A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 89: Royalty in the Shadows

"Amarantha?"

"Amoise."

That made her still. "I thought you hadn't spoken to her in years."

"I haven't." Helion dropped his feet, reclining deeply into the chaise, looking to the dark ceiling. It was a stark contrast from the male she used to know, bright and playful and a little arrogant. "But I know her. I know what you meant to her."

Another prick of guilt. Galadriel honestly hadn't thought much about Amoise. They had parted ways, said their silent goodbyes and continued down paths that never crossed. It was an inherent thing of their friendship that she did miss Amoise, but it was not an active thought. Lucien, on the other hand, was a weekly one. "Do you still love her?"

Helion's chin lifted just slightly to indicate that he heard her. Galadriel waited, kneeling at the hearth with the still-clean pan and brush. "Always."

Smiling mutely, she looked back to the earth—and found it pristine. No sign of soot or crumbing bricks of black wood. The polished black stone shone her face back. Surveying the chamber, she discovered it in the same state. "You could get a lashing for this," she declared, rising. "We both could."

Helion waved her away. "As repayment for destroying my ancestors' hard work, she's deigned to let me throw a party. I'm going to ensure this room is wrecked enough that no one else can ever use it again." Galadriel grinned. "You're invited."

Seeing as she wasn't explicitly prohibited from attending any sort of gathering within the palace, she promised she would be there with an iron hammer for a fist. She gathered her tools and looked to the door, but stopped half way and turned back. She knelt at his side, arms folded on the soft, rounded lip of the chaise. "She loves you too."

"I thought you hadn't spoken to her in years."

"I haven't. But I know her. I know what you meant to her."

Helion sat up, forcing her to sit on her haunches. Even as he towered over her, a body of muscle and power, she had never felt small with him. Never felt the ant beneath his boot as she had with Beron. "You deserved being caught that day."

Galadriel closed her eyes briefly, letting them open again with blatant confusion. "I was being slightly careless, I suppose."

He huffed out a sound similar to a laugh, but couldn't quite become one. "You deserved to be found by him."

Seeing as she had spare time now that her main duty of the day had been cleared with magic, Galadriel walked slowly back to her room, planning to spend it reading the book she'd slipped off one of the shelves in a drawing room. She barely laid herself on her bed before a soft rapping came at her door. Recognising the pattern anywhere, she was half-tempted to ignore Atticus and reap what extra slumber she could, but when he knocked again not a minute later, she knew that whatever had brought him here was important.

Dragging herself from the mattress, she thrust her feet into some sandals and opened her door. Atticus, as she predicted, stood on the other side. Physically he looked no different, wearing a red and gold jacket that was thick at the shoulders, his shirt tucked into brown pants and boots. But his face was veiled, as if someone else was wearing a mask of it. "How did you know I would be here?" she asked, leaning against the door.

"I need you to come with me," he said roughly.

Straightening at his tone, Galadriel leaned further out to peer down the hall but there was no one else, not even the wisp of a shadow. "Is something wrong?"

He tugged at the hem of his jacket before fisting his hands at his side. "Nothing's wrong but I need you to follow me. It can't wait."

Galadriel looked him over again as she stepped into the hall. He didn't wait for her before turning and striding away, leaving her to hasten back to his side. "Atticus?" she called. She gripped his sleeve when he didn't pause, yanking a bit harder than necessary. "Atticus, you're starting to scare me."

Still, he did not stop. "I can't say anything here," he replied hoarsely. As her hesitance grew and her pace slowed, he paused only to grab her bicep. She cried out, his fingers painfully tight and they didn't release even as she fell back to his side.

Whatever this was, had to be something grave enough to wipe his wit-laced remarks from existence. "Is it your daughter?" she asked.

Fingernails bit into her skin and she wrinkled her nose, trying not to hiss. "Yes," he whispered. Her stomach wrung around itself, but she kept from hounding him with more questions. Distress leeched from him like a rotten odour. He had never behaved this way in all the time she'd known him. Hell, she could even say that she trusted him more than she trusted Cassian and Mor. She'd known him longer, after all.

Down and down they went, far below the common rooms of the main palace wings, deep enough that the stone walls became rough and even the firelight from the torches struggled to penetrate the darkness. Galadriel kept looking over their shoulders, especially when they passed other faeries, but Atticus never once took his eyes off the way ahead, turning and twisting down paths she didn't even know existed.

It was some part of the dungeon floor, where Amarantha held her prisoners. Not that they ever remained there long. Only the ones that she wanted to keep alive, to prolong their suffering. Sure enough, a shriek pierced the frozen air from somewhere back the way they'd come, the grating sound echoing and bouncing like a banshee's cry. She tripped over a loose rock, using the spare moment it offered her to look back again. They weren't alone down here.

They came upon a spiralling stairwell. Atticus plucked a torch from its mantle, the flames startling bright yet barely grazing the wall with its warm light. Galadriel paused at the top. "I don't like this," she whispered.

Atticus sighed, slipping his hand down to her wrist. "Please. It's for my daughter." Another scream, this one mutilated and not at all a natural sound of a fae.

Every bone in her body locked up as she looked down those stairs, unable to see beyond three of them. Even her magic retreated, scuttling away into the furthest depths of her soul. Slowly, she took the first step. They had to be far beneath the earth—deeper than she'd ever been before. What sort of monsters came from these places?

She faintly remembered Rhysand telling her about Bryaxis in the library, trapped away in the darkness. A creature that even Cassian, Lord of Bloodshed, was afraid of.

Shivering, Galadriel leant closer to his side, the cold nasty enough that bumps dotted her arms as they continued to descend for what had to be nearly two minutes. He kept the torch forward, waving it through the black curtain before them. She all but leapt at the occasional scuttle of some unseen and unnamed critter. Seeing as she'd held herself from barraging him with demands until then, she said, "Please tell me where we're going."

Yet he said, "We're here." 

They stood before an inconspicuous door with a black iron handle.

She looked at the door and then back at him. "What's on the other side?"

He opened it, pushing her through. Galadriel stumbled in, barely catching herself before she nearly fell again. The door behind her clicked shut, then clicked heavier again, locking. Galadriel stepped back, knocking hard into Atticus's chest. Swivelling around, she looked up at him, expecting to find some look of horror, some fear or surprise. But he only stared over her shoulder stoically.

"You're Majesty."