A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 45: Snow

Chapter 45: Snow

Galadriel woke to a serene world. The air around her, even out of the blanket pulled to her shoulders, was warm. Crisp as it should be in winter, but still somehow warm, as if the two sensations had come to an agreement—just for today.

Turning onto her back, Galadriel stretched her arms overhead, eyes moving towards the large windows overlooking the garden. The sky was clear and azure, bright enough that it looked like someone had painted it directly onto the glass. The storm had raged on when she'd fallen asleep, but there was no sign of it now.

The town house was quiet—too quiet, given how high the sun was and how many had stayed the night. Even Amren, who had grumbled about taking the smallest bedroom—a statement promptly retorted with Cassian informing her that Rhysand based it on her size—had to remain because of the storm. It took a good hour for Galadriel to gain the motivation to move and throw on a loose robe. Quietly padding to the windows, she looked over the world through them.

The snow was thick and brilliantly white. It would be up to her knees if she stood outside. It coated everything, lining the windowsills, the branches of the large tree, the seat Mor liked to sit on with Azriel. It was almost a shame that she couldn't bring herself to step outside.

Downstairs, only Mor was around to greet her. "My head hurts," she grumbled, pouring Galadriel a tea from the kettle she'd made earlier. "How are you not wincing?"

Smiling over the teacup, Galadriel said, "I didn't drink that much. Where's Amren?" Rhys had said he'd be at the cabin with Azriel and Cassian until the early afternoon.

"Went home," answered Mor. Then, in a pompous accent added, "Apparently she requires a break if she's to deal with us again this afternoon." Galadriel sniggered into her tea. "So we have the town house to ourselves till about one o'clock."

A glance at the clock informed her that it was already ten. Four hours. There was a lot one could do in four hours. "Want to reorganise Rhys's bookshelves?"

Rhysand, Galadriel had come to know, was a creature of habit. Which was quite understandable given his near five centuries of life. He could hold conversations with her and reach for things without looking, always grasping without a hitch. Whenever he searched for a book, he always knew where to reach for.

Mor grinned.

It took up another hour of their day, pulling books from shelves all around the house and shoving them back at random. They laughed their lungs empty and filled their stomachs with wine. The early hour was excusable given the day of celebration, Mor asserted.

Galadriel draped herself across the armchair. "What do they actually do out there?"

Mor beamed. "Want to go see? It's so childish but they've been doing it since they were young."

All the more intrigued, she allowed Mor to grip her hand and winnow them out of the town house. They landed with an airy hiss inside another building. The floor beneath her feet was wooden and glossy, leading to walls of grey stone. It was familiar to the town house in the way that it felt warm and enclosed—like a family belonged there. But the space was more open, the single room she stood in spanning from deep blue seats around an unlit hearth to a raised platform with a dining table surrounded by windows that overlooked what lay outside, to the entrance of a kitchen that hooked around a corner. Through one of the windows, Galadriel could make out the green peaks of pine trees where the snow couldn't latch. And beyond them, the rugged stone slopes of mountains.

"Bastard!"

Galadriel flinched at Cassian's roar but Mor only laughed and placed a hand on her back. "You can probably see them from the windows."