Page 61 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

The magic came slower than the bladework, there were misfires.

Once, she singed her hair trying to deflect a strike.

Another time, she set a training dummy’s cloak ablaze.

But by the end of the week, with the help of Yendel, Hettae, and Aeilanna, who she learned was a spellweaver of rare calibre, Maeve could hold a basic defensive ward for nearly two full minutes.

She’d begun weaving subtle glamour at her fingertips.

She felt the shape of spells before casting them and she was beginning to read the runes, not just recall them.

They were small triumphs, but they were hers.

One afternoon, as Maeve sketched a rune sequence in the chalk ring, the conversation turned to the Chain.

“I’ve been reading and there are ancient warnings,” Yendel said, watching her work, “that the Chain was never meant to be worn. That it was a tool of the Runekeepers, meant to channel, not bind.”

Aeilanna folded her arms. “Some say it was forged from the breath of the gods. Others say it was taken from a fae who burned too brightly, too fast.”

Maeve looked up from the runes. “You believe any of that? ”

Yendel smiled faintly. “ I don’t think so, but I believe the Chain is somewhat sentient and it’s waking now for a reason.”

Aeilanna’s expression didn’t change, but Maeve saw a flicker of unease in her eyes. “Power that old,” the Spellweaver murmured, “never returns without cost.”

Maeve looked down at the glowing rune beneath her fingers. She wasn’t sure if they were talking about the Chain, or her and it terrified her.

?????

Evenings were quiet and sacred. Sometimes she bathed with Eiran, warm water and flickering faelight wrapping around them as they shared their days in soft laughter and gentle touches.

His hands always found her, massaging the knots from her shoulders, kissing each new bruise, he called her his warrior queen.

She called him a menace with a perfect face, he liked that.

One evening, as Maeve had just dressed after a solitary bath, a knock came at her bedroom door.

“We’re going out,” Nolenne announced before she was even fully inside.

She leaned against the frame, hair plaited back, swords slung across her back like casual jewellery.

“Aeilanna has to meet someone and I suggested you come.”

“You suggested?” came Aeilanna’s voice from behind her, breezing into the room with a grin. “I insisted, there’s a tavern in the west quarter you’ll love. It’s loud, messy, and the food will probably give you the shits, but the ale’s tremendous.”

“Eiran wanted to come,” Nolenne added, not unkindly, “but Aeilanna told him to bugger off.”

“He has a realm meeting anyway, and they take an age!” Aeilanna said with a wink.

Maeve blinked. “You just... go into the city?”

“We’re not prisoners anymore,” Aeilanna said with a wink. “And you’re due some mischief.”

So they went, it was Maeve’s first proper visit into Moraveth since arriving at Elanthir.

The capital sprawled below the mountains like a living map of ancient stone pressed against new glass, terracotta roofs and market silks hanging beside intricately crafted Eldrisian lanterns.

Children darted past underfoot, shrieking with laughter and even the sky felt bigger there.

“It’s beautiful,” Maeve breathed. “And... clean. I haven’t seen a single person sleeping rough. ”

Aeilanna nodded, her expression thoughtful.

“That’s not an accident. There’s very little poverty here, at least not the kind we let stay unseen.

The realm ensures everyone can survive in comfort if they can’t support themselves.

The other realms think it idealistic, but we believe there is a duty of care to all Melrathian citizens. ”

She glanced at Nolenne, then back to Maeve.

“Mother has charities for single parents, the elderly and many for veterans. Childcare and schooling initiatives to help parents work and children learn. There’s a whole system to help people find employment.

It’s not perfect, but it works for most. We’re seen as a hard, cold realm, but our people are looked after. That’s what matters.”

Maeve looked at her sideways. “And you?”

Aeilanna’s shoulders lifted slightly. “I helped when I could, before I left... But I want to do more, especially for those returning from war. They deserve care, somewhere to breathe again.”

Nolenne reached across and squeezed her hand. “It will be needed.”

The tavern they entered glowed like a lamp lit from within.

Floating tankards zipped between patrons.

A fae band played from a corner alcove, not with instruments, but with elemental illusions, harps conjured from mist, strings strummed by flickers of light.

Laughter shook the beams, where a suspended chandelier bloomed with shifting flowers made of flame.

Maeve stopped just inside the door. “I haven’t heard music in. .. I can’t even remember.”

“I’m sure you’ve never heard this tune before,” Aeilanna said, eyes bright. “But you’ll love it.”

She was right.

Aeilanna slipped away to speak with a cloaked figure at the back, something about spellweaving access and a private conduit on the Storm Coasts, Maeve didn’t ask. When she returned, she had a fresh tankards and cheeks already flushed with warmth.

They drank, deeply and ale turned into feasting, then into shots of some fae spirit that tasted like burning ice and strawberries.

The three of them slid into a booth beneath a window that looked out on a city humming with moonlight.

They talked until the tavern dimmed around them, until even the music softened into memory.

On the walk back, Maeve glanced up and spotted a silhouette gliding high above the rooftops .

“Xelaini,” she muttered.

“Eiran must have sent her to shadow us,” Nolenne said. “He’s so bloody predictable.”

“Mates.” Aeilanna said with a mock grimace.

Maeve wanted to be annoyed, but instead, she felt something warmer. Not surveillance, just... care, even if it was unnecessary she understood the urges of the mate bond.

“He means well,” she said. “And I’m not exactly subtle when I need grounding.”

They walked in silence for a time. Then Nolenne said lightly, “We’re going to have an official binding.”

Maeve looked between them.

Aeilanna was glowing, a lot from drink, a little from something deeper. “Not until long after yours. Don’t worry, and not here. Because of my spellweaving, we’ll need to go to one of the Storm Isles. There’s a cove where the currents wrap around the vows.”

“Gods,” Maeve whispered. “That sounds beautiful.”

“It does,” Nolenne said, with a wide grin.

They walked further. Maeve asked about the other realms, their magic, their leaders and their alliances.

Aeilanna and Nolenne answered easily, they spoke of Eldrisil, of Veralis, Aeilanna’s maternal grandfather, who ruled with silence and knowing.

Of Edhenvale, veiled in forest and illusion.

Of Armathen, harsh and honest and carved from stone, of the Storm Coasts, wild and loud and fiercely loyal.

And, of course, of Avelan, the mostly iced scar to the north.

Maeve listened, absorbed in it all, she wanted to visit these places, immerse herself in the cultures.

She realised then that she had only just scratched the surface of the Fae Lands and she wanted to see it all, with Eiran, with her family.

When they reached the Keep’s gate, Aeilanna leaned against the wall with a dramatic sigh.

“One last thing,” she said, voice now slurred with fondness and too much ale.

“The Chain. We’re still in contact with the Runekeepers, they’re ready to meet. But not drunk.”

Nolenne snorted. “Speak for yourself.”

Maeve laughed. “Fine, Chain talk tomorrow. Tonight, I just want to remember what it feels like to be free.”

???? ?

Towards the end of the week, Maeve and Eiran joined the others in the firelit drawing room.

Aeilanna, Nolenne, Soren, Calen, Fenric and Branfil all sprawled across cushions and low couches, voices weaving together like a net of warmth.

And yet, beneath it all, tension curled.

Davmon hadn’t broken and Eiran still hadn’t let Maeve near him and it irked her.

Not because she needed control, but because she understood what silence could mean, she’d been on the other side of that table before.

Eiran, Calen, and Fenric had spent hours in the dungeons.

They’d tried everything, menace and mercy, truth and lies.

They’d extracted the truth from every other Avelan soldier, false trails, masking magic and planned delays.

But Davmon said nothing, he remained shackled, bruised, and defiant.

Eiran couldn’t hide his frustration.

“I don’t want you, Nolenne, or Aeilanna anywhere near him,” he told Maeve one night, voice tight as they lay in bed, the firelight painting gold across their skin.

“He’s dangerous. He’s not just some soldier.

He’s Vargen’s loyalist, and trained to endure far worse than anything we’ve thrown at him. ”

Maeve propped herself up on one elbow, gaze steady.

“Nolenne doesn’t know if she even wants to see him, Eiran.

I’m not saying we walk in and play nice.

I’m saying I know what I’m doing. At the Met, I handled people who’d murdered with their bare hands for a few quid.

I’ve gotten psychopaths to talk without ever raising my voice. ”

“This isn’t Earth,” he said. “And he’s not just another thief or killer. He’s Nolenne’s brother, he knows what she is to us now, what she is to Aeilanna. That makes him… volatile.”

“Which is exactly why you need me,” Maeve said. “Because you can’t scare someone who’s already damned. But being seen, that’s different, that’s where I can come in.”

Eiran was silent for a long moment, staring into the fire. Maeve reached across the blankets and took his hand. “Please, Eiran. You said you’d trust me, I know how to find the crack,” she said quietly.

He turned to her then, and finally, he nodded. A single, sharp motion. “All right. Tomorrow, he’s yours. Lead it your way.”

Maeve let out a slow breath, tension draining from her shoulders. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Eiran caught her chin, brushing his thumb across her bottom lip. “Just don’t let him get into your head. ”

Her eyes sparked. “He won’t, but I’ll get into his.”

Maeve was the quietest weapon they had and tomorrow, she would be aimed.