A Court of Light and Melody

Chapter 21 - Scratch Your Surface

"Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet."

- Jean-Jacques Rousseau

Song: New Girl - FINNEAS

The next day, Gwyn's health had improved significantly. So significantly that she grew suspicious.

Memorizing the ingredients and scents of the tonics on her nightstand, Gwyn showed herself to the river house's private library.

Much like yesterday, her morning among the books went mostly undisturbed. At one point the twins whose names were Nuala and Cerridwen delivered her a breakfast tray.

Her appetite not fully restored, Gwyn had picked at her food, her focus mainly on the book in her lap.

The text informed her that the ingredients of the tonics she was taking were in extremely rare supply.

Another book on the history of the economics of the Night Court indicated that not only were these ingredients scanty, but as such, were very, very, very costly. So costly that her jaw dropped.

Just be grateful, Gwyn.

Gwyn shut the book, shaking her head. "I would heal just as well with more reasonably priced tonics. Slower, but just as well," she grumbled, pushing herself to stand.

Gwyn tucked the book beneath her arm and left the library, heading towards the staircase that led to the floor where the High Lord's study resided. She knew he was there. She'd heard his pacing above her about an hour ago. Rhysand had to know that spending so much coin on her recovery was absurd. Especially when more reasonably priced medicine would be just as effective.

Facing the stairs, Gwyn paused. She did not have Azriel to help her with his shadows now...

Gwyn chewed her lip and looked down the corridor. The shadowsinger's guest room was at the very end but he'd told her just last night that he was making one final trip to Windhaven today and wouldn't be back until lunch. She could imagine the crease in his forehead if he saw her standing at the foot of the stairs. The silent offer he would make to help her, or the encouragement in his eyes to push herself even if he was worried.

Imagining the latter, Gwyn forced her aching legs up the steps. The pain in her thighs was surprisingly minor, as though she'd just finished a particularly arduous workout. But her lungs were another case altogether.

Her breath came in exhausted pants as she climbed and climbed and climbed. Her chest was burning and her arm shook as she gripped the mahogany railing.

Feeling slightly dizzy and more than a little fatigued, Gwyn lifted her chin and began striding down the hallway to the High Lord's study.

When she arrived at his door, she took a deep shuddering breath to steady herself, then rapped her knuckles against the wood.

"Come in."

Gwyn silently marveled at how someone could sound so bored and charming at the same time, then stepped inside.

The High Lord looked up from a stack of papers on his desk. "Gwyn..."

"High Lord," Gwyn panted, shutting the door behind her.

"Rhysand..." he corrected slowly. The High Lord studied her posture as she approached his desk on wobbly legs. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," she nodded, though her ragged breaths betrayed her. Gwyn set the book on Rhysand's desk.

He glanced down at it, arching a brow. "Thank you?"

The priestess shook her head and started to speak, but found herself too winded. She gestured to one of the chairs adjacent to Rhysand's desk.