Chapter 51: Temper
Eyes followed her with every step. They stuck to her like leeches, sucking everything they could from her at the distance they kept only for Cassian's feral snarl that came if they wandered too close. She'd never been more thankful for him. He explained things as they meandered through the camp—the rankings, the jobs, the types of buildings. Everything about it was so...necessary. Everything had a place and a purpose. Everything was a necessity. They couldn't afford to have much else, with a small population constantly battling against other camps, dedicated to survival.
It was harsh and brutal and though Cassian had a wariness on his face, those things didn't seem to bother him. This was him.
That thought ticked her mind in a new direction. Cassian was exactly those things—a warrior through flesh and bone and blood. He was an unrelenting force on the killing fields and grew up in this very camp, training and working as they did. Yet he was still Cassian. He was still the one she trusted with her life. How many others were like him?
Galadriel watched a small patrol of Illyrians dart through the skies above them, black blurs on the wind. "I haven't seen any females fly," she noted.
"Most of them can't," Cassian replied bitterly. "Clipping. When they're young, they clip part of the wing's base so they can't. It's a crude practice that Rhys has tried to outlaw for decades. But Illyrians are as stubborn in their ways as they are fierce. He's their High Lord, but it's a barely recognised title." It was probably only his power that kept them at bay. "Makes my job all that more difficult."
Sickening disgusts coiled through her stomach, but she kept herself from spitting some foul assortment of language for Cassian's sake. He probably heard enough of it from others and didn't deserve that from her. "That's the problem with immortality," she said. "The same minds. The same values. Nothing changes easily."
"And the benefit," he shot back as they passed a large undercover arrangement of tables. A common mess space, he added, for soldiers. "When you have a good leader, with good values, they're worth keeping around."
"When did you know that was Rhys?"
He turned down a wide lane. In the distance, she could make out the familiar movements of fighting. Fast as lightning, striking just as hard. Their bodies twisted and turned the same way she'd watched Cassian and Azriel and Rhys perform with so much ease that it must have been as simple to them as walking.
Cassian blinked at her. "Who said I was talking about him?" Mockingly gaping at him, she knocked her shoulder into his. He laughed and knocked her back with the hard ridge on the edge of his wing. "It didn't take long," he answered, softer. "As soon as his mother took me in, I knew what type of person was raising him. One I knew my own would have been if she could."
Galadriel folded her arms over her chest as a deep gust came right off the mountain, her blood chilling. "You don't speak of your mother often."
His smile was fond but mournful. "She died when I was young. Dumped me right in the middle of the camp and when I went back to find her years later, the camp she'd been working in had killed her. Wouldn't even tell me where they buried her."
"That's awful."
He tightened his lips, a small nod of agreeance. "When Rhys's mother and sister were killed... Mor barely kept me from going down and tearing apart the pieces of the Spring Court that Rhys had left." His eyes slid down to hers. "He told me you were there. About your family."
"Tamlin winnowed me out. Honestly, I think he might have saved me from Rhys's father." A regretful truth. "I heard from others what was left behind. I don't..." She let out a sigh, shaking her head. "I don't blame Rhys, and I've told him that. But I do think that I would probably be dead if I hadn't left. His father killed Tamlin's mother. My mother was caught in it all and died. I was the only young female that was near his daughter's age. Tamlin probably realised that."
They came to a fence line made of shabby wood pikes. Cassian leant against it, squinting against the sun that managed to filter through the cloud. "These are the training grounds," he said, nodding to the circular fields in which those Illyrians fought, some with blades or staffs, others with their bare fists.
Galadriel propped herself up on the fence. "I thought you weren't supposed to take me here."
"This is practically the heart of the camp," he drawled. "If I don't show you this, then you're not really seeing Illyria." It didn't take much to figure out why. Grunts and roars overwhelmed her ears, as did the tangy scent of blood and vomit to her nose. One poor boy, yet to grow out of his lanky frame, was being dragged out by his ankles. "And I wanted you to see how easy I go on you," he added.
Galadriel couldn't find the words to respond and barely suppressed her desire to crawl into his arms for the protection they would give.
"I understand why you're pissed off at him."
She was grateful for the excuse to look away. "And why's that?"
Cassian flexed his wings in a stretch. "Rhys doesn't like telling the people he cares for things that he thinks will hurt them. But he does it all with a good heart."
Galadriel turned her back to the fence but the very quickly came to hate having her back towards the fighting and turned back around. "At first I was upset that he told you before me. It's... I didn't want you to know that I wasn't strong enough for it." His expression morphed into sympathy. "But I hate the fact more that it puts me above you. Above Mor and Azriel. Even Amren." Crossing her arms over the top beam of wood, she buried her chin in the crook of her folded elbow. "Azriel said it; you took an oath and now it extends to me. I didn't realise I'd become your duty."
"I suppose it's difficult for you to see how it can be both ways. Friend and ruler. I'm sure Beron doesn't host tea parties where they gossip about the wives of his governors."
"And you do?"
He shivered. "Mor has some interesting hobbies. But what I mean to say is, yes—it is different to consider you my High Lady. But it doesn't change my opinion of you. It simply changes the way I take things in. If you were only Rhys's mate and he was here, I'd be watching the group over near the firepit to the south more." Glancing over her shoulder, she found the group he noted: a loud congregation of about six Illyrian males, all with weapons stashed along their bodies. "Rhys would take charge watching your back," he went on. "But as my High Lady, that's now also my job. One that I take pride in." He leant in close to say that, as if it were a private admittance only meant for her. "Giving you this position—it was one of the largest gestures of trust he could ever give. To hand power over his court to you. The ordaining isn't official without your presence, but he wanted you to be given that respect regardless."
A deep cry broke her response off. Her eyes snapped to a nearby training ring, a male clutching his leg. A bone protruded from it, the snow-dotted ground around him already crimson. Galadriel flinched, her feet already moving to go help, but a firm hand on her shoulder held her back. The partner he'd been sparring with only stood at the edge of the ring, wooden staff braced against his shoulder as the other male writhed around in agony.
"What will they do?" she breathed.
Cassian's voice was low. "Wait till he figures out how to take care of himself."
"Did...Did you have to go through that?" She knew the answer but wanted—prayed—he would tell her something else. But when his hand only squeezed her shoulder, she wished she hadn't bothered. Her hand went to reach for his, but as soon as her fingers graze the ones clutching her, Cassian took his hand away.
"Not here," he murmured, too quiet for the attentive ears that had gathered to watch how the young warrior handled the snapped bone. Shame from realising that the rejection of touch upset her, Galadriel tucked her hands beneath her arms.
The warrior eventually limped back up on one foot, crying with each hobble he took towards the fence. Something flickered in the corner of her eye. Inching her chin over her shoulder, Galadriel found Azriel lurking under the shade of a tree's belly, nearly invisible if it weren't for the bright azure beacons littering his body. There was no telling how long he'd been there. "Can we go somewhere else?"
Cassian didn't argue when she walked away before he could answer, headed towards Azriel since he looked as uncomfortable as she felt.
"We don't usually get blondes around here." The unfamiliar voice halted her in place. Cassian was back at her side in an instant, like a sudden mountain of muscle and leather and steel. Three males strode up to them, each baring grins that made her insides churn. Hazel eyes that were more brown than gold ran over her. The leader, tallest and leanest, took another step closer. "Exotic. I've always wondered if they scream differently when fucked."
Galadriel went stiff and didn't try to hide the fact.
Cassian snarled. "You watch your fucking mouth."
The leader cocked his head. "Why? Is that where you fuck her? Tell me," he said, eyes turning on her, "is the bastard brute just as vicious putting himself inside of you as he's said to be on the battlefield? Or is he soft and tender like the pride he claims to have? Either way, I'll be better."
Her cheeks went red hot. Azriel slid into place on her other side, casually playing with Truth Teller. "I'd let you try me out yourself," she said, "but this exotic bitch has standards."
The one on his left, with a wide-set jaw, said, "When you come into our territory, you don't get to speak like that. Our females do what they're told."
"High Lord Rhysand's territory," Azriel interjected, cooly flipping his knife. "You seem to forget that, no matter how many times we remind you."
"And where is he now?"
"He has bigger things to deal with than pisspots like you," Cassian growled.
"Including looking after his mate, it seems," the third crooned, smiling in a way that made her stumble a step back, knocking into Azriel's unoccupied arm which steadied her. "We heard about the special guest. The High Lord's mate dumped right into our camp with his bastard-born general and spymaster as her watchers. He's just asking for us to take her if you ask me."
"Nobody did." Cassian rested his palm on the pommel of the long knife strapped to his thigh, and then his fingers nudged hers, hooking around her index until her fingertip dusted the cold metal. She understood the message: she was to take it if they made one move forward. "But I haven't had the pleasure of ripping out a spine lately. I hang them over my mantlepiece. Yours must be made of goddamn iron if you thought coming over here was a good idea."
The middle's eyes moved on to Azriel next. "How about you? Are you going to threaten us too? Maybe with that silly little knife of yours. Or will your shadows haunt us in our bedrooms?"
Azriel tilted his head. "You took twenty minutes to approach from when you first spotted her, and that was without realising I was here. I think that says enough."
"Laird!" A fierce-looking male called the name from the right, all of their heads turning in its direction. A face newly familiar to her stalked toward them. Devlon, she pieced together, having spied Rhysand and Cassian talking with him out of the window in the cabin. "Get back to your damn stations."
The three males sent one last look at Cassian and Azriel—at her—before turning away without another word.
Devlon spun on Cassian. "I told you bringing that bitch here wouldn't do anybody any good. I'm not going to interfere again if there's any problems."
Cassian folded his arms across his broad chest and took a step towards the camp lord. "You will," he said. "Because any problems with Galadriel are my High Lord's problems. And if they're his, they're yours. Circle of life." Galadriel hadn't truly realised until now what, exactly, trouble she brought with her here. It was no wonder both Azriel and Rhysand didn't like the idea. "Get your soldiers in line and cut down the ones that aren't before I have to get my hands dirty and do your damn job."
To his credit, Devlon backed down. Whatever threats Cassian had used in the past, he'd clearly had to go through with them before, because Devlon said, "They're in line. Don't bring her to the training grounds, and you won't have problems. Females don't belong here."
Galadriel was glad when they returned to the cabin. Cassian hovered in the kitchen as she made them lunch with the food Azriel managed to hunt down. "I might just survive if you're treating us to actual meals," Cassian said. "Usually we eat stew. Lots of stew."
She didn't tell him that cooking was her distraction. Her small little escape. "It might have to be stew tomorrow if we don't get some fresh food."
He leant his back against the bench as she cut through a slab of salt-preserved meat, retrieving herbs when she asked for them. As she wiped her hands along her dark pants, a thick arm slid across the front of her chest. It held her in place as he kissed the crown of her head. "Az and I are sharing a room tonight so you can have the other to yourself, and I'm saying this with all modesty in mind because I know how this place must feel for you—if you can't sleep alone, the door is open."
In an attempt to shake off the unease he so obviously found in her, she said, "Modesty? I wasn't aware you knew the word."
He winked. "I sleep naked."