Page 41 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

The sun was warm on Maeve’s face as she sat on the garden terrace, tucked into a low cushioned seat with a quilted blanket over her legs.

A small table in front of her was laid with tea, jewel-toned fruit, and a platter of honeyed fig pastries that glistened with syrup and spice.

Jeipier prowled in the distance, wings twitching and creeping through tall grass like a stalking cat.

“I think he’s hunting another statue,” Eiran said dryly, eyeing him with narrowed eyes.

“He’s definitely locked onto something,” Maeve replied, smiling softly.

King Orilan sat nearby in a carved stone chair, long legs stretched out, a half-eaten pastry in hand. “I’ll be amazed if we get through one afternoon without something getting destroyed.”

“Not the fish sculpture again, Jeipier,” Eiran called.

Hayvalaine, seated gracefully across from Maeve in soft, rose coloured, linen robes, lifted her tea. “Did you know the head gardener nearly quit over that? Called the damage an ‘affront to symmetry.’”

Jeipier chose that moment to pounce, missed entirely, tumbling into a hedge and Maeve stifled a laugh. “He’s enthusiastic, is all.”

“How are you feeling, really?” Eiran asked Maeve delicately as she picked up her tea, fingers curling around the warm cup.

“Stronger and rested, but… I don’t think I really slept. I saw things… snippets,” Maeve said. “Images. Voices. Feelings. I heard about Delvain. I knew it had burned before anyone told me. I felt the heat and heard the screams.”

Eiran’s expression sharpened. “You weren’t dreaming.”

“I know and I saw more.” She glanced at Orilan, then Hayvalaine. “I saw you,” she said to the king. “You and Taelin, in a shaded garden, playing some kind of game with knives and apples.”

Orilan’s brows lifted. “Haven’t done that in decades. ”

“I saw it clearly,” Maeve said. “You were sitting beneath a large-leaved tree. The whole courtyard was carved from pale stone and vine-covered and I think you were winning.”

“Of course he was,” Hayvalaine muttered.

“And then I saw here, Elanthir Keep, I think. Huge, palatial and carved right into the cliffs. The towers shimmered like metal, and the wings of a dragon thunder flew over the mountain. It was beautiful, intimidating, but stunning.”

Orilan’s expression had grown serious.

Maeve continued. “Then bodies, of fae scouts. On the border. Faces I didn’t recognise, but I felt grief. I felt yours.”

They said nothing, but Eiran’s hand tightened on the edge of the table.

“And the cell,” she said, voice lower now. “The stone one. From Avelan. I was there again. I could feel the cold and the silence. I think I heard Aeilanna crying in her sleep.”

Hayvalaine reached over and gently squeezed Maeve’s hand.

“I also saw you,” Maeve added, turning to Eiran again, her voice lightning. “You were fighting. Sparring, with moss-covered men. You were laughing with them.”

“Gravemires,” Orilan sighed.

“You lost.” Maeve said.

“That part is definitely a dream,” Eiran said, tutting.

Orilan laughed. “Gravemires never lose, they cheat.”

“The Chain,” Maeve said, quieter now. “I saw it again and again. Over and over. Flashes of it, held in my hand, falling into the sea. Wrapped in black silk. Glowing. Dull. Pulled away from me. It felt like it was trying to tell me something.”

“You’re connected to it,” Hayvalaine said. “It won’t let go now, it runs through your blood.”

Maeve nodded. “I think... I think the Chain was pulling memories. Or maybe giving me pieces I needed. I don’t know.”

Eiran leaned closer. “What kind of pieces? ”

“I don’t know yet,” Maeve said honestly. “But I think it’s trying to warn me.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the warm wind drifting over the terrace. In the distance, Jeipier finally gave up on whatever he was hunting and half running, half flying, he flopped dramatically onto the grass before them.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to understand it,” Maeve said. “But I think I’m meant to.”

Eiran reached for her hand across the table, Orilan saw this and leaned back in his chair, brushing crumbs from his sleeve.

His gaze drifted to the horizon, where clouds gathered softly beyond the mountains.

He was quiet for a long moment, unusually so.

Then, almost casually, he said, “Did Eiran tell you I was once married to a human?”

Maeve blinked, caught off guard. “No, he didn’t.”

Eiran looked over as if to defend himself, but Orilan waved a hand. “I loved her deeply, it was a true love. I don’t talk about her much, which is foolish, I suppose. But the older I get, the more I hoard the memories, as if they’ll grow heavier and less likely to vanish.”

Maeve smiled, picturing it. “I’m sorry, Orilan… I think I saw you both when I was in the between. One of the memories, I wasn’t prying, I had no control, but I saw you together. At the end… and I’m so sorry for that.”

Orilan looked wounded, but replied with a slight smile.

“Don’t be, I’m glad you did. She was… ” he faltered.

Cleared his throat and tried again. “She was a gentle woman, but strong in that quiet way that makes others underestimate you until they’re already changed by your presence.

Kind, and oh so bloody fierce. She once fed a fox from the palm of her hand because it looked hungry. ”

“Sounds like she was brave too,” Maeve murmured.

Orilan let out a breath that was half a laugh, half a sigh. “Terrifying, really. She made me earn every moment of her affection. I tried to impress her with magic, levitated her bloody wagon through a muddy road once. She just looked at me and said, ‘You’re not carrying it, try again.’”

Eiran snorted into his tea. “That sounds familiar.”

“She was my true love,” Orilan said, quietly now, concentrating on the teacup in front of him. “And my only love, no one’s matched her before or since. ”

Silence fell again, thick with something tender.

“And you miss her still,” Maeve said, not as a question.

“Every day.” Orilan gave a tight smile and looked down at his hands. “Even on days I don’t want to. Even when it’s easier not to, she marked me, carved her name in my heart, and then took it.”

Hayvalaine’s expression had softened, her gaze fixed on Orilan with something like understanding.

“She was… mesmerising, stubborn and had no problem pulling me up.” Orilan added, eyes flicking back to Maeve. “Certainly a human thing.”

“Well, someone has to do it,” Maeve said with a small smile.

Orilan laughed, but the emotion was still there under it, a tremor in his voice. “She’d be furious with me now. ‘Old fool,’ she’d say. ‘Still playing bloody politics instead of protecting your people properly.’”

“She wouldn’t say that. That is not what you are doing,” Hayvalaine said gently.

“Oh, she would,” Orilan said, eyes bright with unshed tears. “But then she’d hold my face and kiss my forehead and say, ‘At least you’re trying, silly bugger.’”

Eiran reached over and placed a hand on the king’s shoulder, silent but steady.

Maeve looked away, throat tight, letting them have the moment.

Orilan cleared his throat and wiped beneath one eye.

“Right, well. Enough weeping, I’m supposed to be terrifying, not sentimental.

Don’t tell Taelin or he’ll start planning my funeral. ”

Hayvalaine grinned. “Your secret’s safe with us.”

Maeve took a deep breath. “You mentioned Delvain,” she said, glancing between Eiran and Orilan. “That it was burned, that people were missing.”

Eiran nodded, shifting slightly in his seat. “Still no full count. The scouts found charred remains, but no signs of who did it. No sigils, no traces of Avelan steel. Just ruin.”

Orilan’s mouth thinned. “The work was thorough. Almost... too clean.”

“Like I said, I think I saw it. When I was unconscious. In the visions. There was a village, hazy, but I remember the smell of smoke. Ash floating in the air. Bodies, but no blood.” Maeve’s brow furrowed. “It didn’t feel like a raid. It felt like a message.”

Orilan leaned forwards, elbows on the table now. “Message to whom?”

“To you,” Maeve said. “To Melrathen. I don’t know.”

“Or they’re testing us,” Eiran muttered. “Seeing how we respond. How quickly we move. Who we send.”

“Then they’re watching our skies for the thunder and the hell beasts, as they call them,” Orilan said, pride making his eyebrows and mouth twitch.

Maeve sat back, eyes narrowing as her detective mind spun into motion. “You said no markings, no steel. What about scent? Soil residue? Fae leave trails, like humans. They touch things they don’t mean to.”

Orilan looked at her with a spark of appreciation. “A detective’s mind.”

Maeve nodded once. “If I were back on Earth, I’d say someone scrubbed the scene. But they never get everything… not really. You just need to know where to look.”

Orilan tapped his fingers on the table. “I’ll have the scouts sweep again. This time with a trained magicer. Nolenne has gone with Aeilanna to search too, I’m hoping she spots something we’ve missed.”

“Let me see any drawings or accounts from those who went,” Maeve said. “I can try to cross-reference them with what I saw.”

“You’re still recovering,” Eiran said, without heat.

“I can sit and read,” she replied, already straightening in her chair, almost exasperated. “I’m not suggesting I take off on fucking dragon-back, Eiran.”

“Yet,” Orilan muttered under his breath.

Maeve smirked. “Give me until tomorrow.”

Orilan stood. “You may just prove more useful than half the Council’s High Table, Maeve, and considerably better company.” He started walking off but turned back. “Oh, and finish those pastries. They cost a bloody fortune. ”

Maeve laughed softly as Hayvalaine followed him. She narrowed her eyes at Jeipier, who was currently rolling onto his back in the grass, all four legs in the air like a cat that had grown far too big and far too smug.

“How exactly am I meant to ride him when he still acts like that?”

Eiran snorted. “He’s figuring it out.”

“He tripped over his own wing earlier, Eiran.”

Jeipier made a low grumbling noise and flopped dramatically onto his side, as if offended.

“Oh, don’t start,” Maeve said, pointing at him. “You’re supposed to be a mighty dragon, not a clumsy toddler with scales and a tail.”

Jeipier let out a huff and tossed a tuft of grass at her with his tail.

Eiran leaned back in his chair, smirking. “He is a mighty dragon. He just has… personality.”

“He’s got no brakes.”

“He’ll develop some, you can help.”

“He flew straight into a statue. Twice,” Maeve corrected.

Eiran held up his hands. “Alright. But in his defence, he was distracted.”

“By a butterfly, probably.”

Jeipier gave a short, indignant chirp and flopped closer to Maeve, resting his head near her feet like a sulky, oversized dog now. She looked down at him, eyes flashing in amusement. “He’s listening, isn’t he?”

“Every word,” Eiran said, laughing. “And if I had to bet, I’d say he’s making a list.”

Maeve reached out and scratched behind Jeipier’s ear. “I’m not wrong though, am I, baby dragon?”

Jeipier snorted again, and Eiran added, “Once he gets his first ride, you’ll be able to speak to each other properly.”

Maeve gave Eiran a look. “Good, because I could really use some decent conversation in this bloody keep.”

Eiran leaned closer, dropping his voice. “Look, you’re both new to this. He might fly like a brick right now, but he’ll keep you in the air no matter what. ”

Maeve gave him a side glance. “Even if I scream the entire time?”

“Especially if you scream the entire time.”

She huffed, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “Fine. But if I die by dragon nose-dive, I’m haunting you.”

Eiran grinned. “Oh, you already do, love.”