Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Feyre explored the contents of her mate’s room. He watched her, lounging on the bed with his arms stretched overhead. She smiled at him over her shoulder, running her fingers along the vanity then down the carving of his dresser’s door. She remembered how she painted her, and each of her sisters’ draws to their shared dresser. What would she paint on his, given the chance? Starfall, she decided. A rain of spirits—their colours magnificent. It would be a challenge to perfect it, to replicate that night’s beauty. She would have to practice it first on a canvas, to see what colours and brushes would do it to most justice.

“What secrets are hidden in here?” she asked, running her finger over the metal barred handle.

“You cannot tell anybody,” Rhys whispered, “But I own white shirts.”

Feyre burst into laughter and imagined what he would look like in anything but his dark shirts with pristine folds. Moving on, she wandered to a set of drawers away from the wardrobe. Resting on top were a collection of odd pieces, ranging from a short ceremonial looking dagger to a few rings and scrap pieces of paper that she recognised her own scribbled writing upon. Feyre looked back over her shoulder with a raised brow and he only challenged it with his own.

Her hand drifted down to the first draw, pulling it open. More odd pieces. A set of his fighting leathers were neatly folded. The next draw had a few books as well as a heavy amulet hanging from a golden chain. Feyre looked back at Rhys to ask who it belonged to since she had never seen him wear such a thing, but she found his grin had been wiped. His eyes stared at the drawer below.

She slowly pushed the one she had open back in, then hooked her fingers in the metal handle of the next, dragging it open. Wooden planks scraped against each other like it hadn’t been opened in some time and the grooves were filled with dust.

Inside, the first thing she saw was a small vial on a chain perched on a cushion of red velvet. The vial was the size of her thumb in both length and width. Its stopper was a polished silver lid with an intricately cut panelling on the side. But the vial was obsolete to the contents inside. It was the essence of the spirits from Starfall. A brilliant blue-green iridescent.

Next to it, a drawing framed in a simple, but elegant and dark wooden frame. It was of Velaris, from the perspective of someone flying over it. It was signed at the bottom but the writing was too curled and whimsical to make out the name.

There were more objects—a ring and earrings set, two bracelets made of a woven fabric—but the next one across was another frame turned upside down so the contents behind the glass were hidden. Feyre reached into the draw.

Rhysand snatched her hand. It was a tight grip of warning. She withdrew immediately. These were not his belongings, at least, they did not belong to him at first. “Rhys, who—”

“Not today.” His head shook, voice cracking in a way that she had not heard in a long time. Not since his confession to her in the cabin. He closed the drawer with his other hand, not even looking down inside of it. “I’m sorry, Feyre but I can’t. I can’t talk about those things.”

She looked back down at the closed drawer. “Are they gone?”

The muscle rippled under the hinges of his jaw. His grip on her hand tightened, then let go altogether. “Yes,” he whispered. “She’s gone.” He felt himself chipping, breaking and flaking away like crusted paint. “I’m sorry.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder for his abrasiveness then left his bedroom with the wind under his heels.

Feyre watched him leave, half tempted to open the drawer again, the other half of her wanting to follow him. She decided that neither would be her best choice. Guilt piled in her, realising that she had brought up memories that he did not wish to explore. Rather than staying inside his room—her room, of sorts—she wandered down to the lower levels of the Town House. Just as she made the last step, the sound of the door closing sharply ricocheted throughout the building. She wasn’t left alone, however, as Cassian sat in the entertainment room. They had been waiting on Mor and Azriel to arrive. He too had heard the unusual power behind the wooden door and stared in its direction for a beat before sighing and shaking his head.

Feyre joined him, sitting on the adjacent seat.

“I’m not sure what’s gotten into him,” said Cassian, glancing between her and the door. “Did he say anything?”

“I opened a drawer,” she answered, “in his room. It had some things inside. I didn’t realise it would upset him to see them.”

Cassian frowned, lounging deeper into the seat, crossing his ankles. “What was inside it?”

Feyre touched her chest. “There was a necklace. Jewellery. And a sketch of Velaris.” She watched the general’s face shift. He knew, she realised. There was the same pain, the same hesitation to speak. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“No,” he breathed. “No, it’s been too long since I’ve talked about her.” He rubbed at the back of his neck and looked back towards the door. It was still shut. “Those things belonged to Rhys’s sister.” Her chest tightened. She had heard that he had a sister, but that was long ago and he had not told her anything. Not a name, not how she died. “Her name was Arwen, but I beg of you not to ever say it aloud. Rhys hasn’t said it since the day she died and neither has Azriel. Mor made the mistake of saying it once and I had to pull them both away from her.”

Feyre shifted at the idea of either one attacking her. She didn’t believe they truly would, but she couldn’t be certain of that if even Mor wasn’t safe. “Azriel?” she found herself asking.

Cassian nodded and looked to the door again. “She was Rhys’s sister, and her death ruined a piece of him that won’t ever heal. But Azriel was her mate.” Shock settled in her core. There was so much she still did not know about all of them. It was a slap in the face of still how new she was to the Night Court. “I didn’t think he’d recover after she died. He hasn’t entirely, but he’s not crazed or dead so that’s better than some do,” Cassian added bitterly. “Three hundred years and speaking her name is a curse that even I don’t want to mess with.”

“Can you tell me about her?” she asked him. “I want to know but I don’t think Rhys will tell me. I don’t think I should ask him.”

Cassian wasn’t keen on speaking of her so openly, nor did he want to breach the unspoken command of silence. But it was only fair for Feyre to understand and he was the only one that would speak of her now. Amren would too he supposed, but the half-demon woman only knew pieces of Arwen’s life. Cassian knew it all.

“What would you like to know?”

Feyre took a moment to decide where to start. “What was she like?”

Cassian found himself snorting, saying, “A brat.” Feyre bristled but the general swiftly shook his head with a small laugh. “No, she was wonderful. I always got a smack up the back of my head when I called her that. Arwen was born after the first war with Hybern, about eighty years younger than Rhys. I didn’t get to see her often when she was very young, but I saw her enough that she recognised me in a crowd. She would run to me and call me ‘Cassie’. Rhys tried it once and I’m pretty sure he’s still got a scar just under his third rib.”

Feyre smiled, because she had seen that small scar, caused by the nick of a blade.

“I was a bastard foot soldier that Rhys’s father wanted gone so he kept an eye on me but I got more freedom than Azriel who worked as his spymaster. When she got older, she would sneak out to see wherever our unlucky arses ended up.” He laughed suddenly, staring at the far wall. “I don’t think she ever knew I knew, but she fancied me as she came of age. It was a bit bizarre at times, honestly, but it was a natural thing. Rhys got a good laugh out of it. I just took it as a compliment until it passed. It was different for her and Az since they felt the bond quite a bit later in her life, but I couldn’t imagine even kissing someone who had vomited on me as a kid. And more than once.”

“Did Azriel find it strange? Since he had known her for so long?”

“Oh yeah.” Cassian nodded and folded his arms. “She was close to two hundred when the bond snapped but even then, he wasn’t sure what to make of it. But we’re also immortal and there are people here that are married to folk that weren’t even born by the time they were a hundred. Just a way of life for us. Difference was, he was around to see that time for her. But she was a fully grown woman by then. Over time it changed from being her brother to being something more.

“He became viciously protective of her. Remember how Rhys and I fought to get over some of the instincts of the mating bond?” Feyre nodded. Cassian huffed. “Yeah, well he was worse. When we first started to look at introducing women to training in the camps, we took her down to help encourage them. One of the men there made a mistake of snatching her wrist hard enough to leave a bruise. He went home with a snapped neck.” He caught the perturbed look in her eye. “Azriel may show his anger less than the rest of us, but he harbours more of it. And it doesn’t get out unless he’s fighting in a ring or working.”

“And… And how did she die?” Cassian’s smile faded. “I remember he told me about his mother. Was she there?”

“She was,” Cassian nodded. “But she managed to fight her way to her brother. Tooth and claw. Tamlin’s father cut both her and her mother’s wings off before he went to kill them. Wanted them to feel that pain.” Darkness swirled behind the usual light hazel of the Illyrian warrior. Feyre feared that she had pushed too far. “Arwen wasn’t the same after that day, even if she pretended to be. She didn’t like leaving Velaris and wouldn’t unless we came with her. She died about… about ten years after that.”

Despite her reservations and concerns of the pushing boundaries, Feyre whispered: “How?”

He tilted his head and looked down. “We’re not sure. W-we know that she was poisoned. There was an antidote but we didn’t get it to her in time. That’s half the reason why he won’t speak of it. He was meant to go see her after we came home but got caught up in some work and was late. By the time he got there it was too late. You have to understand that he believes it was the same reason his mother was killed. He was supposed to meet them but remained in the camp. I don’t think he thought he would ever make the same mistake, but we were here in Velaris. Not somewhere she could have been touched but the poison took some time to work.

“He was also able to get some vengeance for his mother. He killed Tamlin’s brothers and Tamlin’s father was dead. It didn’t fix anything, but he was able to blame someone. Able to do something. With Arwen, we don’t know who did it and that’s wrecked him because he feels that there is no one else to blame but himself. Other than Mor, she was the only blood he had left that he loved. We don’t even know why someone did it. If she was the intended target. I lost a sister that day too. The only sister I’ve had.”

He sighed and rubbed his hands together and Feyre didn’t ask anything more.

“I have a painting of her somewhere. I wanted to hang it someday but haven’t braved the job. If you remind me, I can show it to you. She looks like Rhys less ugly with longer hair.”

Feyre nodded. “Maybe it would do Rhys some good, to see her face. Help him.”

Cassian pursed his lips, rising at a knock on the front door. He leant closer to her and whispered. “I don’t think he wants that help, Feyre. I think he wants to continue hating himself over it.”

Feyre sat in the armchair, managing a small smile as Azriel and Mor wandered into the Townhouse.