A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 87: The Last Night

Chapter 87: The Last Night

They had just finished watching another one of those barbaric games. It was the same as always—some horrific task designed purely for Amarantha's delight. Ten tributes volunteered themselves in the hope for a wish to be granted. The arena had been a dark jungle of thorned vines and poisonous flowers. It had to be made of magic. A snake-like creature Galadriel didn't know the name of slithered around, practically invisible until it struck, eating faeries in two gulps.

The difference this time is that someone won. When he'd lain his hand on the glowing blue gemstone at the apex of a rocky face, like some sick mockery of the ancient Illyrian Blood Rite, his skin was shredded from those thorns. The audience had gone completely still as Amarantha smiled.

"Your wish?" she said.

"Land," the male had answered. "And a title. I wish to have an estate built upon it with servants to tend to my family. Good soil to grow produce and provide income."

Amarantha had waved her hand. "Granted."

They didn't get to see it come true. Amarantha could have had him killed if it weren't for the binding magic of her bargain. Still, there was a way around anything if you were skilled in language. When bargains were once a common currency in Prythian, some High Fae would specialise in mastering the spoken and written word precisely to twist bargains and legalities.

"You ever wonder what the High Lord of Spring is up to?"

Galadriel looked up from where she sat curled in an armchair with a borrowed book, glancing at Atticus who lay sprawled over his bed. "Not really," she replied, turning the page. A half lie. She did think of Spring often, but not of the ruling High Lord. Lucien had never returned to the Mountain Court but she knew that Amarantha's soldiers often visited to torment. "I heard about the daemati attack in the north. Killed five soldiers that abandoned their posts."

Atticus rolled his head onto his palm and regarded her for a moment. Prying for the true question she was asking. "I don't think it was him," he muttered. "Rhysand has been busy and wouldn't have had time to travel up to Dawn for five soldiers."

Galadriel shifted her eyes away at his name, tucking her ankles deeper beneath her thighs. "She has other daemati in her service?"

He fiddled with a loose thread in his bedding before looking back at her. "I'm certain she does." He'd been quiet for the past few days, Galadriel hardly seeing him at all. The one time they did pass each other, he hadn't met her eye, as if he hadn't seen her at all. Or heard her call. "Have you heard about the Illyrians?"

She sat a little straighter. "Illyrians? What about them?"

"Bands of them have gathered under Amarantha's rule. They've forsaken fidelity to the Night Court."

Cassian would be devastated. Azriel almost certainly wouldn't be—not on his own behalf, anyway. But Cassian took pride in his heritage and his commanding position. She hadn't thought much about the spell binding them to Velaris, how they were kept within the city walls. He might not even know his people were rebelling against his court, though he was intelligent enough to make the assumption that some would grasp at the chance.

"They deserve her," was all she said. It hurt to think too intently about the lost parts of her family. "Whatever damned hell she leads them into." She caught him rapping his fingers against his leg. "You're distracted," she noted. She brought the book closer to her face and asked, "What's worrying you?"

He chuckled dryly. "Nothing." A pause. "Actually, I have something for you."

"A gift?" Galadriel sang, equally as dull.