Chapter 34: The Ring
There was no telling how long she sat there for, cold and miserable, waiting to die. But she wouldn't die immediately. No, there was no point in shackling her if that is what they intended. Galadriel stared down at the ring on her right hand, which seemed to glow under the pale moonlight that managed to reach inside the cell, as if it were calling to her in the only way it knew how.
Azriel's order no longer bound her. The wording of the command had been specific—take it only if she was trapped and knew with certainty that there was no way out. That she was at a breaking point. Galadriel understood Cassian and Rhysand's distaste for it, but she also knew that it was more than just a swift and easy way to dismantle a threat. It was also a mercy.
The Autumn Court was almost as notorious as the Night Court for its brutality. But where the Night Court used that as protection, veiling the true heart of the court, cruelty was at the Autumn Court's heart. Ita High Lord's heart. What was coming for her—this ring protected her from it. Azriel's orders were the last resort, but it wouldn't have stopped her from taking it before that moment, if she chose.
She'd always thought it would be easy, that her fealty to him was strong enough that her desire to protect him would overrule any instinct she had towards self-preservation. Now that she had heard not only Cassian but Rhys's wishes for her to not wear it, that once-unyielding promise wavered.
But once they took her to whatever chamber they intended to rip answers from her in, it wouldn't matter what Rhys or Cassian wanted anymore. All Galadriel knew was that she had no intention to endure, to outlast, whatever they had planned.
It was so quiet, deep below the Forest House, that she could hear the footsteps headed her way before they had stepped off the spiralling stairwell at the far end of the corridor. Three pairs.
Galadriel sank back against the corner she had buried herself in, shadowed enough that the first male fae to approach had to scan the cell before finding her. He was unremarkable in the most Autumn Court way: brown hair, tawny eyes, pale skin. The two with him were something of the same, though one had hair closer to the colour of tree sap and the other was notably shorter.
"You had a lot of nerve coming back here," the first one said, his wicked grin gleaming on the other side of the bars that he gripped. "Nobody touches the High Lord's wife. Especially not spying scum."
At least Amoise was safe. That split-second decision completely rewrote the scene, orientating the Lady of Autumn as the unfortunate victim of Galadriel's vengeance. Not a traitor to her husband, harbouring a wanted criminal.
She had to come and see what she did all this for—to know that it was worth it. That it didn't matter what she faced on the other side. Eternity in a prison or in a grand gallery of a manor. It wasn't punishment or reward, but simply the price she paid for her friend's safety.
The one with sap-coloured hair held the keys which jangled as he unlocked the cell door. Galadriel rose to her feet silently, unthreateningly. She hadn't decided what to do and acting without a plan was a fool's mission. One that had more than likely gotten her into this position in the first place. Her meek appearance, pale and slender, now covered in the rotting filth of this place, seemed to put them at enough ease that they moved with a slackness.
The male that entered the cell yanked on the short chain connecting the shackles together as well as to the chain linking her to the wall. Stumbling forward, she hissed behind her teeth as the metal bit into the cuts. It amused him, the corners of his thin lips tilting up as he turned the key in each cuff, letting them nearly fall right onto her feet.
"Get on with it," he growled, shoving her towards the cell door.
Keeping her hands by her side, she obeyed. Two beside, one behind her, there was nowhere to go but forward and ahead... They led her through parts of the dungeon that even she hadn't explored in all her years of prying. Prisoners were kept in more permanent cages, most with shredded skin, as though claws had torn through them, their ribs pressing against the threadbare shirts.
"Stop your gawking," the sap-colour-haired guard snarled, banging his fist on the bars of one of those cages, the metallic clang ringing deafeningly. The male inside had indeed been staring at Galadriel but his eyes were so glazed over that she didn't think he was really seeing at all.
The small meal she'd had for breakfast, hours ago now, curdled in her stomach, threatening to rise into her throat. Her mouth wet in anticipation. It was hard enough to focus on walking without bumping into her guards let alone breathe properly, making her light-headed and queasy by the time that she stood in front of a thick, wooden door. The hinges were reinforced steel, painted black. No light slipped through the thin crack inches from her toes. She bit her bottom lip to stop it from trembling.
The guard with the keys unlocked the door, the bolt heavy. Impenetrable. It swung open with a low moan and her knees nearly gave way.
The room was all but empty except for the chair, and a brace on the wall. Displayed on it, were the most vicious-looking blades she'd ever seen. But it was the chair that made her blanche—the cuffs that would trap her wrists to the wooden arms. So she couldn't move, couldn't help herself.
Panting, she stumbled back, but the shorter male behind her shoved her inside. The bolt in the lock slid back into place. The taller, plain looking one, waved his hand and an oil lantern mounted on the wall came to life, lighting the small chamber in a dreary amber gloom. Fire magic. She could scent that distinctive tang of magic.
The shorter one seized her wrist, dragging her to the chair—
That's when she snapped.
"No! NO!" Galadriel buckled at her knees, using her weight against him, tearing herself free from his grasp. She wasn't strong enough for this—not even for a day.
He grabbed at her again as the other two sprang into motion, but she kicked at him, hitting the side of his knee. "You bitch," he growled, twisting away.
Another grabbed her under the arm, right beneath her shoulder, thrusting her again towards that chair to restrain her. Galadriel screamed, knowing that nobody but them would hear her. Kicking and thrashing, a second pair of hands wrestled her down. She managed to clock one in the face with her elbow, who yelped and loosened their grasp enough for her to slip out of it and punch the other's throat. The one with sap-coloured hair gasped and spluttered, bowing at his waist as if being lower would allow to suck more air back into his lungs.
She barely scrambled three feet away before the shorter one had regained his bearing, hoisting her up by the waist, her feet leaving the ground. Unable to reach him with any amount of twisting or screaming or throwing her limbs around, he hauled her to that chair. Galadriel kicked and the seat skidded across the cold stone floor, crashing against the wall. The fae growled in her ear but didn't release her to fix it, instead just dragging her the extra distance towards it.
When it was within reach, she braced her feet against the wall above it, her thighs burning as she pushed back against him, refusing to be put in that thing. When he started to lower her, heels grating against the stone, Galadriel reached behind her, finally getting grasp and threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging with all her might.
Roaring, the short male let her go and she collapsed to the floor, brown strands of air knotted between her fingers. He grabbed at his head, a notable patch of his hair now missing, blood beginning to freckle at the pale skin. Throwing herself back, Galadriel shoved her body up against the wall almost hoping it would engulf her as she kicked the chair into his path. The guard waved his arm and magic hurled it against the wall across from them so hard that it shattered into a hundred wooden shards.
She hurtled for one. Her fingers curled around a shard the length of her forearm, the jagged end reminding her of teeth. Screaming, her stomach scraped against the stone as someone latched onto her ankle, dragging her across the room. Her knuckles whitened around the wood, the nails in her other hand desperately clawing at the ground as the skin on her stomach tore.
The yanking stopped and she felt the heat of the body behind her, overbearing and imminent. Before they could do anything, Galadriel twisted, teeth gritted.
And thrust that jagged end right into the male's throat.
It was the plain-looking guard, with fire magic. His eyes widened, air catching in his throat. The wooden shard stuck out the side of his jugular. Blood pooled around the wound. He made a wet, choking noise. Weak hands grazed at her but Galadriel burrowed her heels into the ground, crawling away. The last mistake he would ever make was yanking it out. Blood spurted in rhythm with his heart, drenching his tunic and baldric, spraying across the floor. The two other guards stared at him in disbelief as he sunk off his knees, gurgling, dead within the minute.
Galadriel's throat was dry, the hand that had dealt the killing blow shaking at her side. She'd never killed before. She didn't realise that she would feel the way the weapon sunk into the flesh. The intimacy of the act.
Horror and disgust and fear exploded inside her, tampering with her thoughts until they were as incoherent as the blubbering sound currently pouring from her lips.
The shorter one, nostrils flared, turned to the wall with the weapons, taking his time to regard them. Choose which one he felt worthy of collecting revenge with. The male with the brighter hair stared her down, rising to his full height and from her spot on the floor, she was merely an ant to him. Whatever they had planned for her, whatever mercies they intended on offering in the name of needing her well enough to talk, died along with their friend.
They hadn't even started on her and she was a whimpering mess. No—no she had fought. She had killed someone to protect herself and the secrets she carried. But they wouldn't stop until they leaked every one from her.
That couldn't happen.
Galadriel willed her face to an image of cold steel, unfeeling and unremorseful. There was a flicker in the guard's eye as he noted her change in demeanour, but he wasn't fast enough to stop her as she brought her fingers to her mouth and placed her lips around the band of the ring.
She bit down on the stone. It cracked, crumbling into her mouth.