Chapter 43: A Breath
Light. Extinguish.
Light.
Extinguish.
That was what Rhys had her do every day for the past two weeks. First on small candle flames. He had dampened whatever magic controlled the town house so it became her responsibility to light their table over dinner. Then it became the hearth. Anytime she wanted heat to battle mid-winter chill, she had to use her magic to ignite the wood. He twisted in other drills with a more regular form of magic—vanishing things here and there, glamouring. Of course, he could see right through most of her glamours but there were a few that got him.
A lemon that he thought was an apple, for example.
"What are you smiling at?"
Galadriel straightened her back, dropping the smile and sealing a guard around her mind as Rhysand peered curiously at her from the armchair he'd taken residence in. "Nothing. I need to go shopping for Winter Solstice. You think the weather is going to hold up?"
The page in the book he was reading crackled as he turned it. She'd offered to help him research whatever it was he was looking for, but dismissed it, telling her that he'd rather do it himself. "I'd say so. What do you plan on getting?"
Folding her arms and leaning them on the rolled arm of the lounge, she twisted her lips in thought. She'd already found something for Mor—a pair of shoes with long ties that would go up her calves, embedded with gemstones bright enough to look like diamonds. "I thought I might get Cassian some cologne."
"He likes smelling of sweat and grit. And you don't need to buy him, or the rest of us anything. I thought I told you that ages ago."
"I want to, though. Unless it will cause too much of a hassle for them if they feel the need to buy me something."
"They will and it won't."
"Do they know you speak on their behalf so flagrantly?"
"What's the benefit of being High Lord if I can't?"
Laughing, she sunk back into the soft lounge. "What should I get Cassian then?"
Rhys abandoned the book, letting it just sit in his lap. "He could do with some new leather," he said, "for his swords. Thin strips in black. The tannery will know what he needs if you go there."
She took note of it. "I've already bought Mor's and I don't think I could go too wrong there." Furling her fingers to her palm, she bit the ends of her finger knuckles. "Amren mentioned wanting an arm cuff. Would Azriel like books? I saw a few that I thought might interest him."
He gave her a little smile. "I think he would. If you ever have the pleasure of being invited into his room, you find an entire wall taken up by a bookshelf." Frowning, he added, "Not that I'm hoping you'll ever be asked there."
"And you?" Galadriel asked, forcing her gaze to remain steadily on him.
Tipping himself toward her, he jeered, "I'm insulted you don't know me well enough to know what I want."
Rolling her eyes, she spat back, "I'm not a mind reader like some people." He chuckled. "Rhys, I have... No idea. None."
He looked at her then, more serious than he had been in a while. "Buy me gloves," he said, shrugging slightly. "Buy me...a lute. Buy me a pretty vase from the Rainbow. Buy me a new boat."
Galadriel pushed herself from the seat, taking the single stride needed to reach him with great vigour, and yanked the book from his lap. "You're greedy and not helpful." She tossed the book on the low table beside the chair.
That feral, devilish grin carved through his cheeks as he looked up at her. "I already have what I want. My court, my family, Velaris is safe." A warm hand took hers. "A mate." It was almost a test—to see if she would refute his claim on her.
Galadriel glanced down at their hands. They hadn't truly spoken about it. He didn't want to push her, perhaps, and she didn't know where they were headed. Only that she didn't mind it. "You can't complain when nobody gives you anything then," she muttered.
He leant forward, elbows on his knees. "Now the question is—what would you like?"
"You absolute hypocrite!" She thwacked him across the shoulder and Rhys erupted in laughter, holding the spot. "No good prick. You made me feel guilty."
"Suppose I shouldn't tell you that I've actually already organised your gift and I'm just teasing."
"No," she gasped. "That does not make me feel any better. We agreed that only Mor and I were exchanging gifts."
He threw out a hand, still laughing. "You're going out to buy the others something."
"With warning," she drawled. "Were you planning on telling me that you were going to gift me something? This is like your birthday all over again." Spearing out her hands, palms wide, Galadriel retreated from him. "I can't deal with you."
That laughter, obnoxious and deep and titillating, followed her out to the hallway where she shouldered her bag. "Use my household account," was the last thing she heard called out, slamming the front door shut behind her.
~
A soundless gasp ripped through her throat.
Galadriel scrambled backwards, hitting the headboard of her bed but that pale streak near her armoire was only reflected moonlight. Not the pallid skin of a corpse. She tried to regain control of her breathing, periodically holding air in her lungs until her chest stopped heaving.
It hadn't been the first nightmare, but it was the first that had woken her through the middle of the night.
Dragging her knees up, she dropped her face into the cradle of her arms. She closed her eyes, but in the blackness behind her eyelids, only found the empty, dark pupils of that fae male staring at her, forcing her to open them again.
She tried to walk carefully, but the floorboards in the upstairs hall still creaked as she crept over them. She couldn't bring herself to make a flame or ignite the candles to light her way, wanting nothing more than to rip the magic from herself. Instead, she clambered down the staircase, gripping the barrier. More moonlight leaked in through the downstairs windows, at least, paving a path towards the kitchen.
Padding along, her bare feet against the rug lining the corridor the only sound, Galadriel rubbed at the side of her pounding head. In the kitchen, she drowned herself in a glass of water, then sprayed the coolness of another handful across her face and neck. Hanging over the sink, she let the beads drip from her nose and chin, the heartbeat in her ears louder than their impact with the steel.
Back in the corridor, she made it half way to the stairs before stopping. There was no way she could get back to sleep tonight—not anytime soon. There was no point lying in bed, tossing and turning for sleep that she might not even want to come if the nightmare returned.
Her eyes went to the sitting room. No. It was too quiet in there. Too empty. She'd never been afraid of the dark before, growing up with Azriel's shadows, but something about it now made her chest tighten.
There was a door on her right, dark wood with intricate panelling. Rhys's office. He didn't use it much, preferring to do the more tedious work up at the House of Wind. He preferred keeping the town house as homely as possible, he had told her.
Her hand curled around the silver knob, pushing the door open.
His scent greeted her. As did the traces of his presence. She could see it in the way the papers were folded and kept under an obsidian paperweight that she was sure had iridescent hues under sunlight. In the way that the chair was pushed in neatly, but not all the way. In the way that a book on the narrow bookcase had been left half out, as if meaning to come back to it later.
Pulling the chair out, Galadriel sunk into it, pulling her heels close to her thighs, perching them on the edge of the seat. She let the shadows here embrace her, let the familiar scent mull her worries. Here, she almost wanted to fall asleep.
There was no telling how much time was passed, dragged back from whatever world her mind ventured to in the quiet, when light feet thumped against the stairs. Galadriel's eyes traced the warm light that seeped into the office underneath the door, like it was trying to tell the person on the other side where she was.
She listened to that gait, as familiar and belonging as the scent around her. There was no thought in her to go and seek him out, but she willed him to find her. And he did. It took a few minutes, the footsteps pacing back and forth, up the stairs then down again, but that silver knob turned and her mate's gilded silhouette appeared.
Rhys didn't say anything, just going to her side and she leant against his bare stomach, finally able to close her eyes again. She cried. It was silent, her shoulders shaking. Eventually, she needed more than the hands gently stroking her hair and rose to her knees. Bending down, his hooked arms scooped under her legs, lifting her from the chair completely. Wrapping her arms around his neck, her sobs were finally allowed to sound.
He carried her from the office, then through the hallway and up the stairs, murmuring the softest of soothings. He tipped her down and her back hit a mattress. Rolling herself over, she spied his bedroom through her tears. The sheets beneath her were silken and dark. The bed was large enough to accommodate his wings if he wished them out as well as guests. It was difficult to make out the rest beyond the outlines of a vanity, the large wardrobe with an arched peak, the leathers folded atop a set of draws.
Rhys climbed around her, kicking the blankets out from under their bodies then pulled them over. Galadriel soaked in the warmth, the lingering patch of heat beneath her from where he must have been laying before.
He lay across from her, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other reaching for her. "Want to talk about it?"
Turning her face into the pillow, she shook her head. He threaded a hand through the hair at the nape of her neck, thumb rubbing on the tender point behind her ear. When she didn't move away from his touch, he shifted closer, unwinding that arm from under him to slip beneath her neck instead. With his other hand, he guided her to his chest until their fronts were pressed together. As if it weren't enough, as if he knew she needed more, a leg slipped between hers.
She let out a ragged breath, her fingertips dragging over the bare skin across his back, feeling the muscle flex beneath them.
"Why the office?" he asked.
Nuzzling her head under his chin, she let herself be called back to sleep. Images of that corpse, of her crimson-soaked hand, of the soundless screams as the male choked on his own blood, were left out in the hallway.
"Because you were still sleeping," she answered.
Hello! Sorry, but updates will be a little slower than usual - but should pick up again in about 2 weeks.
:)