A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 40: Tomes

Chapter 40: Tomes

The priestesses in the library below the House of Wind were a kind but reserved bunch, sneaking glances at Galadriel as she wandered past them, trying to collect her bearings on the expanse of the entire place. The library was more of a labyrinth, with offshoots that either circled back to some different part of the mountain or were a dead end. Floors crossed over others, and she could peek over the edges of balconies and see the floors below and above. Galadriel hadn't gotten the name of the priestess Cassian brought her to, but the female beneath the hood hadn't spoken at all, her hard eyes merely gazing over Galadriel before nodding in allowance of her presence.

Which was how Galadriel ended up in a musty corner as a crooked desk, surrounded by a dozen or so ancient tomes. The low light, provided by a single oil lantern, was giving her a headache behind her eyes.

"You'll get breathing issues if you stay around here too long."

In the quietness, despite being engrossed by the inky script scrawled across the paper, she had heard his coming and didn't jump when the voice broke the long silence. Her chosen corner was indeed dusty, making her nose itch. But it was away from the other priestesses, whom Galadriel wasn't sure how her presence was being taken by.

"I didn't want to haul all these upstairs," she told Rhys, pulling her sleeve over her nose to wipe it again.

He plopped himself on the edge of the desk, picking up one of the tomes she had already scanned through. "Didn't realise you had a sudden interest in curses." Wrinkling his nose, he flipped through the first few pages. "This is old. Nobody knows about this type of magic anymore. Costly stuff that wasn't worth the results."

"I thought it might have something interesting," she said, closing the book she'd been on. She hadn't finished reading through it, but Rhys's appearance catalysed her already weakened motivation to break down completely.

"You think you were cursed." Not really a question, but it called for her answer anyway.

Galadriel shrugged. "I think it's a possibility. They knocked me out before I was put into the dungeons. They could have done anything to me." The idea played in the back of her mind, a constant itch that she couldn't scratch. She hadn't felt defiled when she woke in that cell—beyond the chains and captivity—but she wasn't sure what signs she should have been looking for.

Fingers pinched her chin, dragging it upwards until she met Rhysand's violet eyes. He was leant forward, frowning slightly, analysing her features. She held his stare. After a moment he clucked his tongue and shook his head. "Not cursed."

"How'd you come to that conclusion?"

"I've seen people cursed before. They always turn into something hideous, but you're still as beautiful as ever."

Galadriel pulled her chin from his grip, resting it on her fist instead. "That was a sorely underwhelming compliment if that was the aim. Congratulations Galadriel, you're not bursting with boils."

"I will become the master of poets, then. You will wake to a new ballad each morning until I have conquered all languages and spoken in every arrangement possible to tell you of your beauty."

She rolled her eyes at his whimsical monologue. "I'd settle for you taking back the lie."

Sighing, Rhysand slid from the table, bracing his hands on the lip instead. He gazed over the books knowingly, as if he had already read them, knew that the answers she wanted did not lay in them. "I don't think it's a curse," he said. "If it were maleficent, I would feel it through the bond. But I only feel you as you've always been."