A Court of Heart and Fealty | Rhysand

Chapter 77: Eris

Chapter 77: Eris

"I hear stories," one of the serving girls muttered as she wrung out the handtowels she'd been washing for the past hour. The girl leant forward towards the other females huddled around the washing well. "About creatures," she went on. "Amarantha has a whole armada of them, waiting to let them loose on Prythian."

"Folly," one of the older females scorned—old enough to have a streak of grey framing her ancient face. She reminded Galadriel of Madja. "Those creatures your head is buzzing with haven't been seen in millennia. Though that Attor certainly does have a nasty stench about him."

"Him?" A green-skinned maid echoed.

"Yes, him," the older one asserted. "Did you think something that hideous could be a female?"

The green-skinned maid frowned. "I never thought of the Attor as a—as a male. Capable of marriage. And reproduction," she added with a snicker that hummed throughout the other faeries around them. Galadriel rolled her eyes.

"Then what exactly did you think he was?"

"Neither," the maid said confidently.

The older faerie scowled. "As much a monster as it may be," she said quietly, grey, weary eyes surveying the dark walls where the shadows listened, "the Attor is still a faerie. Still a breathing soul with a mind of its own."

"Ain't got much of a soul," a ruddy-brown haired girl said. Her accent told Galadriel that she came from one of the truly isolated farming villages near the Spring border. Rolling and smooth like the hills and valleys of the land.

Galadriel sat in the corner, stitching the torn sleeve of a nobleman's robe, listening to their conversation. It hadn't taken them long to realise that Galadriel was Amarantha's little pet. Fly on the Stone Wall, they called her. They knew Galadriel enough by now, after seven months of labouring away side by side, that she wouldn't bother Amarantha with their—as Heldra put it—folly talks, but they always kept one eye on her and shut down any talk that wouldn't be taken well by their queen. And they didn't bother making her feel all that welcome when they gathered in clusters to gossip and steal leftover food from the rich feasts or drink mead with some of the guards.

No, Amarantha refused her those simple pleasantries even in this mountain of hell when she was made to kneel in front of the bustling throne room and swear her fealty just two days after drinking the wine. Amarantha hadn't told her audience why they were guests to such a spectacle, watching a common female bend her knee before them all, but the rumours were more powerful than any truth. Another one of Amarantha's games.

The laundry door burst open, two Lesser Fae guards in black armour fitted into slits—Amarantha's personal force—storming through. The servants gaped and scrambled to their feet, but the guards' eyes were only set on one of them. They grabbed a High Fae with short, black hair that reminded Galadriel of Amren and dragged her from the room, her wails of loyalty and innocence unheard.

Galadriel hovered in her dark corner, clutching the needle and robe close to her chest. Inevitably, attention shifted to her, probing and accusing. She knew exactly why. Any time one of them was pulled away for punishment, they assumed Galadriel had been the one to squeak of some inconsequential misconduct. No amount of denying on her part would dispel their wariness.

So Galadriel lowered her eyes and quietly bore the punishment of their social isolation without dispute.

~

Amarantha had been disappointed with Galadriel's report. Nothing of interest. One might think that a spy reporting no sign of dissent would be a thing desired, but not here. Galadriel twisted the raw skin around her nails, distantly feeling the ridges of the deep crescent grooves marring them from where she'd been picking and rubbing them constantly for the past months. She walked to her room, knowing nobody would be waiting on the other side of the door. That nobody would greet her in the morning, not even the sun.