A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 98: Amarantha's Curse

"I knew," Amarantha declared. "I knew she couldn't do it. Just another mortal barely able to hold herself upright. Though I was hoping to see what she would have done when she saw you there."

This was it, Rhysand thought. He made it this moment. Damned them all. Some faeries had started to scatter, edging out of the throne room, grabbing loved ones by their hands.

Claws poked from Tamlin's knuckles, a hint of the beast prowling beneath his skin ready to be let free. Rhysand's own magic rumbled inside of him in response and he wondered if the other High Lords felt the same—if this was some intrinsic connection between them all, designed to help protect Prythian under united command.

"I will kill you." Tamlin unleashed himself.

The crowd that had not been moving before certainly did now, cries or horror and fear drowning out the raging thoughts pummelling through Rhysand's mind. They fled, barging and tripping over one another, trying to squeeze through the doors. Even Lucien, glancing at Tamlin who had his beast's jaws snapping at Amarantha's neck had moved to his feet, Feyre in his arms.

Rhysand winnowed. He was barely there for a second, wrapping his arms around her body and winnowing back to a spot far from the dais. He kept Galadriel's face pressed to his front, eyeing the battle by the throne. Amarantha had thrown Tamlin off, a thick lesion slicing through his muscled hind, but it didn't slow him from launching at her again, swiping with claws the size of Rhysand's face. Some of the other High Lords had fled with the crowd, Helion and Thesan remaining.

Tamlin crashed into the stone wall which cracked like thunder, fractures spidering out. He pawed at the ground, trying to push to his feet but failing.

The guilt started to gouge at Rhysand. Closing his eyes, he turned his head, pressing his lips to her hair, feeling the faintest touch of her hands on his sides. He reaped all of her in. He wasn't a fool. He knew he was only delaying the inevitable if Tamlin did not win. That it would have all been for nothing. He wanted to pretend that he was doing it for them, but he wasn't. He wasn't a fool and he couldn't fool himself.

Over her hunched body, he caught sight of Beron's eldest son. Their gazes locked, Eris' eyes sharp and pointed.

He cursed Eris's name, the information Beron's son whispered to him just a few months ago that he wanted to be a fable. Beron's son was cunning enough to conduct such a plan. Galadriel had been collecting magic from dozens of faeries over the past fifty years. Enough to rival his own. He had tossed the information over in his head too many times to count, pondering every angle, every possibility.

But the answer he didn't want to believe was an option was now their only one. It was easier than he thought it was going to be.

He summoned a dagger, new and untainted, and pressed it into Galadriel's hand.

~

Galadriel felt the cool blade in her palm much clearer than she felt anything else. It was heavy and familiar. Rhysand curled her fingers over the hilt, holding them in place. He drew back to look her right in the eye. She knew he was there. She could smell and feel and touch him.

"You need to kill me."

His voice—was that what it always sounded like? Had Atticus spent enough time around him to memorise the fluctuations in his questions and the deep rolls of his vowels? If she asked him whether he loved her, how would he say it? Would she remember if it was real or not?

"Galadriel," he said, grasping the curve of her neck and shoulder with the hand not wrapped around hers tightly. "Do you hear me?"

She touched his face. Rhysand stilled. Her finger drifted from his jaw to his cheek, feeling the way it dipped then rose again with the sharp bone below his eye. His eyes—they were not how she remembered. Tracing down, her finger fell onto his lip, following the curve of the pout all the way to the other side.