A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 57: The Wendigo

Chapter 57: The Wendigo

Galadriel couldn't stop staring at the ring as they trekked across the rugged terrain of the Middle. Cassian walked ahead of her so she listened to the pace of his footsteps to warn her of any adjustments her gait needed, if he stepped over a branch or across a ditch.

Mor had sidled up to Galadriel's side as soon as she had returned—Cassian letting out a low curse that seemed to ooze all the anticipation and anxiety that had been building through her meeting. Morrigan had stared at the ring too, memory, distant but there, shone in her eyes. Galadriel reminded herself that Mor knew Rhysand's mother too. That she probably shared just as many fond memories of the fallen Fae as Cassian and Azriel did. Galadriel offered it to Mor to hold and inspect, but Mor had shaken her head.

"It's yours," she said.

"It's Rhys's," Galadriel corrected. "Whatever he does with it, it will always be his. Considering it has been in the possession of the Weaver of the Wood for nearly three centuries, I'm sure he won't mind you holding onto it."

Mor's lips twitched into a remorseful smile. "I've only seen it once before. He showed it to me the night his mother gave it to him. Told me all about the person he would give it to."

Galadriel felt her heart quicken and suffered a sudden onset of clamminess. "What did he say about her?"

Mor's smile widened, her expression heavy but beautiful. "That she'd do good for the world. That she would share his visions for a better Prythian, a better Night Court."

"—That she'd be beautiful beyond words," Cassian supplied from ahead, theatrically flourishing his hand about as he squinted against the lowering sun. "That's what you wanted to hear, wasn't it, Spring Flower?"

Laughing, Galadriel finally tucked the ring away. "I think I fit at least two out of three. Those are good odds." She caught Cassian's gaze over his shoulder, his hazel eyes assessing her in the way that was asking which two?

But then they flickered somewhere behind her. Galadriel almost thought nothing of it until she heard Mor's sharp breath and felt her suddenly halt. Turning with them, her hand drifted to the knife she still had of Cassian's. A sword could have been seen as too much of a threat so it was the only weapon she'd carried to the Weavers. "What is it?" They sensed something her own senses hadn't picked up on yet.

Cassian dislodged the great Illyrian sword from his back, wings tight to his spine protectively. Everything about him was alert.

It was incredibly dark within the forest they stood within, the thick branches and dense shrubs filtering sunlight until there were only speckles of hazy gold around her boots. Mor's blonde hair whipped as she spun around, facing where Cassian's back had turned on. Mist seeped between the trees like a river and her breath turned to fog in front of her mouth.

Cassian grabbed Galadriel's arm, tugging her between himself and Mor—her signal to unsheathe her dagger. "We're being hunted," he whispered. "Wendigo."

All manner of dark creatures roamed the Middle, he had warned her before they left. Most of them lone hunters, able to be dealt with amongst the three of them. But a wendigo was fast. Fast and brutal. They could kill entire legions over the course of a night before anyone saw its face.

"Can we winnow out?" she asked, hushed.

"It has our scent," Mor uttered. "The hunt won't stop until it finishes all of us." Which left them with little option but to face it. The wendigo would chase them all the way to the Night Court, would hunt at the borders of the wards, endangering anybody else trying to get into the city.