Chapter 13: House of Wind and Sky
Galadriel patted down her dress skirt which was the same one she had been wearing all day. A dinner with the High Lord and his Inner Circle was nothing short of a formal event. But her lack of presentable choices meant that she was stuck with what she had. And she wouldn't spend his family's money on dresses. He had bought her the shoes in Hewn City, but she had let him since it seemed he just wanted to pay for them to move on than to treat her.
The town house had been empty for the better part of the day, including themselves as Galadriel had spent most of it walking through Velaris to see the sights. Rhysand seemed to have intended to end it earlier, mentioning something about the Palace of Thread and Jewels for another day. She ended up dragging him along for another few hours. He only complained for the first hour; something about having work to do, but eventually the complaints wore thin.
"Is this decent enough?" she inquired, standing at the foot of the stairwell. Rhysand had not changed either, but that was no comfort to her concern of appearance. Immaculate bastard. But it did mean that she trusted his advice on her dress.
"It's perfect," he said. "But I have other dresses available for you if you desire something more fitting to the Night Court."
"I'll make a pass." The sleeves of the dress were loose and short, hanging just over the cuffs of her shoulders but the night was far from cool. "Are your family expecting me or will I have to explain my presence?"
"I told them that I invited you, but I think some may be surprised to see you actually coming."
Rhysand held the doors open for her and they walked to the front of the house, Galadriel a step ahead. "Winnowing?" she asked.
"No." She spun around. Rhysand grinned at her in a way that had her stomach sinking yet floating at the same time. Then, two black forms sprouted out of a void of nothingness. Wings, she realised. The same Illyrian wings that Azriel bore. Great shapes of scaled black, a talon marking each peak. Even in the darkening night she could make out the largest veins and arteries underneath the membrane. "We're flying."
Galadriel stumbled away. "Absolutely not. No. No."
He shrugged. "The House of Wind is warded against winnowing. Even I cannot. Flying is the only way up there unless you want to brave ten thousand steps."
She eyed his wings again. "I think I'd rather try that then be in your arms and let you fly me—" She was cut off by two arms engulfing her, feet flinging away from solid stone underneath her. Galadriel screamed as the town house disappeared and nothing but air and the arms around her were her company. It was like she was travelling through a tunnel, wind ripping into her hair as they shot high towards the sky. She clung to his neck, chest pressed against the front of his shoulder as Rhysand laughed freely. "Rhysand!"
"You're loving this."
"I am not!"
And then they were gliding. The wind calmed, no longer roaring in her ears. His wings evened out and the emptiness around them sent a shiver along her arms. Galadriel remained frozen for a moment longer, then lifted her face away from his shoulder and peered at the world around them. They were high above the city, levelling with the mountains themselves.
"How about now?"
The air chapped her lips and she didn't even want to think about her hair—but Mother above it was exhilarating. She still had a grip of death around his neck, fingers curled around his collar, sure to leave wrinkles he would despise. She took slight pleasure in the idea of ruining his clothes. But being so high above the ground, with nothing under her feet and to be close enough to think about reaching for the stars, was a feeling that nobody would ever be able to explain right. She intended to capture it, to remember it forever.
To answer Rhysand, her throat formed a short hum. And her eyes turned to the wings behind him. They were undeniably magnificent. She had always thought so when she saw them displayed upon Azriel, but Galadriel had never been close enough to touch them. Never close enough to see the intricacies in their design.
Then he was slowed down even more and she felt a gust of wind underneath her as his posture rightened. His feet landed on something solid beneath him and with two steps, he stopped completely on a small pavilion. Galadriel sucked in a sharp breath, realising it was over and confliction rose deep within her. Her arms were covered in goosebumps and not just from the wind. Laughter rang from inside the mountain where lights were lit. With a shift of her legs, Rhysand bent lower and let her down. Each foot was carefully placed down.
"Your shaking," he murmured.
She was. Not her goosebump and shivering, but in her hands and the quiver of her jaw. "You just frightened me is all." Galadriel tightened a smile upwards to ensure the conviction of her words.
Rhysand surveyed her for another moment. "They're waiting for us." Galadriel's gaze darted to inside the House of Wind, hearing the rambunctious group within too. "Do you need a moment? Perhaps to fix your hair."
She swivelled on her toes, staring up at him with rounded eyes. "My hair," she echoed. "How bad it is?" Rhysand rolled his lips between his teeth, then licked them as he thought of an answer. Her own parted in a gape, she smacked the back of her hand against his chest. "You ruined my hair!"
"It's fine," he drawled. "Just a few flyways." With slouched shoulders he reached towards her hair and the lines in her forehead deepened as he adjusted a few of the strands. "You don't mind it being in knots, do you?"
Another whack elicited a grunt from him. From within the House, she heard another round of laughter and Galadriel made good guess that they were listening in on the conversation happening on the pavilion.
But when Rhysand stopped fidgeting with her hair, smiling down in satisfaction of his work, she realised what he had done. Her shaking had eased. He had distracted her, put her mind to something else and directed her emotions to frustration at something petty.
'Feeling better now?'
Galadriel only stared up at him, the silence hanging between them until heavy steps announced a presence at their side. A large, muscled male leant against the open archway. Wings of the same size protruded from the male's back, tucked in tight but eased. He wore leathers, with seven red stones sitting strategically across his chest and limbs. His hair was resting at his shoulders in loose waves, framing a roguishly chiselled face.
Galadriel smiled at Cassian who grinned back. "So this is the spy," he said, hazel eyes flickering to the High Lord for a brief moment. "Is Rhys keeping you to himself or will he let me meet you properly?"
"Please," she huffed loud enough for them both to perfectly hear, "drag me away by all means." Taking a few steps towards him, she held out her hand. "Galadriel. Or spy as you know me, but I do prefer my name."
There was not a second before his hand was in hers, nearly engulfing the entirety of her skin. "Cassian." He peered down at their hands. "You have a tough handshake."
Galadriel nodded breathlessly. She had learnt to mimic somebody when she wanted a good impression. Something about making them like you more; and being liked was a fine way for somebody to talk. "I think you're breaking my hand to be honest." Cassian chuckled and released his tight grip, letting her shake out the pooled blood. "You're Rhysand's General Commander?"
"That I am," he said, grinning wider. His wings twitched. "Does the title impress you?"
Rhysand coughed behind her. Galadriel fought her grin, eyes pressing close for a moment. "Not yet, especially if appearances are anything to go by." Cassian's dark brows shot to his hairline, wings rustling again. Tipping her head, she added, "But you have all evening to impress me with what the job must entail."
"And here I was keeping my judgments of your appearance to myself," he mused and Galadriel's eyes darkened as his gaze wandered across her hair.
"You said it looked fine!" she wailed over her shoulder.
"He's just teasing you," he sighed, but bearing a grin equal to his counterpart who laughed. "Aren't you, Cassian? He likes pissing us all off."
Galadriel folded her arms, resisting the urge to run her hands through the locks which would only succeed in making it worse without a mirror and comb.
"I'm starving," Cassian only said. "Let's go and eat."
Her mouth drew open at his lack of answer. Her legs worked hard to keep up with his long strides. "I don't always look this terrible," she told him, letting him lead her through the entrance to the House of Wind. "Your High Lord is just a dick."
Cassian snorted, shoulders rising in a silent laugh. Galadriel ignored the scoff behind her as said High Lord trailed after them. "He did tell me you had a proclivity for insulting him. I'm sure we can share some pointers. This lot need it, you know. Rhys and Mor—pruned High Fae. Then there's Amren and Cauldron knows what she is, but it built her with something that needs shutting down every now and then." She frowned at that new information but didn't have time to question it as he turned them into a dining hall.
It wasn't a large feasting hall where one would invite guests, but a warm room with a long table like the one in the town house. There were similar adornments, with a fireplace alight as well as three peaked candles along the wooden table—
"Has no one told him to shut his fat mouth yet?"
Cassian didn't so much as bristle as the crooning tone of Morrigan. "My mouth causes great pleasure when it's open."
Mor stood in a crimson dress that clung to every curve, the usual gold bands of jewellery adorned across her body. "Not when words come out. And why was Azriel left out of your list?"
"Because unlike you lot, my dear brother doesn't need his head deflated," he sang and tossed his arms around the spymaster who bothered to look somewhat amused. Like the general, he wore his leathers with the gleaming blue stones set in place. Galadriel risked a look across her shoulder to Rhysand, half-expecting a tease of his earlier revelations but he was only smiling with a certain fondness at the scene.
There was one last person she had not seen before. A short and petite female with black hair cut just above her shoulders, sitting with such lethal straightness that Galadriel imagined cutting her finger if she ran it along the hairline. Silver eyes were already examining her. They were light, almost more ethereal and more star-like than her stone-shaded ones. Yet everything about Amren was rather flat if she was honest with the description. There was nothing about her that screamed undeniable beauty or something that made her other than High Fae as how Cassian suggested. There appeared to be nothing unordinary, or extraordinary, at all.
Cassian and Mor had moved on to arguing over the selection of wine for the evening, but Azriel had stepped forward to greet Galadriel. "How are you?"
Her back straightened. "Good," she answered, blinking. "Fine."
Azriel gave a nod of his head then followed her line of sight to the other female. "Galadriel, this is Amren." Amren lifted a single brow in mild interest. "Amren, this is Galadriel, one of my own."
"Was." The hard sound hit her ears like the beat of a drum. Azriel frowned. Amren glanced around before settling that earth-shattering gaze on Galadriel. "She was one of your own. I hear that's now dismantled by a blatant mistake that could have cost this court plenty."
"One mistake," Rhysand jutted in before she could, his tone almost alike a growl, "after two hundred years of serving this court, don't you forget." The growl did nothing to Amren. It did not make her falter, and it didn't spark anything either.
One-hundred and ninety years, her mind corrected but didn't dare say so aloud.
'One-hundred and ninety, then,' sounded in her head. Galadriel glanced again at the High Lord who only looked back. "Azriel was informing me that it was by her work that we received word of a planned attack in Hewn City. An attack that would have killed hundreds."
Amren sighed as though nothing around her was worth any interest. Not even a newcomer. "I suppose you don't seem all that terrible, girl."
Galadriel took it as the highest compliment she could receive from the strange female. Even if she hadn't said a word yet.