A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 36: Eruption

Chapter 36: Eruption

Galadriel woke on something wet. It was the uncomfortable, squelching type of wet that clung to her skin and clothes. It was difficult to orientate herself, staring up at the ceiling she woke to every day, but knowing that this wasn't every day.

Finally with enough strength, she reached up with a weak arm to pull the heavy fabric draped across her forehead. A washcloth, soaked and biting cold, leaving a damp trail on her skin. From her head to her toes she was sore; aching and exhausted like she'd spent too much time in sunlight without water.

Digging her elbows into the mattress, Galadriel pushed herself into a sitting position and looked down at what she lay on. A towel, dark and soaked like the washcloth, lain underneath her so she'd been spread out like she was sunbathing as Mor often did on the rooftop of the House of Wind. There was a large wet patch on her actual sheets beneath it and it was as cold as ice to touch.

Groaning behind gritted teeth, she shifted her feet over the edge of the bed, testing them on solid ground. Tender, but not unbearable. Beside her bare feet, a bucket of half-melted snow. It had to have been collected from the mountains because there was no sign of snow out of her window. Despite being early winter, and despite having slumbered in the frigid conditions, she wore only a nightgown that barely reached past her rear, exposing more skin than she ever would in public.

Her arms were bright red. As were her thighs and calves, and her stomach if the pain was any sign.

Hissing, Galadriel pushed to her feet, eyes set on the mirror over her armoire. A nauseating sight glared back at her. Her platinum hair had been braided, hanging over her shoulder, and the style exposed every inch of patchy, blistering red skin. Her fingertips skimmed her collarbone, retreating with a flinch at the sting it shot through her. Whatever had caused that burning sensation inside her, rose to the surface.

A truly bad sunburn.

Even at a soft knock on her door—an unexpected one since she hadn't even heard someone inside her home—she couldn't turn her eyes away from the sight. This wasn't the poison. Azriel had said that. But what else had they done to her?

"It seems to be going down." The low and gentle voice compelled her to finally turn away. Cassian stood just inside the doorway, his arms crossed over his sternum, lips pursed. There was no amusement on his face that she'd been so accustomed to seeing. She had almost begun to wonder whether he was capable of solemnity, but clearly she just hadn't spent long enough with him. "They were worse yesterday."

A faint outline of two hands necklaced her throat, the fingers longer than her own. She restrained from touching those. "Ho..." She took another breath, steadying her voice. "How long was I out?"

"Only a day and night." He nodded his head toward the rest of her home. "Come have something to eat if you can stomach it. Mor's here too."

Galadriel tested swallowing. Irritating, but not impossible. It would be up to her stomach, indeed. She should have refused to move until he answered at least one of the hundreds of questions that swarmed through her head, but she could not bring herself to face that scene yet and complied. Cassian brushed the backs of his fingers across her forehead as she neared but said nothing at whatever he felt.

Mor sat in the small dining space, the early sun gilding her hair as she wrung her fingers atop the table. "El," she breathed—one of relief. Apparently, Galadri was too long for her to bother with, as Mor had whined about earlier.

Cassian pulled out the seat that faced the window but left for the kitchen seconds later, so Galadriel made the assumption it was for her and slowly lowered herself. The wood against the bare backs of her thighs throbbed, but it was either that or standing. "Where's Rhys?" she asked. "Azriel?"