you back in our lives, even if I did not know you in the one you had before.”

Arwen stopped hearing her halfway through, a sudden murkiness overcoming her as though she had been pushed underwater. A sense of dread—cold claws of it climbed up through her stomach. She became heavier than the mountain she sat upon.

~

Cassian blew out a breath that puffed his cheeks, sharing a look with Mor as they eavesdropped on Feyre and Arwen’s conversation. He began contemplating how to intervene—how he would keep them both content. But both his friends had kept their calm composures, willing to listen and speak. Hearing Arwen’s confession of her feelings towards her brother’s mate wasn’t much of a shock to Cassian. He understood that she rarely enjoyed company outside of her small circle, especially these days, but he was surprised to hear the extent of it. Resent.

Arwen didn’t hate Feyre. Wasn’t angry at their High Lady. Resent sounded like a word chosen from long nights of thought. A single word pulled from all others to explain how she felt.

His eyes drew back to the scene, intending to call Feyre back to spar with Mor. But Feyre was occupied holding Arwen’s shoulders. A shot of worry cut through him but he numbed it in favour of composure and strode towards them. The feeling doubled at seeing Feyre’s troubled features.

Cassian fell just behind Arwen’s shoulder on the opposite side to Feyre. “What is it?” he asked, taking charge of holding Arwen’s shoulders.

“She just dropped out of it,” Feyre answered, glancing over her shoulder as Mor and Azriel approached.

“Dropped out of it?” Arwen lopped her head back against Cassian’s chest, her weight slipping onto his slanted thighs. Her eyelids fluttered half-closed. He quickly came to understand what Feyre meant. Switching his hold to one arm, he used the now free one to cup under her jaw and lift it up. “Arwen?”     

As he continued attempting to reach a reaction from her, to know whether she was lucid enough to hear him, Mor felt at her pulse then listened to her breathing. “She hasn’t been eating,” Mor noted as Azriel knelt by Arwen’s calves next to Feyre. “She could just be weak.”

“It’s only been two days,” Azriel countered with a hard shake of his head. “That doesn’t send people into a faint like this.”

“It hasn’t just been two days though, has it?” Cassian countered. “She’s barely been able to eat since she came back. Or sleep. She’s exhausted.” Her arms hung limply over either side of his thighs, fingertips grazing the stone ground. Arwen’s eyes were now closed and he hadn’t gotten a response. “I’ll take her down to her room. If she’s not better after a rest, I’ll get Madja.” She could be irritated all she wanted at him for it.

He was just about to shift her into his arms when Mor leant forward, grasping at Arwen’s chin. “No,” she muttered. “I think you should get Madja now.”

Cassian peered down at the unconscious female in his lap. Blood, a deep crimson, trickled from her nose. He cupped the back of her head, tilting it upright but there was no response from her, not even shifting under her eyelids. “I’m taking her to the town house.” His gaze sliced to the shadowsinger. His shadows had congregated around him, leaving him a cloak of darkness even under the direct sun. The outermost ones stretched for his once-mate as if they could bring her into that cloak too. “Azriel, go get Madja.”

Azriel didn’t move. Didn’t take his eyes off Arwen’s body—off the blood on her nose.

“Azriel,” Cassian growled again. His brother didn’t move. Every muscle had tensed like he was trapped in a cage of his own existence. Cassian’s eyes dipped to Azriel’s scarred hands. The sides of them rested against each thigh, palms facing inwards to each other. They trembled.

Mor glanced between Azriel and Cassian, taking the former’s shoulder and calling his name once more. On the same response, like she didn’t exist, Mor shook her head to Cassian.

“Feyre,” he called instead. “Can you—” Feyre was already nodding, wings that weren’t quiet Illyrian appearing from a void at her back. “Madja,” he reaffirmed. “I’ll meet you at the house.” He looked to Mor again, shifting Arwen into his arms. Mor continued to kneel by the stoic spymaster, gripping his forearm and whispering to him. She spared only a glance at Cassian to nod and silently convey that she would remain.