Page 49 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

Solirra’s wings beat against the smoke-heavy air as she descended towards Haleth.

Aeilanna leaned forwards in the saddle, squinting through the thick haze and rolling black clouds.

The village was barely recognisable, burned out and broken, almost completely gutted by fire and magic.

Then she saw them, Jeipier launched first, his golden wings catching the faintest glint of light and Xelaini followed a breath later, carrying something limp and blood-soaked in her claws.

“Eiran?” Aeilanna’s stomach lurched. “Solirra can’t reach them.”

“No,” Nolenne said quickly, eyes narrowed. “Xelaini wouldn’t carry him that way. She’d fly him to the village’s transport stone in an emergency, that must be someone else.”

Even so, unease settled between them, Solirra circled once before landing in the outskirts, the two females dismounted as Melrathen soldiers rallied to them, wounded, filthy and exhausted.

The village as a battlefield was chaos. Villagers still screamed, flames climbed thatched roofs as enemy soldiers stalked the streets, setting fires with mindless fury.

Aeilanna didn’t hesitate. “To me!” she shouted, voice slicing through the din.

“We must shield the civilians and cut off the northern lane!”

Nolenne was already moving, blades flashing, flames bursting at her feet. The two carved through the chaos with ruthless precision, every motion clean and brutal.

Aeilanna raised her free hand mid-turn, golden filaments of light spiralling from her fingers like ribbons, runes and sigils blooming in the air as if stitched from sunlight.

One thread snapped forwards, searing through an Avelan’s helm and dropping him without a sound.

Another coiled around a soldier's legs like a snare, yanking him off his feet as she closed the distance with a brutal strike from the hilt of her sword.

She spun, cloak flaring, and with a single word in the old tongue, the spellwrought threads ignited, lancing through two more foes in a dazzling arc.

Fire met steel in harmony, her magic moving like silk through flame, precise and merciless.

“Take them alive!” Nolenne reminded the Melrathen troops over her shoulder. “We need answers, our King wants proof!”

She caught one of the enemy soldiers mid-cast, tackling him hard and slamming her elbow into the side of his head.

He crumpled to the ground, dazed. She knelt to bind him with enchanted cord, but a force hit her from behind, sending her sprawling into the dirt.

She rolled, instinctively coming up in a crouch, sword raised and then she saw him, her brother.

Davmon.

Older now, harder and his eyes were colder than she remembered. The insignia of Avelan’s Commander gleamed on his breastplate, smeared with blood. “My cunt sister, you are slower than I remember,” he sneered, blade swinging as he stalked towards her.

Nolenne straightened, chest heaving. “What is it, Dav?” she spat. “You here to kill your last sibling? Finish the job properly?”

He laughed, it sounded vile and echoed with something rotten. “Sibling?” he said, mocking. “I have no sibling.”

Her heart twisted, but she didn’t flinch. “You did once, a mother and father too,” she said. “Before they threw us into that pit, before you murdered our brother.”

His smile widened, sick with satisfaction. “That’s not how I remember it. He lost, I won, that’s the law.”

She stepped forwards, fury building beneath her skin like a storm. “You lost everything that day. I lost everything, my parents, my brothers.”

“I didn’t lose everything,” he said, lifting his blade. “I gained purpose.”

Their swords clashed, the air cracked with magic, grief, and a lifetime of betrayal.

Steel clanged as their blades met, the sound sharp enough to cut the air itself.

Sparks erupted with each strike, magic pulsing at the edges of Nolenne’s fury.

She ducked low, trying to sweep his legs, but he jumped, pivoting mid-air, and came down with a savage arc aimed for her collarbone.

She parried just in time, the impact jarring through her arms.

“You’ve actually gotten better,” Davmon said, circling her like a predator. “Almost makes me proud.”

“Don’t talk to me about pride,” Nolenne snapped, flinging a wall of heat towards him, runes flaring red on her sword.

The flame curled like a whip, catching his arm and setting part of his cloak alight, he didn’t react, he just smiled. “I remember you crying when they threw us in,” he said. “I remember thinking you’d be the first to die.”

Nolenne’s jaw clenched. “You were wrong then, and you’re wrong now. ”

She lunged, slicing across his thigh, blood welled through his armour.

He grunted, twisted, and drove his elbow into her ribs.

She gasped but didn’t fall, her hand came up, glowing with a rune of fire and one of wind, and blasted him backwards into a crumbling wall.

Stone shattered and dust exploded outward but Davmon stood, wiping blood from his lip, expression unchanged.

“Still so fucking soft. You fight like someone with something to lose.”

“I do, I fight for them and everyone Avelan took.” She motioned to the villagers behind her. “Doesn’t this remind you of our own village?”

He charged with a roar, blade aimed at her throat.

She dodged, narrowly, and they locked together in a brutal tangle, steel on steel, shoulder to shoulder, power colliding with power.

Sparks flew as enchantments clashed, magic hummed beneath their feet, warping the air with heat and pressure.

Nolenne twisted and drove her knee into his stomach, then followed with a searing punch ignited with fire.

He stumbled, but caught her plaited hair and yanked her head back.

“I should’ve killed you then,” he hissed into her ear.

“But you didn’t,” she spat, driving her elbow into his jaw so hard his head snapped sideways.

Runes flashing white, she flung him backwards with a blast of wind so strong he crashed through the burning frame of a house. Flame licked at his armour as he rolled to his feet, coughing and staggering. “There she is.” He grinned through the smoke. “The killer you were always meant to be.”

“I’m not like you.”

“No. You’re worse, because you lie to yourself.” He stalked towards her again. “I became what they made me, you’re still pretending you haven’t.”

They clashed again, this time with less finesse and more feral rage. Nolenne’s sword locked against his, their faces inches apart, sweat and blood mixing. “You killed our brother,” she said, voice shaking now. “You killed him and then you willingly served the monsters who made you do it.”

“I survived,” Davmon growled.

“Then I’ll make sure you don’t survive this.” Tears of fury wetting Nolenne’s face.

With a scream, she released a pulse of raw magic. Fire and wind force all at once, blasting him off his feet. He slammed into the scorched dirt, body skidding, armour cracked and blood dripping from his mouth. She stalked towards him, sword raised, breathing ragged .

He laughed, bloody, broken, triumphant. “There she is.”

She stopped above him, sword poised to strike.

“Do it,” he whispered. “Be what they made us.”

Nolenne stood, trembling, blade shaking in her grip, then she did the one thing he didn’t expect and dropped her sword. “I’m better than what they made me,” she said. “You don’t deserve my rage, just pity.”

Behind her, soldiers rushed forwards, enchanted rope and shackles at the ready. Davmon tried to rise, but his legs gave out. He fell hard, gasping. Nolenne turned her back, as for the first time in years, she felt powerful, not because of what she could destroy, because of what she chose not to.

Nolenne’s heart dropped into her stomach as she heard Aeilanna shriek, not from fear, but with a sound that tore across the battlefield like a war-horn’s cry.

It was pure and incandescent rage. A howl of ferocity born from witnessing the woman she loved fighting her own blood, and from the devastation they’d both stepped into.

Nolenne turned in time to see Aeilanna slammed sideways by a brute twice her size.

Her body skidded through soot and rubble, but she rose before the dust even settled, hair wild and eyes alight with searing, untethered rage.

Threads of light surged from her fingertips, curling up her arms like living ink and she wove.

Sigils flared around her as she moved, one burst to shield, another to sear.

Her blade sang through the air, slicing a soldier’s arm clean through as a ribbon of magic spiralled out to lash the next.

She spun, her dagger burying deep into a throat, and the magic licked out from the wound, dragging flame in its wake.

Nolenne didn’t hesitate, she scooped her sword from the ground, feet already moving, breath catching in her throat.

She ran to her, blade met blade as she reached Aeilanna’s side.

They fell into rhythm instantly, back to back, their bodies moving with the unspoken familiarity of lovers and warriors.

Every time one struck high, the other struck low.

When one turned, the other covered her blind side, sparks burst around them, blood sprayed the air, and still they fought.

Melrathen soldiers surged behind them, rallying to the rhythm of their blades and shouts of, “to burn and to shield!” echoed through the mêlée.