A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 50: Illyria

"Are you going straight home?" Azriel asked Rhysand who was surveying the camp with narrowed eyes.

A few of those Illyrians on the outer border had already noticed her small group still engulfed by the trees. But the seven glowing siphons on each of Cassian and Azriel's bodies were enough of an indicator as to who exactly had turned up on their doorstep and they made no move to approach.

Rhysand's hand brushed down her back. "I'm going to talk with Devlon first. Remind him of a few things. Take her to my cabin." A small nudge against her spine had her moving towards Azriel, who waited until she was by his side before moving.

Azriel and Galadriel trekked through the thick snow around the perimeter of the camp, leaving Rhysand and Cassian behind. A scant glimpse over her shoulder revealed that they were headed right into the centre.

"This..." She let out a breath. "This is Rhys's army. Which Cassian commands."

"Part of it," Azriel said. "We have forces in Hewn City, but they're not directly under our control thanks to the treaty his ancestors made. There's also a small legion in Velaris, but they're trained to protect the city, not fight outside of it." A small, selfish spark of pride burst through her. Their General Commander trained her personally. Not many were fortunate enough to have that privilege. Or realise it was one.

They came to the doorstep of a small, near-ramshackle building. Azriel pulled the door open, guiding her in first. A layer of dust hung in the air, making her cough and swat in front of her face.

"We try not to come here too often," Azriel mused with some small measure of mirth. His shadows swirled around him, more alive than they'd been days. In the space of the open sitting room, he spread his wings out wide and gave a great flap, the air whirling around. It unsettled even more dust, but with the air moving and the front door still open, the light breeze began circulating through the staleness.

"What is Rhys doing?" she asked as she inspected the main area. The kitchen was its own little space, but the sitting room went straight onto the dining area where a table for six was set under a wide window. The hallway was dark, but she could make out three doors leading from it. There was nothing overly interesting about Rhysand's cabin. There were no traces of him or the life he'd lived here, but she could feel his presence, the ghost of his footprints.

"Probably attempting to scare Devlon into not touching you." Azriel began opening cupboards both high and low, checking packets and jars that looked like they hadn't been touched in months. "We need more food."

Wrapping her arms around herself, Galadriel moved to one of the windows, peering out the fogged glass. "You... You and Cass don't need to be protective like that." When she didn't hear any response, she hooked her chin over her shoulder. 

"Has it occurred to you that we want to protect you?"

"It makes me feel..." Guilty. "Since I've been given authority to give you orders then let me make one now." Azriel went stiff, his brows together in concern. "If it ever comes down to me or you for some horrid reason I don't ever want to think about, chose yourself."

He moved again, easily as though he was relieved at what she asked. "That's not something I can do."

"What? Why not?" Mor had said that she'd been given the power to make those demands. What good was it if she couldn't use it?

"Because I've already made an oath to do the exact opposite when Rhys ascended to High Lord. I knelt before him, promised him my service and my life. Just as Cassian did. Just as Mor did. That oath extends to you now."

Her back hit the ledge of the window, her cheek pulled between her teeth. Azriel eyed her as he continued moving about and she could feel another question building him in, but it never came. She didn't think he'd understand, anyway. He'd spent his life with Rhys. They all had. They'd grown up knowing he would become High Lord, prepared to serve him. Their entire relationship had been built around that fact.

But she hadn't.

She thought they were her friends and it felt so... beautiful. It felt beautiful to have friends who she never had to lie to, that knew who she was and where she came from and accepted that. Rhys didn't understand—because he's never had to—that giving her rank over them eliminated the equality she had with them. Now they protected her because of a title.

She couldn't blame Rhys for wanting that for her. For thinking that she would want it.

Cassian and Rhys arrived back a little over an hour later, the former rubbing his hands together as he kicked open the front door wider with his foot. "Cauldron, Az. A fire would have been nice to come back to."

Az, perched in one of the armchairs, snapped from whatever quiet daze he'd fallen into. "Sorry," he muttered, but before he could rise from the chair, the fire in the small hearth roared to life. Galadriel had been freezing, still by her spot in the window, but she hadn't felt like she had permission to do anything here yet, including lighting a fire.

Sauntering past her, Cassian looked over Galadriel. "You alright?"

Taking stock of her own tightly wound arms, her clamped jaw, she released it all and nodded. "Fine." For the second time that day, Cassian didn't believe her and diverted from his path to approach her. Galadriel pushed herself off the wall, twisting around him for the other unoccupied armchair closest to the burning hearth.

"There shouldn't be any trouble," Rhys said, quiet and still near the door. "But if there is, I'll be checking in every hour. Don't take her near the training rings." He looked between his brothers, stern yet soft. Take care of her.

"With my life, Rhys," Cassian murmured.

Rhys cocked his head in gratitude. He swept across the room like night on a wind until he stood by the arm of her chair. She didn't stop him from leaning down and kissing her. They shared their own unspoken message just as he and his brothers had. They wouldn't say goodbye in any other way than one they could live with if they were never given another. "I love you," he said against her lips.

Galadriel didn't respond because she had yet to say it back and Windhaven's gloom didn't seem the best place for it. But she conveyed enough through her eyes that he understood. She was upset, bitter even, but she still cared.

He winnowed home.

Cassian clapped his hands. "Time for a tour, I think."

Galadriel looked to the door. "This is where you grew up?"

"For most of our childhoods. After we completed Blood Rite, we were sent to different camps."

"What's the Blood Rite?"

"Something that damn well nearly killed me." Despite those grave words, Cassian was grinning at her. He was proud and ready to show her this, she realised. It was probably why he'd been so easy to convince to bring her here in the first place. He'd never spoken truly ill about these people. Yes, he'd made comments here and there that weren't exactly favourable, but they'd never amounted to the same ones that she'd heard whispered by the High Fae in Autumn. Mindless brutes. Warmongering bastards.

She glanced at Azriel. Unlike his brother, everything about him remained stoic. His shadows still swarmed him, some reaching for her, others slithering like snakes around the windows and doors.

Pushing herself from the chair, she went straight to Cassian's side. When he didn't move immediately, she nodded towards the door. "Let's go then."

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