A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 95: The Wish

Chapter 95: The Wish

The entire cavernous space was restless. Every High Fae and faerie wriggling on the sloping seats, anticipating crawling around like an infectious bug, eyes zipping between Galadriel and Amarantha.

It took Galadriel a long while to raggedly make her way to her feet, every part of her barking in pain and exhaustion. It was a miracle with the way her knees wobbled that her leg didn't give way when she took her first step. Too heavy to bother with, Galadriel left the sword by the pool. Useless, mortal junk. The ringing in her left ear hadn't faded, only able to make out warbled sounds that left the world feeling awkwardly tipped.

Nobody moved to stop or help her as she limped towards the throne. Amarantha said nothing, staring at Galadriel with a hint of loathing—no, no there was quite a bit of loathing in those otherwise dead eyes. Rhysand, however, wasn't looking at her. He was looking ahead towards nothing in particular within the cavernous room, his lips together but not tight. There was a vacant sense in his face. Despite years of separation, Galadriel knew the look. He was thinking, or deep in a mind other than his own.

Galadriel halted before that obnoxious throne, crafted from bright gold and velvet red upholstery. A puddle began to form, the water dripping in thick beads from her body. "A sword?"

"Your wish?" Amarantha demanded, sullen and terse enough that it warned Galadriel not to dally about with her victory. A wish was to be granted, sure, but it wouldn't save her from anything beyond the conditions.

"Anything?" Her voice was rough and cracked.

Amarantha's eyes narrowed. "Within reason." Nothing that would upend her seat of power. There was some openness to interpretation to that, but Galadriel didn't have the energy to sift through the possibilities, or to argue her case and point. She had come with a wish.

She glanced at Rhysand who had broken from his self-induced spell to watch her back, his head fully turned to her. Amarantha shifted slightly and Galadriel looked back to the Queen. Sucking a breath, she walked forward, past the line of guards, to and up the three short steps on the makeshift wood dais and stood right at the Queen's feet. It was a somewhat amusing thought to wonder if this was the first time Amarantha ever had to look up at someone rather than down. If Galadriel's survival had stunned her enough to allow it.

Leaning over, Galadriel brushed her chapped lips against the alabaster shell of Amarantha's ear. She whispered into it, quiet enough that not even the faeries sitting closest could hear.

Amarantha sat back. "No."

Galadriel straightened. "It will have no effect on your power." Sitting in that dark dungeon, she hadn't much else to think about. Hours and hours mulling it over, saving scraps of food from the past week to eat this morning before the guards came for her. She'd heard them mumbling about it one time when they escorted her to Atticus, and had counted down the days. "You cannot deny me my wish."

Amarantha's long, pale fingers stretched and flexed before settling to curl loosely over the arm of her seat. "You have a cell to return to."

Staggering back, Galadriel's foot caught on one of the step edges, slamming onto her hands and knees at the bottom. Everything caught up to her wholly, the shaking returning, the wild rush in her veins receding. And through it all, let out a long sigh of relief.

Guards started towards her and Galadriel was content to let them drag her by the arms through the halls and down the long, winding staircase to the dungeon. But they did not make it to her.

A gentler arm wrapped around her legs, another over her back. They hauled her from the ground, swinging her over until her stomach pressed into a broad shoulder and she watched the heels of black boots lift. Galadriel got to see the tail end of their journey for the door, the faeries still moving out of the way like Rhysand was a scythe through a wheat field, their gazes burning with curiosity. The large doors, nearly as tall as the mountain entrance, slammed shut on a phantom wind behind them.