Page 62 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

The morning air in Elanthir Keep was still, unnervingly so.

The kind of stillness that settled and seemed to make even the hearth fire hesitate.

The weather was strange for mid-June, wind swept along the outer towers but didn’t stir the flowers.

A week had passed with no word from King Orilan, Taelin or Hayvalaine.

At first, the excuses had been reasonable, ‘diplomatic talks take time’, ‘Eldrisil moves slowly’ and ‘the Council drones on’, but now the silence had gone brittle.

Even the servants moved more quietly, their easy conversation hushed.

The kitchens, once filled with warm laughter and teasing, had quieted to murmurs and the entire Keep was waiting.

In the dining room, the circle of eight gathered for breakfast. The long table had been laid with the usual comforts, but no one was eating.

Calen sat with one elbow braced on the table, absentmindedly spinning a croissant in slow circles with one finger. “Still nothing?”

Eiran, seated across from him, hadn’t touched his plate either. His shoulders were rigid with a tension he hadn’t let go of in days. “No… no messengers, no updates. Fuck all.”

Branfil leaned forwards slightly, his voice low but clear. “If they haven’t returned by day’s end, we should go. Eldrisil won’t block us.”

“We’ll go now,” Eiran said. “And check the court ourselves.”

Maeve, seated beside Eiran, reached beneath the table to lace her fingers with his. He gripped her hand tightly, preparing himself, but the haunted look in his eyes didn’t ease, she squeezed once and let go and a heavy pause hung over them.

Calen broke it. “After the last one talks, we’ll move the rest to the bottom pit.”

Nolenne blinked. “The what?”

“The Pit,” Fenric said, leaning back in his chair with a shrug, a little too casual. “Old oubliette under the eastern ridge. No light and no exit. We use it for the ones too dangerous to kill, or not worth killing quickly.”

“You’re going to leave them down there to rot?” Aeilanna’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and crystal-clear.

Eiran didn’t flinch. “They burned three villages to cinders, Anna. Elderly, mothers and children. We’ve confirmed they masked the spells to look like ours. If we send them back to Avelan, they’ll be tortured for what they told us and if we execute them, we’ll start a war before we’re ready.”

No one liked it, but no one argued after that.

“Davmon’s still refusing to crack,” Fenric muttered, tapping the edge of his goblet. “Stubborn bastard.”

Maeve exhaled through her nose and set her coffee down with a thud.

“I’m going to speak to him. Eiran’s already agreed.

I was trained in advanced interview techniques.

” Maeve stood, arms crossed, eyes fierce.

“I’ve spent years of reading liars. If he’s holding something back, I’ll feel it, it’s the one thing here that I am actually good at. ”

Calen looked sceptical. “This isn’t a polite interview, Maeve. He’s dangerous and he’s also trained.”

“And what you’re doing isn’t working,” she snapped. “So let me do what I’m trained for. Don’t condescend to me, this was my job. Still is, actually.”

“I’ll go with her,” Nolenne said, sounding defeated at the lack of her own willpower.

Eiran’s gaze burned into Maeve. Not angry, just full of all the things he didn’t want to risk. For a long moment, he said nothing and then, “three conditions.”

Maeve and Nolenne nodded in unison.

“You don’t touch him, you don’t drop your guard, and you keep it brief. You feel one thread of manipulation or one flutter of magic and you leave.”

“That was four, but understood,” Maeve said.

Eiran’s jaw ticked as he looked at Calen and Fenric directly. “She’s leading it, back her.”