Chapter 69: Pieces Fall into Place
Sniffing, Galadriel rubbed her nose, trying to make her way through the dark maze of the town house. Mor had dropped her right at the door but had returned with the Illyrians to the House of Wind for the night. Galadriel suspected it had to do with Rhysand's plans for tomorrow.
Kicking off her heels, she groaned at the sight of the stairs, stopping a good few paces before the bottom, contemplating whether the lounge would be comfortable enough to sleep on. With a ragged sigh, she leant against the wall and began to collect the scraps of her motivation.
Her attention drifted to Rhysand's office. Hoping that the extra few minutes would help clear her head, she shoved off the wall and went inside, lighting the overhead faelight, lighting the room in warm amber. The desk was a mess as it had been that morning, papers strewn about, his chair left crooked and untucked. She knew his habits. He usually kept this space clean and the sight of it not being so had Galadriel gnawing on her lip.
She peeked at the financial papers he'd been pouring over that morning, gaping at the absurd amount. No wonder he liked gifting her jewels—it was probably one of the only ways he could offload some of his wealth.
Galadriel placed that in the top drawer and skimmed her fingers over a dense pile of unrelated documents. An envelope slipped out. The invitation to the Summer Court gala, no doubt—the thick, textured paper folded in the proper manner was something she had become familiar with, dealing with Amoise's countless invites. Her thumb brushed the red wax seal.
She frowned.
Bringing it closer to her face and turning it so it hit the light, she inspected the insignia embellished in the wax.
Not a wave, the Summer Court symbol.
It was a mountain.
For a moment she thought she was going insane, wondering if she'd been seeing the Night Court symbol wrong, but no matter how she turned it, there were no three stars. She racked her mind for the other court insignias, but the only other one to bear anything similar was Dawn's twin mountains.
Unfolding the paper, her eyes scanned the contents. An invitation addressed to Rhysand and his court, dated for tonight.
Rhys lied to her? Though it hurt, little part of her was truly shocked. She'd known his tendency to hide things from an early stage. But why lie about this? She filtered through the beautifully scrawled ink to the address and the sender's curling signature.
Under the Mountain.
Amarantha.
It came to her, sudden and hard like a lightning strike. The mountain in the middle. The prison cells. The creature lurking in the dark that wasn't any manner of fae belonging to Prythian. Whatever was going on in that mountain, it was enough to make every nerve vibrate with warning. "Rhys," she whispered, a rancid acid building in her stomach as she let the letter fall back to the desk.
Galadriel put her hand to her mouth. Rhys had to know what he was doing. He'd told her the story of the war, how Amarantha had tortured him, slaughtered his entire legion. The revenge he desired.
He planned on coming home. She told herself that, once, twice. It wasn't a lie—she would have been able to feel it in her bones. Whatever he was doing, he was going to come back to her.
But the tears prevented that thought from calming her and she bent over the desk, palms flat against the wood, choking on distraught.
~
Azriel had spent most of the night scolding himself. He scolded himself for not giving her a compliment. Then for not giving her the gift he'd spent five meticulous hours finding and then for the way he'd left the night—unchanged. Cassian had informed him around a month ago why Galadriel had barely looked at him, though some part of him already knew. But no matter how many times he conjured the image of himself apologising, prepared the words, something shackled him and he just couldn't. Maybe it was because it wouldn't have been genuine.
Perhaps they didn't need an apology to move on, to go back to whatever they used to have that he'd grown so comfortable with. Maybe they could just talk about something else, ease back into normality so he didn't have to spend every moment he was around her wondering which one of them was more stubborn. Which is the thought that led him back down to the town house a mere half-hour after they'd dropped her off at home, present in his left hand.
He didn't bother knocking, the front door unlocking itself willingly to his touch. His shadows had already slipped beneath the cracks, exploring the rooms, listening to things he couldn't hear. He closed the door gently behind him, angling his head so his ear pointed forward. "Galadriel?" No answer.
Gold light spilled out from one of the rooms in the hall. He went towards it, noting the shoes she'd been wearing discarded near the bottom of the stairs. Opening the door to Rhysand's office, he was met with a whiff of her scent, but not the body it belonged to.
Standing there for a moment, he looked around as if he might find her hiding in the shadows. But his own assured him she was not and they were already looking upstairs. Extinguishing the faelight, he walked to the second level in darkness. Perhaps she was already sleeping, tucked away and hadn't heard him call. But the town house's wards shouldn't have let him through the front door if its occupant was not awake.
The floorboards creaked ominously as he climbed. An empty feeling settled in his stomach as he reached the second-story hallway. If he was wrong—wrong and overthinking—he didn't want to storm into her bedroom unannounced, but concern chewed away thoughts of courtesy as he strode to that intricate door.
Her scent was faded outside of it, a lingering trace from living so close, but not strong enough to suggest she'd been inside as she had the office. He turned the handle. The curtains were closed, the bed empty, still made.
"She left."
Azriel cocked his head over his shoulder. "Where?"
Nuala glided forward, silent as the wraith she was. "I'm not certain. My sister saw her come and leave. Winnowed."
Maybe she decided to chase after Rhys at the Summer Court after all. He didn't know how that would go, considering she was regarded as dead by the rest of the world. But if he was certain on anything about the girl he'd pulled from the frozen lake, it was that though she had a flair for them, she didn't seek dramatics. If Rhys had told her not to go, she would obey. Scold him in private enough that Rhys would be sheepish for a week, but to the public, there would be no sign of anything amiss.
"Let me know if she or Rhys return," he ordered, giving the bedroom one last scan. He deliberated leaving the present on the vanity but decided it would be better if she didn't think he'd been snooping around. Nuala didn't bow her head, but Azriel knew he would hear something the moment they did.
Exiting the townhouse, he took flight into the night.
He swooped through one of the wide windows along the red mountain, landing with a few breaking paces in one of the living rooms. Mor lounged, head against a velvet cushion, eyes opening at the sound of his entrance.
Cassian had changed from his formal dress into a pair of loose trousers and a cotton shirt, ready for sleep by the looks of it. He eyed the present still in Azriel's clutch. "Didn't go well?"
Azriel strode to the armchair. "Didn't go at all," he muttered.
Cassian unfolded his legs, sitting forward on his elbows. "She didn't even let you in?" Amusement pulled at his cheeks, though Azriel had a feeling that Cassian was holding back for his sake.
Glaring, Azriel placed the present aside, interlocking his fingers between his knees in a position that mimicked his brother's. "She wasn't home."
The information quickly appeared to bother his brother just as much as it had him, the scarred brow on Cassian's face rising. Even Mor rose from her recline, running a hand through her tussled gold hair. "Did she go after Rhys?"
Cassian shook his head. "Maybe she went back to Rita's. Left something there."
"You didn't even let her bring her purse," Azriel said, resting his chin on his fingers. The notion that she might have snuck out to meet somebody crossed his mind but he knocked it away before it could take proper form. He'd known Galadriel for half of his life and all of hers. It wasn't in her nature to sneak through alleys, meeting under the midnight moonlight. That was his job, the place he belonged. As ironic as it was being mated to the High Lord of the Night Court, she belonged in the sunlight. Her secrets were shallow. Though she was more cunning than he'd probably ever given credit for.
Cassian was out of his seat, wings stretching, preparing for flight. Mor snapped to her feet. "Where are you off to?"
"To go look for her," Cassian replied, aiming for the window Azriel had just come through. "Last time I left her drunk by herself she was nearly killed."
Shadows crept up the walls as Azriel, too, rose to his feet. "Where are you going to look? Velaris is a large city."
Raking a hand through his long hair, Cassian shrugged uselessly. "I'll start at the town house and see if I can trace a scent. I'll check at Rita's, the Sidra."
"She winnowed. Cerridwen saw her leave. You won't get a scent trail."
Mor wrapped her arms around herself. "You said it yourself—she had enough to drink that she wasn't thinking straight. Maybe she did go to the Summer Court."
"Don't you think we'd have heard from Rhys by now if she did show up there?" That opened up the possibility that she'd tried to winnow and was now somewhere between the Night and Summer Court. Azriel wiped a hand down his face. "I've tried reaching his mind, but he's blocked me out." There was usually always a line between them, numb enough that nothing went down it unless he drove the purpose into his thoughts. Most often it required Rhysand initiating, responding to the pull.
"You two can discuss the possibilities," Cassian growled. "But I'm going to look."
But he didn't make it to the window before Rhysand's voice entered their minds, and they went utterly still.