Page 15 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

Aeilanna pulled on a hooded cloak, its rough fibres catching against her torn, bloodied sleeves.

It was far too large for her wasted frame, the hem dragging near the floor, but she moved with a quiet, deliberate grace that belied the stiffness in her limbs.

Years locked in a stone cell had left their mark, she looked older than she should have, worn thin by suffering, but there was a stubborn strength in the set of her jaw, in the way she refused to falter.

Nolenne stood beside her, adjusting the strap of her belt where twin knives sat sheathed at her sides.

She glanced at the dagger Maeve clutched, her face hard, eyes steady.

“You trained?” Nolenne asked, in an almost shaking voice.

Maeve examined the knife. It was a dagger, practical and deadly, the hilt worn smooth from years of use.

She half-smirked, despite the pressure building in her chest. “No, but I’ve done a lot of self-defence classes recently, and I trained for my job.

” She flipped the blade once, testing the balance. “No daggers though, just batons.”

Nolenne and Aeilanna both frowned faintly.

“Like a cudgel,” Maeve added dryly.

Nolenne arched a brow, almost approving. “Good. Then you know not to hesitate.” Her mouth twisted in something that might have been a grim smile. “You only get one chance.”

Maeve nodded, tight and sharp as her fingers curled more firmly around the dagger’s hilt and without another word, Nolenne crouched beside Aeilanna and slipped a key from a hidden pocket.

Aeilanna held out her wrists without needing to be asked.

The iron suppression bands were blackened and rusted from years of wear, scarring her skin, rubbing deep grooves around her bones.

Nolenne unlocked the first with a soft click, then the second, the dulled iron hit the stone floor with a dull clang.

Aeilanna breathed, for what felt like the first time in centuries.

Her whole body seemed to unfurl, like a plant reaching desperately for light.

She flexed her fingers, rolled her wrists, and a faint ripple of gold light shimmered over her skin like a sigh of relief.

“I can feel my magic already,” she whispered, voice hoarse but alive.

Her hands glowed faintly, the golden sheen curling around her fingers before fading.

There was no need for more words, they silently moved.

The tunnels wound beneath the prison fortress like veins, narrow, damp, and treacherous.

They ducked through crumbling archways and slipped between jagged walls where ancient mortar had cracked.

The air was heavy with rot and mildew, every breath a fight not to choke on it.

Aeilanna lit a faelight, small, trembling, no bigger than Maeve’s fist. It hovered just ahead, casting a thin halo of pale gold that flickered with every gust of cold, stale air, she grinned and moved again.

The light was dim enough not to alert the guards, but enough to show them the glistening slickness of the floor, the moss crawling up the walls, the places where the ceilings had begun to sag under the weight of the fortress above.

Maeve followed close, seizing the dagger tighter, feeling the hilt dig into her palm.

Her heart hammered, a frantic, desperate rhythm against her ribs.

She couldn’t tell if it was adrenaline or the separation pain, but the urge to move faster gnawed at her.

They rounded a corner, feet silent on the uneven stone, and ran straight into a pair of guards.

Aeilanna moved first, with no hesitation or mercy.

She drove her elbow into the nearest guard’s throat with brutal force.

The man gave a choked cry, staggering back, his weapon falling from slack fingers.

Nolenne swept low in a vicious, clean move that hooked the second guard’s knee and yanking it sideways.

He crashed to the ground with a grunt, struggling to draw breath.

Maeve slammed her shoulder into the reeling guard’s chest, pinning him hard against the wall.

He grunted, reaching for another blade, but Maeve struck, dragging the dagger across his ribs in one sharp, clean slice.

The second guard gasped, trying to rise, but Aeilanna was already on him.

She pressed her palm flat over his throat, white magic sparking from her skin, and whispered something Maeve couldn’t hear.

The man sagged, boneless, to the floor and Maeve stood there, panting, heart racing, the coppery stink of blood sharp in her nose.

Her whole body thrummed with adrenaline, every nerve raw and alert.

No time to think or feel. She could not sink into panic now, Aeilanna grabbed her wrist and pulled as the faelight bobbed wildly ahead of them, casting twisted shadows that flickered along the walls as they disappeared deeper into the darkness.

Every corridor brought another obstacle, one patrol turned too early.

A door that should have been ajar was bolted tight, but Nolenne’s planning held.

Every twist, every count, every hidden passage was exactly as she’d promised, and every unexpected setback had a brutal plan-b.

It was vicious work, every breath burned Maeve’s lungs and every slip of her boots on the wet stone could have been her last, but she fought hard.

There were moments, far too many, when her mind faltered, when panic rose fast in her throat, thick and choking.

Moments when the separation pain twisted through her chest, sharp and violent, making her vision blur at the edges.

There was the urge to give in, to collapse onto the blood-slick floor and let it end that scraped at her with every step.

Aeilanna noticed first. In the crush of a narrow passage, when Maeve’s foot stumbled and her hands trembled too hard to lift the blade properly, Aeilanna caught her.

Just a hand on her arm, not dramatic, just a firm, a steadying pressure.

Nolenne, glanced back once. Her face was grimy with blood and sweat, she gave a single, small nod and a flash of a bright smile that was fierce and full of silent encouragement.

It was as if they both knew, as if they recognised the anguish crashing through her, physically and emotionally ripping her apart from the inside, but refused to let it take her. They didn’t speak, they didn’t need to.

They fought twice more. No time for grace or strategy, just brutal survival. Blades flashed in the dark. Maeve drove her dagger into the stomach of a soldier too slow to react, Nolenne slit a throat in one clean, silent movement.

Maeve’s shoulder throbbed from a glancing blow. Aeilanna’s sleeve was torn, blood that wasn’t her own soaking the fabric. Nolenne took a cut across her thigh that bled heavily, but she ripped a strip of cloth from her cloak and tied it off without even breaking her stride.

After they cleared the last turn, six guards, coming fast from the far corridor. There were far too many and they were approaching fast. Maeve braced herself, dagger raised and Nolenne cursed under her breath, reaching for her other blade.

Aeilanna moved, it was nothing like before, she stepped forwards, hands raised, and Maeve felt the very air in the corridor condense. Magic rippled out from Aeilanna like a silent, invisible shockwave, crawling across their skin.

The guards faltered and Aeilanna spoke one lethal word, then light split the air.

Golden threads lashed from her palms, snaring the first two guards by the throat.

They dropped almost instantly, convulsing, their every nerve set alight.

The others turned to run, but they were too late, Aeilanna flicked her fingers.

The stone beneath their feet cracked open, jagged spears of earth erupting upward.

One lot entirely in the ground, one impaled through the gut and another through the thigh.

The last guard staggered, frozen mid-turn. Aeilanna reached, and with an almost lazy twist of her wrist, ripped the breath from his lungs. He collapsed, dead before he hit the ground.

The corridor fell into stunned silence. Maeve stood frozen, mouth open, dagger limp in her hand.

Nolenne stared, wide-eyed, her bloodied blade forgotten at her side and Aeilanna lowered her hands slowly, swayed for a second and then straightened, shoulders square and chin lifted. Her face was calm and terrifying .

Maeve’s heart slammed against her ribs, this was not the quiet woman from the cell, this was a spellweaver, untamed and unforgiving. A living weapon that not even the prison’s wards could hold.

Aeilanna turned to them. “That felt fucking fantastic. Come on, darlings, we must move. More will come.”

Maeve tightened her grip on the dagger, Nolenne shook herself back into motion and they ran without looking back.

?????

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, they burst from a hidden passage at the base of a fern-covered cliff.

The pre-dawn air hit them like a cold sharp slap.

Maeve gasped and stumbled to a stop. Her legs nearly buckled beneath her, chest heaving for air, the cold slicing into her lungs like blades.

Above them, the sky split open. Not the dull, smothered blackness of the human world.

This was a sky alive. Ink-black and endless, millions of stars punched through the dark, hard and bright.

Constellations she didn’t recognise stretched from horizon to horizon in jagged, endless rivers of light of burning light.