A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 19: The Garden Grave

Chapter 19: The Garden Grave

Galadriel knelt in the dirt, earth caked under her fingers. The rose bush that had been thriving for the past weeks without her attendance had begun to wilt, the crimson petals dull and breaking away. "And so begins the grave of my garden," she lamented, having long given up on her attempt to save it.

"If you were wearing a dress a few shades lighter, I'd think you were attending a funeral for your flowers."

Galadriel's head snapped in the direction of her small front gate, the white pickets barely reaching the hips of the Night Court's general. "Cassian," she greeted, standing and brushing her palms and the skirt of her pale blue dress clean. With a resigned sigh of mourning, she flicked her hand loosely towards the dying rosebush. "It may as well be one." With a second glance at her dress, she added, "Do you wear white to funerals in the Night Court?"

Cassian stepped over her fence—yes, stepped over, not even bothering to unlatch the gate. "Silver," he corrected. "At least in Velaris we do. Illyrian traditions around death don't involve much fashion. Hewn City has their own traditions too."

"Silver," she echoed, tilting her head back. The sky was a clear azure, dotted with white on the horizon. "Like the stars," she realised. "In the Autumn Court we wore brown and very little. It was to resemble the bareness of the trees leading into winter—though they aren't truly dead, are they? Many in the Autumn Court believed that we come back. That death is merely an interim. Like winter is for trees."

Galadriel spoke as though there was no one listening to her, a ramble of her mind of memories that would remain only as so. Cassian's slow nod suggested that he struggled for an answer to her monologue. "You could always hire a gardener," he said a bit roughly, drawing her attention back to the wilting flowerbed.

"I have no income," Galadriel argued. "Considering I need to eventually replace everything I left behind and feed myself, I'm not sure that I'll have enough to spare for the luxury." Shrugging, she pushed the thoughts out of her head. "Did you need something, Cassian?"

Curious hazel eyes ran over her. "We're going down to the Sidra to have lunch. You're invited to join us."

She didn't move for a moment. "Who's we?"

"Myself, Az. Rhys and Mor. Amren if she can be bothered to join us. The usual group of misfits." He smirked at the end as if it were some joke she didn't understand.

Galadriel tipped her head toward him. "And who is the invite from?"

He gave a slight frown, though he seemed to have anticipated her question. "Rhys I suppose, but I volunteered to come extend it. Az and Mor put up no complaints. Nobody gives a shit about Amren's opinion."

"Because raising no complaint is wholly flattering." And she wished Azriel had been the one to come to her. The one to volunteer just for those few extra moments alone to speak with her.

Cocking a brow he asked, "Would you rather us all have come to ask you?"

"Begging on your knees for the pleasure of my presence preferably."

They shared a light laugh and Galadriel decided at that moment that she enjoyed Cassian's company. There was an ease about him that the others didn't have, even Morrigan whom she had quickly gotten along with. From what she had gathered, Mor was born and bred in court life and Galadriel's close positioning to that gave her an in to understand the way of people like Mor. But Cassian was like her; a runt dragged into a life that was meant to be beyond her. Galadriel liked to think, that even though it was unspoken, he shared the sentiment.

She sobered upon realising that she needed to give an answer. "Thank you, but I'm busy today."

The general crossed his arms. "Doing what?"