𝒜 𝒞𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓈 | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Chapter 67

Chapter 67

A rough shaking roused Arwen awake. Her throat gave a short grumble as her eyes opened, blinking lethargically. She made out the black material of fitted slacks just beyond the rose-coloured sheets of the bed. Everything in her cried for more sleep.

"I was beginning to think you'd never wake," came a familiar voice, accompanied by a soft chuckle. Rhysand dropped to a kneel beside the bed she had crawled her way into at the town house. "My next plan was tossing water on you."

Arwen inched her head higher, peering beyond him to her window, wondering how early he had awoken her. But she could not see the sun, which meant that it was overhead. Late. Her mind scoured for a memory of the night, to remember if she had a nightmare that would have had her feeling like this. But she had slept right through.

"You missed breakfast," her brother continued, his voice shifting to a more pointed tone. She pushed against the mattress, letting the blanket pool around her hips, and wiped at her eyes. "I can bring you something if you don't feel like getting up."

Arwen shook her head. "Not hungry," she managed to get out. But she would get up. She couldn't remember a time when she had slept in so late. She pulled her silk-clad legs out from the blanket, shifting them to hang over the edge of the bed, but paused at the sight of what covered the floor.

Carpet. Even just letting her feet hover over it sent uncomfortable itchiness across her skin. She had taken her shoes off last night sitting on the bed but foolishly kicked them away. Rhysand had already found an answer. A pair of flats appeared in his hands within a blink. "Or I can carry you out," he offered.

Arwen took the shoes. "How did you know?" Her shield was still in place and steeled. She would know if he had gotten through it. But even then, he seemed to be able to read her mind.

"Because you're my sister. I can tell your hunger from your thirst just by your scent." His eyes stooped to where she pulled them onto her feet. "But I still wonder why."

At first she put it down to her body not being used to foreign fabrics, but even as everything else grew less and less irritable, the rounded, coarse loops of the rough carpet fabric never ceased to erupt nausea within her. It wasn't until recently that she put the memory together—of falling onto the carpet in the town house's main hall. Dragging her body across it in hopes of reaching the door. How each inch of crawling along it scraped at her knees then her cheek. It was the last thing she felt. It was like a stain in her memory. She remembered Rhysand and Azriel, flashes of their faces beyond the haze, but she hadn't been able to feel them. Or hear them.

When Arwen didn't answer the unasked question; he didn't push.

Downstairs, Cassian was the only one to have remained. Mor, Azriel and Amren returned to their respective homes. Elain and Nesta hid away in a small reading room, sitting together but unspeaking. Arwen could only see them through the crack in the door.

Feyre smiled as Arwen entered the main sitting room, a small stack of discarded papers on the side table next to it. Cassian took residence on the armchair, seeming to have been in a conversation with her that ended moments prior. "I hope you slept well, Arwen. Cassian was intending on waking you at dawn for a training session, but I convinced him otherwise."

The general shrugged as Rhysand quietly left the room. "She's the one that wants them."

"Maybe this afternoon," Arwen murmured to him, falling into the opposing armchair. "Thank you, Feyre."

"What's gotten you so down today?" he asked. "With a sleep like you had, you should be bouncing off the walls."

"I know." She wiped at her eyes again. "Just tired."