Chapter 59: Love Binds and Betrays
Rhysand was out when Mor winnowed them back to the townhouse. Galadriel went up to the room she now permanently shared with Rhys, ring in hand, intending to place it on the top of the vanity. But it was a spot he hardly ever glanced at unless she was motioning to a piece of jewellery she wanted to wear and he was fetching it for her. His cufflinks and other pieces like that had their own spot in the wardrobe. Pocketing it, she went back downstairs with a stomach for lunch, waving off Mor and Cassian who were headed somewhere else.
Happy to spend a part of her afternoon in the kitchen, Galadriel dismissed the twin wraiths' offers to cook for her, humming as she went about cooking a meal. She got through eating that and running a long, hot bath until she finally felt another presence join her in the townhouse.
Just as she was tightening the tethers on her robe, Rhysand coaxed the bedroom door open, his lips lifting when he found her within. "How was training?" he asked, opening his arms so she could slip within them.
Galadriel contently laid her head on his chest. What could she tell him? "Tiring," seemed a fair enough truth. "I'm glad to have a proper bed again."
"I'm not surprised," he said in a low murmur. "You never struck me as someone who enjoyed spending her days outdoors, especially with the way you kill plants and all. They probably hold some sort of vendetta against you." He laughed as her fingers found enough skin on his back to pinch.
Digging the ring out of her pocket, she held it up to him. An offering that didn't need to be embellished with words. Rhysand's brows rose at the silver and gold band, the blue gem embedded with a diamond star.
"Pretty," he noted, not taking it. "But not really my style."
Her smile fell. "W-what?" Everything inside of her that had been building these past weeks, the excitement and the anticipation, all deflated out of her, leaving her flat and hollow. Had the Weaver tricked her? Or had it been so long that even the Weaver of the Woods had forgotten which of her stolen belongings had once been the High Lord of the Night Court's mate?
Rhysand kissed her cheek, lingering there as he said, "I think you should wear it."
That was when she picked up the taunt in his voice. Galadriel smacked him with both hands, shoving out of his embrace. "Bastard."
He laughed, head thrown back. "That is repayment for not letting me in on your little adventure." When it settled enough for his eyes to open again, he took her face in his hands and pressed a hard kiss to her mouth. "You have no idea how much I am in love with you."
"You're not surprised."
His smile widened. "That I love you? Not one bit."
"That I have your mother's ring."
Nestling against her, nose curving to her forehead, he admitted, "I knew where you were. I was watching you."
Curling the ring in her palm, she wrapped her arms back around his shoulders, frowning to the air between their chests. "I didn't feel you." His presence was like a beacon, brighter and hotter the closer he was.
"You wanted to do this on your own so I put a temporary...veil over the bond. Enough that you were, for all intents and purposes, alone, but not enough that I couldn't feel you if something went wrong. I wanted to be close by."
"I brought Cassian and Mor along for that reason," she pointed out. "Who I didn't need, by the way."
"No." His smirk was prideful and arrogant. "My mate is a skilled negotiator, able to trade with the Weaver of the Woods without even marking her skin with a bargain. Something even I cannot do. What other High Lords do not dare try. Though I think I nearly fainted when you just walked up and knocked."
"You're not angry?" She remembered what Cassian had said. "That I went without telling you."
He contemplated for a moment. "I don't think it's worth discussing. Maybe I was, but you're here. Safe. I'm not ruining that."
"I did promise the Weaver something," Galadriel went on, happy to redirect the conversation. "I told her that I would speak of our exchange to others. That it is possible to make deals with her so long as the bargain is worth it."
He lifted his head from hers, hands settling around her waist. "I will have no hesitance in bragging about this. Even mortals on the continent will know of your bravery if I can have it my way." Galadriel laughed incredulously. "Be my High Lady."
She sobered, searching his face to read the intention behind the request. "One day," she whispered. One day when she was prepared to accept the role and knew she wouldn't falter under its weight. "But for now, I'm happy being this."
"For now," he agreed, equally as soft. "I caught Cassian up at the House. He looked a little worn."
She knew what he was asking about. The wounds that had already begun closing over on his wings. Mor's—if Rhys ran into her—cut along her shoulder. Galadriel's burns had only been minor this time and her body knew how to heal so the lingering pink flush on her skin could easily be excused as the cause of the hot bath. "We ran into a wendigo," Galadriel said. May as well be honest about that. Cassian was hurt and it wasn't like she or Mor were the cause.
Rhysand stiffened against her, his head angling back and down to find her eyes while she still pressed against him. "When?"
Galadriel lifted her head, having to look into his eyes when she said, "Second night. We killed it."
He pushed a strand of hair back. "You're burnt," he stated. Observation, not question.
"Lightly," she concurred. "Mor got us out quickly, but I fear some of the forest in the Middle might take a few decades to heal. Far longer than what I'll take."
"I'm glad you got a release, but I wish it had been under less straining circumstances." Rhys had been vigil in monitoring for any signs of the power inside her becoming unstable from non-use. He had caught her a week or so ago growing agitated at nonsense things, itching at her skin all day. She'd spent the night lighting and extinguishing the fireplace until the magic in her depleted. "Cassian just coincidentally forgot to mention that little side quest."
"Don't blame him." She sighed. "If he told you and you were in a bad mood, he'd be in the pig's pen for a week."
"Pig's pen?"
She shrugged. "Dog pen. Somewhere miserable and full of shit" Another term from Autumn, apparently. "If were half dead, Mor would have winnowed us out." Cassian doesn't have a mind for leaving threats alive. "How's his wing?"
"Fine," he said. "He's dealt with worse and the patching up was done well enough."
A little bit of pride seeped through her and she smiled. "I helped him."
"He let you?" Her brows shot up at the accusatory tone he filed those words with. Rhys shook his head as if tossing it out. "Not how I meant that. Cassian is just... Illyrian. If he has a say in it, only Madja is to tend to them. Not much choice on the battlefield but he'll swipe if someone he doesn't know tries to help."
Twisting her bottom lip, Galadriel shrugged. "He does know me."
Rhysand smiled. "That he does."
"My hands are just so experienced with handling wings now that I was practically an expert."
Pressing himself closer, his hands slid down from her waist to her hips. "I'm sure we can spend some time testing that theory. After all the effort you went to in retrieving my mother's ring, I think you deserve a day in bed being tended to."
Galadriel laughed as he picked her up and tossed her onto the mattress, taking the ring from her to put it safely on the bedside table. He bent down over her, peppering fervent kisses to her neck, but she pulled him up. His eyes searched hers. "I love you. I faced the Weaver because I love you. I love this family, this home, this city." She hadn't said it enough. "I miss things that I used to have, but I am grateful every single day that Beron decided to take a different path than usual because if he hadn't put that bounty on my head then I wouldn't be here."
Rhys rested his knees on the mattress, climbing further up until their shoulders aligned, hers against the bed. "Let's not start thanking that fucker for anything just yet." He was smiling. "I would have found you. Somehow. Somewhere." His eyes were bright, distant as if imagining what adventure he might have gone on in that search. "I prayed for you to come into my life, if not in this one then the next. Watched every Starfall wondering if they listened to me." Starfall. The migration of the spirits. She knew enough about it but it hadn't yet come to pass in her time here. "And every day I wake up wondering what I did to deserve having my dreams answered."
Heat bled through her cheeks. With a hoarse choke, she said, "Dragged me out of my own pit of self-pity is what you did. And out of my house. To dinners and parties. Forced me to enjoy this place."
He smiled in an oddly sad way. Braced on one arm, he traced a finger down the length of her cheek. "I didn't force anything." Not a tease or a defence. A simple fact. "You were practically begging for someone to reach out. For someone to tell you that it was alright to be happy."
"You always saw right through me."
"You just didn't like the fact that it was me who listened," he went on.
Galadriel pulled her heels up, needing the comfort of her body being coiled. "If you were lying, deceiving me, it would have hurt the worst. I protected myself."
Lowering himself beside her, Rhys pulled her into his arms, entangling their legs as they lay along the width of the bed. Despite initial intentions, that was how they stayed, tucked and content with the simplicity of the other's company. Galadriel fell asleep there, her mind free of Weavers and wendigos and mountains.
When she woke the next morning, Rhysand had already left for the day, a message on a piece of paper on her bedside table detailing when he'd be home. Nuala and Cerridwen had some hidden sense around her internal body clock and had breakfast ready the moment she was downstairs. She was shrugging her arms through a light spring coat when she heard the door knock. Giving a slight nod to Cerridwen, the wraith drifted through the walls and downstairs to open the front door.
Downstairs, Galadriel met Azriel tensely waiting in the foyer.
She knew exactly why he had that stony look, the reason why he had his wings tucked tightly and his hands straight by his legs. "You told Rhys," is all she said. Azriel had gone directly against her request, running straight to Rhysand to tell him—because that was the only way Rhys knew unless he peered into one of their minds. But by that guilt-ridden face, the explanation was standing before her.
"It could have gone wrong," he said, jaw ticking.
Galadriel corrected him. "You didn't trust me enough to believe it would go right." A hand went to her chest. "Have I not done enough to earn your trust, Azriel? Have I not done enough to earn your respect? Nobody else, bar Amren, seem to have trouble offering either of those things." Dropping the hand, she stepped forward, eliminating the large gap between them. His hazel eyes observed her, running from the hairs on her head, the material of her dress hanging from her hips to the toes covered by her sandals.
He had saved her. He had trained her. He had put her in one of the most prestigious positions a spy could hope for, in the heart of a court. And she had tried to give him everything in return.
When he didn't respond—not even bothering to look her in the eye, Galadriel straightened her shoulders. Without another word, she skirted around him and slammed the door shut behind her.