A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 13: House of Wind and Sky

Chapter 13: House of Wind and Sky

Galadriel patted down her dress skirt which was the same one she had been wearing all day. A dinner with the High Lord and his Inner Circle was nothing short of a formal event. But her lack of presentable choices meant that she was stuck with what she had. And she wouldn't spend his family's money on dresses. He had bought her the shoes in Hewn City, but she had let him since it seemed he just wanted to pay for them to move on than to treat her.

The town house had been empty for the better part of the day, including themselves as Galadriel had spent most of it walking through Velaris to see the sights. Rhysand seemed to have intended to end it earlier, mentioning something about the Palace of Thread and Jewels for another day. She ended up dragging him along for another few hours. He only complained for the first hour; something about having work to do, but eventually the complaints wore thin.

"Is this decent enough?" she inquired, standing at the foot of the stairwell. Rhysand had not changed either, but that was no comfort to her concern of appearance. Immaculate bastard. But it did mean that she trusted his advice on her dress.

"It's perfect," he said. "But I have other dresses available for you if you desire something more fitting to the Night Court."

"I'll make a pass." The sleeves of the dress were loose and short, hanging just over the cuffs of her shoulders but the night was far from cool. "Are your family expecting me or will I have to explain my presence?"

"I told them that I invited you, but I think some may be surprised to see you actually coming."

Rhysand held the doors open for her and they walked to the front of the house, Galadriel a step ahead. "Winnowing?" she asked.

"No." She spun around. Rhysand grinned at her in a way that had her stomach sinking yet floating at the same time. Then, two black forms sprouted out of a void of nothingness. Wings, she realised. The same Illyrian wings that Azriel bore. Great shapes of scaled black, a talon marking each peak. Even in the darkening night she could make out the largest veins and arteries underneath the membrane. "We're flying."

Galadriel stumbled away. "Absolutely not. No. No."

He shrugged. "The House of Wind is warded against winnowing. Even I cannot. Flying is the only way up there unless you want to brave ten thousand steps."

She eyed his wings again. "I think I'd rather try that then be in your arms and let you fly me—" She was cut off by two arms engulfing her, feet flinging away from solid stone underneath her. Galadriel screamed as the town house disappeared and nothing but air and the arms around her were her company. It was like she was travelling through a tunnel, wind ripping into her hair as they shot high towards the sky. She clung to his neck, chest pressed against the front of his shoulder as Rhysand laughed freely. "Rhysand!"

"You're loving this."

"I am not!"

And then they were gliding. The wind calmed, no longer roaring in her ears. His wings evened out and the emptiness around them sent a shiver along her arms. Galadriel remained frozen for a moment longer, then lifted her face away from his shoulder and peered at the world around them. They were high above the city, levelling with the mountains themselves.

"How about now?"

The air chapped her lips and she didn't even want to think about her hair—but Mother above it was exhilarating. She still had a grip of death around his neck, fingers curled around his collar, sure to leave wrinkles he would despise. She took slight pleasure in the idea of ruining his clothes. But being so high above the ground, with nothing under her feet and to be close enough to think about reaching for the stars, was a feeling that nobody would ever be able to explain right. She intended to capture it, to remember it forever.