𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 18

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.