Chapter Text

Chapter 30

Arwen wandered through the long halls in search of her room. It shouldn’t have taken her so long to reach it, but with her mind lost in its own way, there may have been a few misturns taken. Turning into a new hall, before her is a long passage of shadow casted walls. And a head of long, flaming hair.

Lucien appeared to be quite lost, his steps indecisive.

“I’m afraid I must have neglected my duty as a hostess,” Arwen called down. How long had he been here? It had been some time since he left the throne room. Lucien turned to her, his lips pressing together. “Let me show you to your room.”

“I can take myself if you’ll offer me the direction,” he offered.

“Nonsense.” She lifted her shoulders and gestured with her head to follow. “Besides, there are things that I must speak to you of.”

Her tone left little for negotiation though she wasn’t doubting that he may try. Lucien bobbed his head and conceded to her request. They were alone this deep into the palace grounds. Not even the ghost of the music reached here.

“No one enters this part of the palace without my brother’s permission,” Arwen informed him. “If they do so he will have their head and plant it on a spike. You will be safe here.”

“Call me ungrateful but that is not the most reassuring thing I’ve heard,” he muttered.

She stifled a snort. “You think that is cruel, Vanserra? I hope you never have someone pin you down while you have a piece of your own body cut out from you, because that is what your High Lord has done. Rhysand was his friend before he was betrayed. Tamlin killed my mother that day too. Just because his court is filled with flowers does not mean they are not poisonous.”

“I cannot speak on his behalf, and I won’t defend what I do not yet fully understand. For either of you.”

Arwen glanced over him. “That is fair.” A few steps of silence passed, footsteps echoing down the corridor. “My intention was to speak with you about my choice of words earlier tonight. To apologise for them.” She took his silence as an invitation to continue. “I meant what I said, but not in the way you received it. I am glad that you have left the Autumn Court, to not be in your father’s clutches anymore or beside your brothers. I wasn’t aware of the circumstances you left under.”

Arwen slowed their pace to allow more time for their conversation before they reached his guest chamber. Lucien swallowed as he looked ahead, then finally down at her. “I’m not surprised. My father would have made efforts to keep my acts of disgrace to him a secret. She was a lesser faerie.”

“I am sorry. That is true cruelty, and as much as I despise Spring, I hope that you find some happiness there. Some freedom. I think you deserve that much.”

They arrived outside of his designation chamber; a simple but spacious room with its own sitting room and private bathing chambers. Lucien inspected the inside as Arwen waited just inside the door. “If there is anything you need, there are a few servants around. That bell on the table will summon them. They will not enter this room without that permission until you leave.”

Lucien nodded as he looked over the silver bell sitting on the end table near the lounge.

“Do you like it here?” he asked, catching her by surprise. At her frown, he clarified. “Do you like Hewn City?”

“No,” she answered. “I don’t think anybody with a decent heart would.”

“Then why do you stay?”

Arwen bit the inside of her cheek, moving her gaze around the room. There was a line she was approaching that she could not slip over. She could not speak of Velaris or give hint of the beautiful city’s existence. “Because I live the opposite of what you have, Vanserra. The Autumn Court has a pride-worthy beauty, but its ruler has an ugly heart. My court may not be beautiful, but my family is. I would not leave them for anything.”

“You don’t seem anything like them,” he said, making a few steps of wandering through the room. It was beautiful, with the bed lain with a spread of golden silk and sheer drapes curtained its length. The sitting room was adorned with mahogany furniture, a tray of silverware polished enough to have hints of her form in the disrupted reflection.

Arwen smiled, leaning against the entrance threshold. “No?”

Lucien shook his head, his softly redden lips beginning to move into something resembling a smile. “Your brother wouldn’t have apologised to me.”

He took his time to find a seat in the sitting room, making a small gesture to invite her further in. Arwen pushed off the doorway, meandering across the chamber and took the plush single-seater across from him.

“That General you have is a brute,” he continued.

“Careful,” Arwen warned, though she had a brimming smile that was only continuing to rise. “This is my family you are talking about.”

Lucien’s eyes flashed over her, releasing a short breath at the deduction of her eased composure. “Are you aware that my brothers hate you?”

“Oh,” she said through an airy chuckle. Arwen let herself sit deeper into the chair, settling her arms along each armrest. “Do entertain me with the details. I’m hoping Eris has a particular set of thoughts.” In their last meeting, which had been a short interaction, she had made it known how uninvited their presences were. Before that first interaction, Arwen only knew of the Vanserra sons through the others’ stories, particularly Mor’s.

Lucien’s shoulders jostled in a laugh. “Yes. I’m glad to see we share the same sentiment about him. He spoke of seeing you to be his wife at first. The daughter of another High Lord would be the perfect broodmare to breed, or something along those lines. I rather enjoyed watching you threaten him with a pen knife for stepping too close.”

Tipping her cheek towards her shoulder, she offered a small shrug. “My brother doesn’t let me carry anything larger. I make too many bloodstains around here otherwise.” They shared a laugh at her jest. “I’m not sure whether I find it strange or endearing that our bonding point is a shared distaste towards your family.”

He pursed his lips inwards, making a soft glimpse across the chamber before he spoke. “I’m not sure what else we would have in common.”

Arwen smiled again, her chest dropping with a quiet sigh. “To know what more I have in common with you would not be something I protest. But I understand that you do not enjoy this place so I will let you rest and hopefully by tomorrow evening you may be on your way home again.” And so she may as well. “What I said earlier stands true. You are safe here, even if you do not believe it.”

Lucien’s gaze followed her as she stood, adjusting the skirt of her dress. “Would you be willing to bargain that?”

Her lips curled upwards. “I would,” she answered. “But bargains with members of the Night Court come with a marking.” She drifted a finger along the one encircling her bicep to mark the bargain with her brother. “Are you brave enough to be marked by Night, Vanserra?”

He eyed her skin, wondering perhaps what it stood for. “I think I’ll settle on your word. Will you be present tomorrow?”

Arwen gave a small, confirmative nod. “I shall be. So I shall see you in the morning.”

Turning, she strode towards the entrance door when Lucien called her name. The velvet skirt swept across the polished stone ground as she turned back.

Lucien no longer held a smile or sign of entertainment at their small conversation. Arwen noted this and dropped her own. He took a few moments to form the words to whatever was on his mind. “Tamlin informed me that if I was in any danger here that I should strike at Rhysand’s weakness.” Each nook in her spine grew rigid, her undivided attention pinned on the emissary. “He said that was you.”

She considered the words carefully. Was he threatening her to ensure his safety, or was this some sort of warning to keep her family in check—to know that her own safety was at risk if they did not? Perhaps Lucien expected her to relay this to her brother so he would make decisions accordingly. “Entertain me,” she said. “How would you do that?”

Lucien did not even blink before he answered. “Threaten your life.”

Arwen let out a quiet breath. “That is a sure way to end your own, Lucien. I implore you to keep that to yourself and my promise of your safety will stand until the moment you leave this city.” She did not believe he told her to frighten her—not after tonight. It might have even been a warning to not join them in the morning. “Goodnight.”

He said nothing more as she left his chamber and the shadowed halls welcomed her into their embrace once more. Arwen only stopped at her personal chambers to change into a matching two-piece set of loose pants and a shirt before once again wandering the lonely halls.

The door of her brother’s private chambers welcomed her even though he was not inside. It would burn the hands of anybody not permitted to enter. The fireplace lit itself at her presence, and filling a kettle, she placed it over the flame to boil. His room was far more extravagant than any other. The bed was large enough to host at least three people with room to spare; perfect for when he wanted to stretch his wings in sleep.

Settling down in one of the armchairs, Arwen opened a new romance novel and read for another hour until the door handle jiggled and the hinges gave a soft whine. Quietly closing the book, she looked up to Rhysand who gave no sign of surprise at seeing her there. They said nothing as Arwen rose from the armchair and headed back to the hearth, removing the long-boiling kettle. A tray of silverware was already awaiting on the rounded table with a small pot of tealeaf. She kept her eyes towards it as he moved around behind her, silent except for the shuffle of clothing.

With two perfectly made teas, Arwen turned back around just as he wandered into the sitting room, now changed into looser clothing as she had. The mask was beginning to peel from his face, his shoulders losing their rigidness and the exhaustion replacing it. He took his tea and fell into the other armchair, slouching. She retook her own, legs curling underneath her body. “Talk or no talking?” she asked.

Rhysand tipped his head back against the spine of the chair and sighed. “You talk,” he answered.

Sipping at her tea, she thought back over the night, deciding whether to discuss Lucien or something other than the events in Hewn City. “I’m thinking of getting Cassian a blanket made for his birthday. One with slats for wings. I know how annoying heavy quilts can be over them sometimes.” Rhysand didn’t need to know what Tamlin had ordered of Lucien. Nothing good would come of him knowing. “It’ll keep it in place through the night too. I’m just trying to figure out what material he would like most and I know it will take a few weeks if I order some of that really nice wool Reiger brings on his shipments from Vallahan.”

Her mouth kept moving, some of her topics utterly senseless but with each minute, her brother’s true face reappeared, losing everything he had to become in this place. She couldn’t tell where his mind was, but he never looked away from her. Arwen suspected he was fighting thoughts of the next morning. When she got down to the last dregs of her tea, she finally stopped.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she murmured, taking his own empty cup away.

“Goodnight, Arwen.”

Smiling as much as she could offer, she left his chamber to return to her own. Despite changing out of heels, the arches of her feet ached. There was a small throb in the back of her head too, just above the nape of her neck. Turning into the corridor that held her chamber, her brows raised at the sight of an Illyrian a few steps away from her door.

“Cass,” she greeted tiredly. He was still in his leathers, suggesting that he had yet to return to his room or still had intentions to be awake for some time.

“Where have you been?” he inquired, the low voice lost of all growl it had shown through the night.

Arwen made a lazed gesture over her shoulder. “Rhys.” Twisting past him, she opened the door to her room and tilted her head for him to follow in. “I was telling him what I was thinking about getting you for your birthday.”

“Oh yeah?” Cassian shut the door behind him, making slow steps as she kicked off her shoes and carefully pulled out the silver chain in her hair. “Care to tell me?”

“Earmuffs.” She sent a lethargic grin over her shoulder. “Bright pink so we don’t lose you in another snowstorm.” Her fingers slipped a few times over the thin chain, making her nose flare in frustration.

He made a show of shrivelling his nose as he folded his arms and leant up against one of her bedposts. Then his face smoothened, hazel eyes flickering to the black, velvet dress thrown over the trunk at the foot of the bed. “You looked beautiful tonight.”

The corner of her lips tightened; a show of her effort to smile but it wouldn’t form. It wasn’t a compliment to her appearance. It was of her composure. Arwen sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the sliver of fabric she could see from her spot. “I didn’t feel it.”

Cassian didn’t say anything to that. Taking two strides, he stood in front of her, then dropped to a crouch. Arwen braved holding his gaze. She held it for Rhysand, she could hold it for him. But there was something behind his—something too damn kind and too damn knowing.

“I can’t do it again…” Her throat burned with each word, a fluttering restraint against tears. “I can’t do it again tomorrow.”

He nodded calmly, as though it was exactly what he suspected her to say. He placed one hand on her knee, the other to the side of her face over her ear and cheek. “You were brave tonight. Braver than I could have been.”

Arwen licked her lips, looking now instead towards the door beyond him. “I don’t want to worry Rhys. He was proud of me and I don’t want him to know how hard it was.” It was shameful. Shameful for even now ten years later she couldn’t show her scars in comfort. She could already feel the nightmare that would come as though it was creeping into her reality. 

“Rhys is proud of you because of how hard it is,” Cassian said. “It is not a shameful thing to struggle.”

Turning her head out of his hand, Arwen harshly wiped at the bone under her eyes with the ball of her hand. “It has been ten years, Cassian. I should be over it.”

“Hey.” He leant forward, reaching towards her face again and Arwen returned it by leaning further away. “Hey,” he repeated, catching her cheek. Turning it back, he placed one knee on the ground and lengthened his spine until they were near the same height. “Let me tell you something, sweetheart. Time isn’t a measure of healing. Ten—twenty years, it doesn’t matter. Rhys still has nightmares about that day too.” Arwen’s eyes shot up from the mattress where they sunk to, her cheeks hot and stinging. Cassian nodded his head at her questioning belief. “He doesn’t tell you because he thinks it won’t help. Ten years and it still haunts him to have seen the aftermath.”

Despite the warmness of his hand, it cooled her burning cheek that she assumed had grown patching redness. In all the thoughts of her gratitude towards him, she could only say: “I’m not getting you pink earmuffs.”

He let out a long breath. “Thank the Cauldron,” he muttered and broke into a laugh with the warmth of a blazing fire, however soft it was. Arwen leant down, wringing her arms around his neck. Cassian welcomed the embrace, catching the backs of her legs and holding her to him. She knew by the way he held her that he understood exactly what it meant to need it. What it felt like to crave touch. When she finally had enough to lift her head, he had fallen to sit on his haunches. “How about we play some cards? I asked Azriel but he was all mopey.”

Arwen rounded her shoulders in a stretch. “Sure.”