Page 54 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

Maeve rolled her shoulders as she stepped into the training ring.

The Keep’s stone yard was warm underfoot, the morning sun of June casting long shadows across the weapon racks and sparring circles.

Her new leathers creaked slightly as she moved, black, tailored for agility and reinforced over her ribs and spine.

Gold embroidery glinted, tracing swirling fae patterns and runes like constellations.

Eiran had given them to her that morning, just after breakfast, a little sheepish when he handed them over.

“Had them made. I hope you’re alright with that,” he’d said, brushing a thumb along her arm.

When she nodded, pleased and flattered, he grinned and added with a murmur against her ear, “You’ll look edible.”

Then he was gone, off to interrogate prisoners with Calen and Fenric, leaving Maeve walking alone to the sparring yard, heart thudding with nerves and anticipation. Soren waited by the weapon racks, arms crossed and hair tied back. Nolenne stood beside him, already warming up, a grin on her face.

“Right,” Soren said, eyeing Maeve’s stance. “You’ve had basic hand-to-hand?”

“Yes, and self-defence,” Maeve confirmed, rolling her neck. “Bit of baton, a lot of elbows. Nothing too graceful.”

“Well, fuck graceful, I want efficient.” He gestured towards the weapons. “Pick a blade. One that feels right. No training swords today, you’ll learn on the real thing.”

Maeve blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“No time to waste, claim your weapon.” He said with a grin. “Make it yours. I use an axe, Nolenne uses twin swords and everyone else uses swords. It’s up to you, whatever you feel like.”

Maeve moved between the racks, running her fingers along steel, brass and leather-wrapped hilts.

Her eyes settled on a finer blade, a short, bright silver sword with elegant dark purple and gold details curling around the hilt and handle.

She lifted it carefully, the grip sat snug in her hand.

The Chain on her wrist gave a subtle pulse, like a breath taken in her stead.

She turned to face them, blade at her side and Soren gave an approving nod. “Nice choice. ”

“Feels like a good weight,” Maeve said. “Not that I know what that means.”

“Good instincts, Mae,” Nolenne added. “It’s yours now.”

The sparring that followed was relentless, but exhilarating.

Maeve’s arms already ached, but she didn’t stop.

Muscle memory from her old life folded into the new patterns Soren barked out: parry, pivot, strike, disengage.

Her footwork was tighter now, her bladework, sharpening, much less frantic.

Nolenne joined in after a few rounds, stretching her shoulders with an audible pop as she stepped into the ring.

“Try not to embarrass yourself,” she said, swinging one of her swords in an easy motion.

Maeve smirked. “If I had any dignity left, I might be worried.”

They started slow, testing reach and rhythm, but it didn’t stay friendly for long and blades clanged. Maeve ducked, slid to the side, caught Nolenne’s arm with a glancing blow, then got a boot to the thigh in return. “Ow! Was that necessary?” Maeve gasped.

“Yes,” Nolenne replied cheerfully, already turning for the next strike. “You left your ribs wide open.”

By the third pass, both were sweating and laughing between gritted teeth, too stubborn to stop. Maeve slipped on loose dirt, caught herself on one hand, and popped up just in time to block a downward strike. “Don’t suppose we’re allowed to hit each other with the flat?” she panted.

“Why bother?” Nolenne grinned. “This is character building.”

“Is that what we’re calling suffering these days?” Maeve groaned, standing again.

They broke apart again, circling. Soren called out a correction to Maeve’s elbow placement, and she muttered something unprintable under her breath. “You’ll thank me when you don’t die horribly,” he said.

“When?” Maeve shot back. “That’s comforting.”

By the time Soren finally called a break, Maeve’s plait was falling out, her knuckles were bruised, and her entire upper body felt like it had been trampled by a horse, but she was smiling.

Aeilanna passed her a cup of cool water at the edge of the ring. “You alright?”

Maeve wiped her face on her sleeve and took a long drink. “I’ll live… probably. ”

Nolenne appeared beside her, flushed and gleaming with sweat. She picked up a hunk of bread from a tray and bit into it.

“Remind me why we’re doing this again?” Maeve asked, half-collapsing onto the bench.

“Because you’ve got a baby dragon who thinks flying into fire is a strategy,” Nolenne said through a mouthful. “And because we’re all one bad decision away from getting stabbed.”

?????

They walked to the stables shortly after, the sun now high overhead. Aeilanna handed them another cup of water, which they drank greedily. Then Aeilanna turned to Nolenne, a gleam in her eye. “There’s someone waiting for you.”

Nolenne blinked. “For me?”

Maeve raised an eyebrow. “That sounds suspicious.”

Only Soren seemed unsurprised. Inside the stables, resting in sun-drenched straw, lay a massive dragon. Her scales shimmered black with undertones of plum. She exhaled slowly, amused by their stunned silence.

“Hervour,” Aeilanna said gently. “She’s mature, but not yet paired, until now.”

Nolenne stared. “What do you mean, ‘until now’?”

“You’re part of the royal family,” Aeilanna replied. “The King has formally recognised our relationship. As tradition dictates, a dragon is offered to every Melrathian royal. Hervour asked the thunder to be considered for you.”

Maeve gave a low whistle. “Well, I like her already.”

“She chose me?” Nolenne asked, voice cracking slightly.

Hervour gave a slow blink and a puff, almost smug.

“You’ll be able to speak with her after your first flight,” Aeilanna added. “Sometimes during. Sometimes later. It depends on the pairing. Same as Maeve.”

Jeipier trotted in from the outer courtyard, wings flicking playfully. He nudged Maeve’s side, energy practically sparking off his scales. Her smile widened as she laid a hand on his neck, feeling the warmth beneath her fingers. “ You’re late,” she thought, glancing sidelong at him .

“You were busy getting knocked on your arse,” he replied in her mind, tone matter-of-fact.

Maeve snorted. “That was tactical.”

“You tripped over your own foot.” Smoke curled from his nose.

“You’ve tripped over your own wing,” she sent firmly.

“At least we get up fast. That’s what counts.” He rested the side of his head lightly against her shoulder for a beat. “We’re learning. I can feel it.”

That made her pause. “Yeah?” Maeve’s lips twitched. “That’s good.”

“Well done my small and flammable fae.” Jeipier thought, while breathing hot air over her.

She rolled her eyes and reached for the saddle strap. “Let’s get it over with before Soren tries to make me spar again.”

“I like him. He’s like father, very shouty.”

Maeve climbed up with a sigh. “They’re basically brothers, you would.”

“And he reminds me of you.”

She thumped his shoulder once. “That’s uncalled for.”

“True, though.”

Solirra and Brontis landed moments later, completing their team.

Maeve’s saddle was already secured, a sleek black design etched with glowing runes, responsive to her touch, enchanted for balance, protection, and power.

It moulded perfectly to her posture, anchoring her without restriction.

Hervour’s saddle was similar, dark leather, black metalwork and plum-toned accents gleaming in the sun, nearly invisible against her scales.

Nolenne mounted carefully, wide-eyed but composed. Aeilanna gave a nod. “Let’s fly.”

They launched as one, wings tearing through the sky in coordinated bursts.

Maeve’s heart raced as Jeipier soared higher, the enchanted saddle keeping her steady, adjusting subtly with every shift of her weight.

Solirra banked wide and took up rear guard.

Brontis surged ahead, power incarnate, calling the first formation through mind-talk.

“V-pattern. Hervour on right. Jeipier, left flank.”

The dragons moved as one, the eldest setting the pace, the rest matching him effortlessly.

Riders gave minimal cues, mostly coordination passed through the dragons themselves.

Maeve leaned into Jeipier’s rhythm, exhilarated by the wind, the speed and the weightlessness that came with trust. They drilled through formations first, spirals, banks and high dives.

Then evasive manoeuvres and battle tactics.

Practicing shield curves, ramming dives and dodges under simulated projectile fire.

The dragons’ telepathy made it seamless, and the saddles absorbed impact shock with glowing pulses of runes.

Hervour and Nolenne adapted fast, Maeve watched them fall into sync like they’d been paired for years.

After a few hours, they finally returned to the stable’s courtyard.

Maeve dismounted slowly, legs trembling but heart pounding with triumph.

Jeipier nuzzled her neck, smug and proud . “We work well together, Chainling.”

“Please, Jei, no more Chainling,” Maeve said aloud, glassy-eyed. “Seriously.”

He gave a deliberate pause, tail flicking once. “ But it suits you,” he said into her mind, voice tinged with mischief. “You’re small, shiny and magically temperamental… ”

“And you’re definitely going to trip over a rock if you don’t look where you’re going,” she shot back with a thought.

“That was one time.” Jeipier huffed, but the affection in his voice softened. “I’ll think of something else.”

“Thank you. You did promise.” Maeve’s thought quietly. “And… I’m glad I have you. Really.”

His response was a warm pulse of feeling, firelight and steady ground. “Really.”

Soren was already pouring water from a fresh pitcher. “You two did well,” he said, handing Maeve a cup. “Fast learners. I’m impressed, ladies.”

Nolenne gave a tired grin. “So is Hervour, she thinks we’re pros.”

“I agree,” Aeilanna said, brushing dust from her arms. “Tomorrow we review, then build into formation strategy. The next few weeks will be brutal, but promising.”

Maeve looked out across the field, the wind tugging at her sweat-damp hair, and tightened her grip on the cool cup in her hand. Her body ached, her heart raced but her bond with Jeipier thrummed like a chord in her chest. She was learning, she was rising and she wasn’t doing it alone.