Chapter 42: Peppermint
"You're a Reaper."
Galadriel's stomach coiled into a tight knot as the heavy word rang like a low drumbeat against her ears. "What?"
Amren's silver eyes ran over her, a curiosity that seemed born of boredom for all else filling them. "A Reaper."
Rhysand moved past his Second toward Galadriel who stood in the hallway, flour still on her hands from the baking she'd just been pulled from. He stood at her side, not touching her, but a presence for her to draw on if she needed it. Which might be soon.
Cocking her head, Amren didn't so much as look at the High Lord. "It took me a while to find the book. They're thought to be little more than legend. Reapers didn't originally belong in this world but there are portals now lost to even my kind that Fae once travelled through. Reapers were one of those Fae."
Galadriel held a shaking hand to her abdomen, the world feeling too light. She could almost sway, like a ribbon on the wind. And sway she did, right into Rhys. He took her arm and said over her head to Amren, "I think we should sit down." The hardness behind those words suggested that Amren's blunt announcement hadn't been his intended plan.
They'd been talking quietly in the sitting room when Galadriel roamed downstairs and into the kitchen. She hadn't thought much of it, Amren a usual presence around this place. Now Rhys led her to that sitting room, Amren trailing along. He sat her down on the main lounge, occupying the seat next to her.
"Have you heard of them before?" he asked her quietly.
Galadriel shook her head. No, she'd never heard the term before. Not as a label. But she knew what reaping was. Knew what it implied. Amren perched on the armchair, her face the picture of stilted manners. "You killed that boy in Autumn, didn't you?"
Rhys sneered. "Have some tact, Amren."
That male had hardly been a boy, but knowing that was the term Amren tended to use with anybody other than herself, Galadriel nodded, that twist in her stomach tightening. "He was going to hurt me," she whispered in defence.
"He was going to do a lot worse than that," Rhys told her. Meant to be in comfort, she assumed. "He deserved a lot worse than that."
"Yes, yes," Amren huffed, waving her hand through the air. "Get over that protective mate bullshit so I can get on with what I was saying. Nobody here cares why you killed him, only that you did."
His eyes shot to his Second, simmering with irritation, but he decided to say nothing of it. Galadriel shrunk further against the soft cushions. "Why does it matter then?" she asked.
"Because," Amren said, leaning forward, "the thing that makes a Reaper is their ability to reap the power of the lives that have passed on. They were once a guardian race over Death, who carried magic from the souls they claimed until another was birthed and called for it. But some rebelled, found out how to claim it for themselves and fled their world to escape punishment."
"You're suggesting I'm one of them," she choked out. Rhysand's hand smoothed over her shoulders. "That I'm some rebel fae from a whole other world."
"A descendant," Amren clarified. "It wasn't just magic you had, girl. It was fire magic. That male you killed was Beron's second cousin and a captain of his guards. More powerful than most Fae, though nowhere near Rhysand or even Beron's sons."
Galadriel felt sick. This thing inside of her, now constantly pulsing like a second heart never belonged to her. She had always known that. But now knowing that she'd stolen it from another, had taken it with their life... It felt like some sort of parasite. "I don't want it. How do I get rid of it?"
But she already knew the answer. They'd already told her. It was Rhys to speak softly into her ear. "The magic is connected to you. Pulling it out, draining it completely... It would kill you."
"But Amren said they only held onto it until another life came and took it." She held out her hands as if the root of this invading magic could be seen in them, willing anything to snatch it from her. "I just have to wait, don't I? A child will be born in Autumn and it will belong to them. A child belonging to Beron's family."
Rhys looked at Amren, his eyes heavy with that same question.
"His bloodline has more fertility than fucking rabbits," she added, the words almost melting into a long string of sound with how fast she said them. "It can't be that long."
"Far as I'm aware," said Amren, "the Reapers that became rebels were after that power. They'd found a way to keep it for themselves. Whatever they did, it's not known in this world how to reverse it."
So she was truly stuck with it.
In Spring Court, killing was seen as an even more treasonous crime than in other courts. Spring was about life. Rejuvenation. Killing wasn't in their nature, saved for war times and punishment of equally heinous crimes. As much as Galadriel didn't belong to Spring, that principle had remained with her, like a collected pin.
"We have a meeting with the governors, Rhys," Amren said, standing in a swift movement.
"You can deal with them without me."
Galadriel folded her arms over her knees, hunched forward and staring at the hearth. "Go," she muttered. "I'll be fine."
"I'm not leaving you alone," he refuted. "Amren can go ahead and let them know I'll be late. As their High Lord, I have the privilege of not having to answer to them if I don't want to." That little quirk, that teasing tune he wove through his voice as he looked at the side of her face was enough to drag the corners of her lips upwards.
Catching the signal, Amren said something of a goodbye and left.
Rubbing a hand down her cheek, Galadriel stood next. "I'm going to finish the raisin bread." She needed the distraction. Rhys didn't object, following her into the kitchen. He didn't speak much as she continued kneading the dough, offering only a few breaks into the silence, just enough to keep her from thinking too deeply. She had the sense that he wasn't completely there—in his head, that was. Or, rather, out of it.
Leaving the bread to rise and not feeling like doing much else, Galadriel retired into her room. She was on the brink of sleep, curled up on the bed when she heard the town house's front door open.
The knock at her door came next, soft like it wasn't something solid that tapped against the wood. "Come in," Galadriel murmured, knowing whoever it was would still be able to hear her.
It was the shadows that gave Azriel away, even before the slight draft through the open window in the hall carried his scent, followed by the imposing weight he seemed to carry in the air around him. He strode at a slow pace across her room until he stood next to her open curtains, shielded in their shade as he looked out of her window.
"Are you alright?"
After the breakfast in the House of Wind, they hadn't really talked. A few words had been passed here and there, mostly on Rhysand's birthday, but the shadowsinger had a keenness for avoidance and she might be developing the same habit.
Sitting up, she said, "You heard?" Azriel nodded once. "Cassian and Mor were too busy for babysitting duty?"
The question sparked something greater in his attention, turning his head toward her. "I offered. I care about you as well," he said in that low melody. "I see how my words may have sounded to you, but my...frustrations were at myself. I don't often disobey Rhys. Never, really. But the one time I did, it might have cost him his mate's life. That's not all you are, but I was given that job because that's what you are."
"I was the one that wanted to keep the ring. I think I knew I was stupid enough to go back to Autumn and in my defence, I had no idea I was a High Lord's mate."
Azriel's lips twitched up. "He made quite the announcement of it."
Galadriel captured the image before her, sealing it tight in her memories. It wasn't often she saw the shadowsinger smile, least of all because of her. She had wondered, ever since coming to Velaris, where her affections for him went. They seemed to drip away over time, like a leak in a tap, drop by drop. But they weren't gone, she realised, just transformed. A mentor, a saviour, perhaps even a friend. But the title of lover didn't belong to him, and it never had.
"If...If I had refused," Galadriel said, "that day in the Day Court. What would you have done? Knowing that I was his mate?"
Azriel went contemplative for a long while, his dark lashes narrowing as he went back to looking out of the window. "It would have been up to Rhys," he answered. "I think he would have let you remain in Day if that was what you wanted."
"What would you have done, if it were your choice?"
He had a reply immediately. "I would have let you stay, but I would've had another of my spies watching you. The moment you realised how much danger you were still in there, I would have come back." And would have saved her too, as he had in Autumn.
"You can do whatever you need to, Az. Honestly, I don't feel like doing much else other than sleeping."
He nodded once at her, then went back to looking out of the window. Dampening her curiosity at his choice, Galadriel burrowed herself into the blankets and closed her eyes.
~
It was night and it was dark.
Galadriel sat in front of the hearth. There were, of course, perfectly good choices of cushioned seats all around her, but the floor felt like the only right place to be. She'd eaten torn shreds of her raisin bread for dinner, unable to convince herself to make anything or ask the wraiths who had otherwise been enjoying their time in the quiet. Azriel had taken up to the sunroof for even more quiet than he could find inside. The roaring flames were the only source of light in the entire building, amber dancing faintly on the walls around her, her shadow stretching to the ceiling.
She heard Rhys come home, noticing that he left the lighting off. He disappeared for a few minutes. Her ears twitched, hearing his soft footfalls returning.
He settled behind her, close enough that his legs spread out on either side of her hips, one stretched flat, the other bent. Close enough that if she leant back, she would brush against his chest.
"I think," he whispered. Galadriel glanced over her shoulder, finding his darkened face hovering over it. "You need some of this." He held up a vial that she struggled to read the label of in the darkness but recognised easily. Peppermint oil. For muscle soothing.
"Is that so?"
He hummed a note of mirthful affirmation. Unscrewing the stopper, he let the oil drip onto his fingertips until it covered them. Placing the vial carefully to the side, with his clean hand he pulled her arm from her lap and held it outstretched. Sitting so close to the fire, the town house magicked warm, she hadn't bothered with a sweater or coat.
He massaged the oil into her skin, roughened hands gliding over her arm with the oil's slickness. The peppermint was strong, warring against the charring wood in the hearth, which crackled in protest of being forgotten. Galadriel became entranced watching his hand work, the way his thumb pressed into her muscle, the way her muscle gave to it.
"Now the other."
Unable to help herself, she grinned softly as he switched sides, lathering her right arm. She let herself lean into him, resting her head against the side of his neck. He paid attention to every part of her, including her hand, gently rolling her knuckles around, pressing his thumb into the bowl of her palm. Threading their fingers.
"I thought that maybe if I sat here long enough," she whispered, "staring at the fire, that I might... Feel something. Something that could help me control it. Know how it behaves."
"Magic behaves the same no matter what form it comes in," he replied, equally as soft. "I can teach you."
She leant away enough to look into his eyes. "Thank you, Rhys. You take care of me, and I see it. I appreciate it."
He smiled. "You've made it an endearing and challenging endeavour."
His hands drifted up, smoothing along her shoulders then neck. Instinctively, she leant forward, allowing him access to the button hooks that kept the bodice of her dress together. Unlatching three, Rhys guided her short sleeves further down her until they hung around her biceps. Coating his fingers in fresh oil, he began kneading the muscles around her neck with much more delicacy than she had treated the raisin bread dough. Galadriel closed her eyes, catching herself on his tented knee. Every part of her, even the places he hadn't touched, released whatever tension they'd pent up over the past weeks, like a sigh from overfilled lungs.
"You're falling asleep, aren't you?"
"No, I'm not," she lied.
When he was done, he brought her back to his chest, leaving the dress loose so he could lather the front of her neck and chest. She settled her arms over his resting around her waist when he finished. "Don't do this with Cassian," she managed to murmur, falling asleep to hearing and feeling his chesty laugh.