Chapter Text

Chapter 18

The House of Wind was quiet and hollow with only the two Illyrians living inside. Though even they managed to make it feel full at times, that night was particularly quiet. Azriel sat near the hearth that remained unlit, sipping at a herbal tea. The room’s light came from a series of faelights instead, hanging from the roof. He was still dressed in his leathers from spending the day at one of the camps.

Cassian sat nearby at one of the tables, reviewing one of the updated maps as quite a few of the camps that weren’t permanently settled had migrated and needed tracking. He yawned, the odd groaning sound the only one in minutes.

His quill lazily moved on the tracking record as he found the right words of formality to translate from his not so politically formal mind. He stopped mid-word at the sound of wings against open air. Hazel eyes darted to one of the open windows, wide enough to allow Rhysand to fly through. Cassian, now standing, hadn’t been expecting their return for another two days.

“Rhys—” His words cut short as the High Lord moved from flight to a march. In his arms, was Arwen. Her eyes were closed, one arm hanging limply past her body, head tipped against his shoulder. Rhysand himself was reddened, the planes of his face unnaturally still. And with it, Cassian stilled too.

Azriel rose from the lounge, the loud clanging of his mug on a side table a distant echo. “Arwen,” is all he said, eyes set on the unconscious form as he swiftly moved around to intercept the High Lord’s set path.

Cassian watched as Rhysand twisted around the spymaster, his gaze unrelentingly set on the warrior. Azriel didn’t stumble, but it was like he was shoved. “Take her.” Rhysand now stood in front of him. “Take her and get her home. Fly low just in case.” His heart thrummed heavily against his chest, as he looked between the two High Fae. Cassian’s arms snapped into movement as Rhysand was already shifting her weight towards him. “She’s fine. Sleeping.” Rhysand didn’t seem to be able to form sentences any longer, but still alert enough to read the plain confusion and concern written on Cassian’s face. 

“Has something happened?”

Rhysand said nothing, still facing Cassian but his eyes flickered towards the corner of their sockets. Right in the direction that Azriel stood behind him. Something had happened—well, Cassian figured that out the moment he realised they were home early—but now he realised what that something might revolve around. He smelt the alcohol surrounding them both, and if he knew one thing about Arwen, it was that she talked under its influence.

And she’s said something that has pissed her brother off beyond words. Even without the subtle hints, Cassian knew that Arwen and Rhys had never managed to bring each other to true anger. Not the violent Illyrian kind that had their blood boil and curdle. But he had seen some semblance of that anger in the High Lord before, directed at himself. The day that Rhysand learnt that Cassian had slept with Mor.

Cassian took a step back, Arwen now in his arms. He wasn’t sure who he was protecting more—Arwen or himself. He decided on both.

“Rhys.”

Cassian glanced at Azriel, feeling a margin of pity for what he knew was coming toward his friend. Rhysand hadn’t yet turned around, but that sandtimer was running low. An audible draw of air drew his attention back down to the female in his arms, but his eyes never left the two Illyrians. Azriel had now sensed the tension, his wings tight and his feet spread. Cassian readjusted her to hold closer and higher as his own wings spread slightly in preparation for flight. “Don’t kill each other,” is all he said, before swivelling around the High Lord and leaping from the open window into the night, wings snapping into flight before there was any sense of a drop. Before he could fly away from the scene, Cassian’s rounded ears twitched at the sound of a fist meeting flesh and couldn’t help but look back.

Azriel hadn’t fallen, but his hand flung to cover half his face. He didn’t strike back. Probably just as unwitting to what occurred as Cassian was. He couldn’t think of anything that had happened to warrant it lately.  

He headed low fast, affirming that she was still solid in his grip. There was no telling when it would happen again.  He flew at level with most of the roofs of the city buildings. Low enough that a fall would injure, but he couldn’t go any lower without great difficulty navigating through signposts, hanging wires with faelights and awnings. He debated walking entirely but striding through the city with the unconscious sister of the High Lord would be a seed for rumours.

He made it to the door of the town house, using the rounded end of his boot to knock, since Mor had taken residence in it lately. The loud racketing of wood didn’t even arouse a noise from the sleeping female.

“Seriously?” the feminine voice rang from inside as the inner foyer door opened. “I couldn’t get a night alone?” Once the second, front, door opened, Mor’s expression of indifference wiped. “Cass—”

“She’s fine,” he said, repeating what Rhysand had said. “Just sleeping. Won’t wake up for hours I’d guess.”

Mor stepped aside and widened the door so he could move them both inside. “Where’s Rhys?”

“Beating the shit out of Azriel.” The gasp followed him as he walked through the foyer and into the main hall. Cassian began up the stairs to the second floor. “I don’t know why, and I didn’t stay around to ask. But Arwen is drunk and we both know she talks like a captured Suriel.” He let her put pieces together past that.

Mor followed him up, brushing past once they reached the end of the staircase and lead the way to the younger female’s room, opening the door for him. “Are they at the House of Wind? Should we go up there?”

“Have you learnt nothing about us Illyrians?” He managed a short laugh, shaking his head at Mor. “We’ll get answers once they’re done, but not before.” He leant forward, somewhat awkwardly releasing her on the bed. Through the flight, Arwen had fisted her hands around lengths of his hair. He winced, unable to pull away. “Let go, princess,” he muttered, dropping to his knees and attempting to pry away her hands. “Ow.”

Mor sighed with something mixed between amusement and frustration and moved closer to help him from a different angle. “Last I remember, you like a bit of rough hair-tugging,” she crooned. “Big tough Illyrian whimpering over a gentle tug.”

Cassian glared up at her as much as he could without twisting his head in a more painful position. “Just help me, you crone.” He knelt with a bowed head as Mor slapped his hands away and unfurled Arwen’s tight fingers.

“You should stay here tonight. They are going to destroy that mountain and I think it would do Arwen good to wake up with somebody around. I have to leave in the morning to Hewn City.” It was a battle against his instincts to not go back up to the mountain, despite what he told Mor. But it was pointless arguing, knowing he too already agreed he should stay. Once his hair was finally entirely loose, a hand scuffed him up the back of his already tender head. “Call me a fucking crone,” she muttered.

“Ow,” he muttered again, rubbing the overly sore spot. Mor sent him a look that softened as it moved to Arwen, the gave a small nod in a silent goodnight and farewell. Rising with a long sigh, Cassian veered slowly around her large bed and towards the glazed window. He leant against the small protruding frame and looked up at the House of Wind. He could still see the window he flew out of and the one next to it, the amber light inside making them look like eyes against the rest of the dark mountain.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, wondering if it was worth flying up just to check in the distance, when he caught sight of a flying form. It was barely visible against the night, but the shadow was pure black against the midnight blue, wings flared out. Rhysand or Azriel—he couldn’t tell but they were flying away from Velaris. Really, he was surprised either of them was in the condition to fly.

When Cassian next registered consciousness, it was with an eye-soring streak of light spotlighting right onto his face. He groaned, tilting his head to the side as it had been resting back against the edge of something. The bed. He slept against the bed.

“What in the Mother’s name are you doing?” Wary eyes moved up, the movement sending an ache through the front of his head, to find Arwen kneeling on the edge of the bed next to his shoulder with a flat expression. Her nose wrinkled, looking him over. “Did you sleep here?”

“Apparently,” he said through a hard breath, not quite believing that he hadn’t gone back to the bedchamber he used at the town house. Arwen looked downright terrible, which was exactly how he felt. Cassian was content for them to match energy that morning.

“What am I doing here?”

He stood, stretching his back and then his wings which felt like they had a bend in them in someplace unnatural. Through a yawn, he said, “Rhys brought you home last night. Piss drunk.” Behind him, as he closed the curtains that he hadn’t shut through the night, Arwen groaned behind him. It was followed by the sound of bedding being moved around. Still dressed, shoes and all, he figured that starting his morning would be easier than trying to head back to sleep on his own bed.

Arwen clearly did not share the sentiment. She had her head tucked under one of the many pillows, turned on her stomach. He meandered towards the bed, tapping her ankle in warning before gently yanking down the blanket from underneath her. She made worming motions as he pulled until it was free, then Cassian laid it back over her unceremoniously, not bothering to pull it down from where the top fell over the pillow she had nestled under. “I’ll bring something for your head,” he promised in an absent tone.

He made it near the door when a soft, “Cassian?” had his head turning back. Arwen had come out from her burrow, half lifted onto her elbows. He raised a brow in answer. “Thank you.”

Cassian wasn’t sure what the gratitude was for, exactly, but he took it with a humble nod nevertheless. Arriving downstairs, he was not the only one entering the main living space. He eyed Rhysand who quietly slipped in from the foyer door. The High Lord sported a fierce bruise along the left side of his jawbone, splatters of dark colour down onto his neck and cheek.

So it was Azriel that left.

Rhysand swallowed. “He looks worse.”

Deciding to be upfront and quelch his growing curiosity, Cassian asked: “Did he deserve it?” He didn’t stop and wait for the answer, wandering into the kitchen. Soft footfalls confirmed that Rhysand followed.

“Yes.”

“Is my favourite mountain still in one piece?”

“No.”

Both answers were short and with a hoarse voice. Cassian stretched his jaw as he mixed a powder that they always kept in stock with their drinking habits into a glass of water. “Do you want to tell me why before I knock you up for kicking me out of my home and then destroying it?”

Rhysand sighed and leant against the island bench. “If I tell you, you’re going to want to do the same thing I did.”

Cassian only shot him an even look. “It was that bad?”

Rhysand huffed through his nose, as if the question was too stupid to even ask. “To his credit, he stopped fighting back once I told him why.” Cassian leant against the opposing bench along the wall, the glass placed aside for whenever Arwen was ready to leave her bed. Rhysand opened his mouth and Cassian’s wings tightened in anticipation, fully expecting to not like what he was about to hear.

But another set of footsteps halted the conversation.

Arwen thumped each heel into the staircase, the sound following in her wake as she made her way into the kitchen. Black hair sat in a dishevelled mess down her shoulders, her skin a calmy pale. She looked at neither of them, heading directly to the glass which now hosted a liquid of something between green and brown colour. Cassian nudged it towards her silently, tightening his lips into a small, sympathetic smile as she sipped at it.

Then blinked and shot his eyes wide as she doused the rest of the contents over her brother.