Chapter 90: Atticus
She was going to die.
That is the thought that tumbled and spun and trapezed through her mind like a deer shot in the liver. She couldn't stand upright properly, swaying, arms hovering beside her that found nothing but cold, sharp air. She was going to die, she was going to die, she was going to die.
Nobody was going to know what happened to her, nobody would bury her on some romantic hillside that overlooked a spring meadow or the crashing waves of the ocean. At least nobody would know that her last moments were spent cowering, crying and shuddering in debilitating fear.
Atticus grabbed her arms from behind, guiding her forward with sickening gentleness. Galadriel yanked herself free. Her chest heaved in rugged pants as she lifted a finger to him, right at his chest, but the words would not make it past her quivering lips.
"I told you," he said, only a croak cracking the emptiness in his voice. "It's for my daughter. I made a deal."
"What deal?" Galadriel breathed, shoving his hands away as he went for her again, stepping back. "What deal Atticus? What did you give her!"
He barged through her swatting arms, held against her kicks and screams as he pushed her back and down until she was sat in a chair. Metal clanked. He chained her wrists first, then her ankles, locking them to the armrest and feet. Galadriel hissed as small spikes inside the cuffs pricked at the soft skin, then cried out when she felt whatever coated them seep into her body. Faebane. Atticus, still kneeling before her, said, "You would have done the same for him."
But she understood what this meant. Not death. Not yet. Subdued, and maybe only until she was given a formal, public execution, but that precious time might be enough. Amarantha remained silent, admiring the scene before her with a little smile. Galadriel bared her teeth as he stood over her, faltering when she felt the brush against her mind.
Rhysand.
Heart hammering, she looked around the chamber, investigated the dark corners, listening for something outside of the door, but he was not there. And that presence wasn't entirely familiar.
She went quiet. Still.
Atticus.
He shrugged. "I'm not as good as the High Lord of the Night Court, but I've trained to remain undetected. You were a hard mind to get into." 'I tried not to' he said in her head. 'I tried not to find this.'
Galadriel thrashed her limbs again, the chair and chains squeaking, almost tipping over completely. The faebane pulsed through her, dragging what little magic and energy she had to spare down into the pits of exhaustion.
"A fighter," the Mountain Queen said. "I'm not surprised. Rhysand's mate could never be a meek little thing you had the world fooled into believing you were." Vomited pooled in the back of Galadriel's throat. She knew. Amarantha glided around to the back of the chair, alabaster hands gripping the spine by Galadriel's shoulders. Her nails were as sharp and long as claws. "Does he know the secret to your power too? I'm sure he does. But I figured you'd be the easier one to break. I'm also sure you have plenty more secrets to offer me."
Galadriel couldn't find it in herself to be ashamed of the sob she let loose, the burn in her chest and throat aching too powerfully. Rhysand had once told her the story of his capture, the torture he endured.
"Careful," Amarantha tutted, motioning to the chains. "Do that too long and you'll burn yourself out."
Galadriel registered the heat taking the place of her magic, then noted the orange glow in the metal emitting the brightest from where her fingers clenched around them. She didn't feel near burning out at all, but stopped anyway. The heat that it would take to melt the metal would melt her too. She was not immune. "I," she said, "have nothing to give you."
Amarantha pulled a blonde strand off Galadriel's collarbone, twirling it around her pale finger. "You've already given me so much." She yanked hard, eliciting a hiss from Galadriel. Her scalp throbbed as Amarantha held the hair out to Atticus. "Deliver that to him."
Atticus silently took the hair and without a glance at Galadriel, left. Amarantha sighed into the ringing silence, striding around the chair. "What do you want from me?" Galadriel uttered. "You already had me. You already have him. He lays with you, does your every bidding. The Night Court's forces are yours to command."
Amarantha tilted her head, the copper crown sloping like a perfect mountain in her red hair. "I had my suspicions, but Rhysand managed to protect you for nearly fifteen years. I have seen what the illusion of love does to people, the type of power it holds. Mates are said to be inseparable." She paused, wiping a finger along the handle of a mounted torch as though checking for dust. "We both pretend he is completely mine, but I know that isn't true. If he managed to keep you hidden from me, it makes me wonder what else he keeps tucked away. No daemati can pierce his mind."
Then Atticus came knocking and sold her life.
"He is the most powerful High Lord," Amarantha said, "and I will have him completely and wholly."
"You will not have him completely if you hold me," Galadriel whispered. The Queen's sharp eyes locked on her face, almost like a warning. "Let me go, Amarantha. You have him as much as you can already."
"It is not enough."
Even deep below the earth, where the rain could not touch and the clouds did not form, there was a crack of deafening thunder. Amarantha straightened, turning towards the door and Galadriel felt her breathing quicken, the faebane-laced spikes cutting deeper as she leaned forward.
The door tore from its hinges, splintering as it shattered against the stone wall. Amarantha did not flinch, even when her hair blew from her face. Rhysand had barely taken one step into the room when something dark locked around his neck from behind. Howling, he dropped to his knees, throwing his head back, trying to tear the thing off him.
"Rhys!"
The dark, fur-skinned faerie behind him screeched a sound between a bear and a bat, struggling to hold the long pole the collar was attached to. Even in the dimness she could spy the metal prongs burrowing into his neck, likely laced with the same faebane thrumming through her own bloodstream.
He managed to pull the pole from the faerie but didn't bother with the collar off as he stood, taking three steps forward until Amarantha put herself in his path and stopped. Behind them, Atticus slipped back into the chamber, arms crossed and sporting a multitude of bruises and lacerations on his face. He went behind Galadriel.
Deathly soft, Rhys said, "Let her go." The veins in his neck pushed against his skin, night-touched magic swarming around them, pooling at their feet. "Let her go, Amarantha."
Don't do anything, she begged him. Don't do anything stupid.
Amarantha lifted her chin. "What would I gain from doing that? A female mate is a prized treasure." Rhysand went completely pale, hands slackening by his sides. Smiling, she said, "All this was almost worth it for that look. I brought you here as a courtesy, Rhysand."
"You." Rhysand twisted his shoulders, taking a step around Amarantha but not anything more. He pointed at Atticus just as she had done. And like her, he couldn't conjure up enough malevolence to manipulate into the spoken language, his lips taut and straight, jaw clenched. Atticus had enough sense in him to look apprehensive. The anger was practically bleeding from Rhysand. "She trusted you."
"You won't touch him, Rhysand," Amarantha ordered, almost boredly.
It seemed to take all his might, centuries of practice and learned patience, but Rhys pulled his power back, lowering his hand. Those wonderful violet eyes lowered to Galadriel, wet and glistening. They spoke a thousand apologies and not a single promise other than the only one he could give. That he would fight. "What do you want from me, Amarantha? Do you want me to beg for her life? To bargain for it?" He snapped the link between the pole and collar, tossing the metal to the side. Blood dribbled down his neck unnoticed, soaked by the high collar of his tunic.
"A bargain." Returning to her wandering, Amarantha slowly circled the room, Atticus shifting uncomfortably now that the line between him and Rhysand became clear. "That is an interesting proposition. What would you offer me?"
Rhysand closed his eyes and his voice shook in a way that Galadriel had never heard when he said, "Anything." He raised a closed fist like he was going to put it to his lips but lowered it back down to his hip before he could. "Name your price for her life. Her safety."
Galadriel shook her head. "No," she said, though the word barely formed. Fourteen years they had been protecting themselves from this moment. From the choice he would have to make. Her, or Velaris. Them or his court.
Amarantha raised her brows. "Anything at all?"
"Anything that I have left to give you that you do not already own." His body. His dignity. His power. What else was there for Rhysand to give beyond his city? "Name it," he rasped. "Name it and I will offer it to you."
Amarantha sighed as if seeing her favoured High Lord so broken had shattered a layer in her vicious composure. She went to Galadriel's side, ignoring Galadriel's shaking head, laying a hand delicately on her shoulder. "You care for her more than I could have anticipated," she said softly. Rhysand said nothing, straining to keep himself stoic and still, eyeing the hand on Galadriel's shoulder. "It almost makes me...regretful of what I plan to do. It is quite an uneasy feeling, I'll admit."
Galadriel felt a sudden sense of emptiness. The moment she realised what Amarantha knew, she began to prepare herself for the inevitable. She would die to protect the city and the people within—to protect everything that Rhys cared for. And if Rhys had any sense in him at all, he would let her choose that fate. The guilt of surviving when his city did not would crush her utterly.
Rhysand looked at her, those same thoughts swirling through his eyes. Everything he'd done here, every night spent in Amarantha's bed, every innocent kill he made, the mask of cruelty he held in place—worthless. "My life. Take my life for hers."
Galadriel wanted to vomit.
"I don't plan on killing her, Rhysand," Amarantha purred. Rhys straightened, opening his mouth but she cut him off. "Not yet." He stammered. Staggered, but said nothing, his attention latched onto Amarantha's movements around Galadriel, who was dragging a taloned nail down her throat. "I was going to kill her tonight. But she's worth something incredible to you and I'm not stupid enough to destroy that. If I make a bargain with you, I lose her as well."
"Enough with the games," Rhys growled. "You have me, you have her. You win."
Amarantha sighed again, this time in agitation, stepping away from Galadriel. "Leave us, Rhysand. You will see her again."
That unnamed faerie stepped forward again. He latched onto the collar at Rhysand's neck, tugging hard enough that a fresh stream of blood poured down his throat. He fought against it, clawing at the air, then at the doorframe but the poison in his body had taken its toll. Galadriel didn't let herself crumble until he was gone, roars of her name echoing until darkness consumed him.
"Atticus." Amarantha stepped back, Atticus taking her place by Galadriel's side. She wormed and writhed in the chair but it was useless. "Begin."
She felt that scrape against her mind, like the claw of a wolf and the world went quiet.