Page 76 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

Maeve and Eiran stepped through the golden temple doors, hand in hand, into blinding sunlight.

The world beyond the high temple was alive with sound, cheering, music and the celebratory roar of thousands of fae voices rising across the plaza.

The stone steps stretched wide before them, and the city’s heart pulsed from its base.

Flowers had been tossed onto the marble and petals scattered in waves of violet, gold, and green.

Magic shimmered in the air like champagne as Maeve tried to take it in. Tried to breathe it in, she was bound. She felt whole. She was home, and then the bells rang again, but not the bells of joy, the bells of warning.

They rang once, twice, then a third time, low and sharp and cutting through the celebration like a blade. The music stopped and the crowd faltered. All at once, thousands of fae stopped moving, caught in the uncanny stillness between joy and dread.

A shriek, deafening and raw came and then the sky darkened, Xelaini being first, wings like a stormfront, her cry a tearing roar of fury and smoke curled from her throat.

The thunder followed in formation, a wall of scaled muscle and rage descending with various colours and terrifying precision.

Shadows fell across the temple steps as the thunder hovered over the temple.

Maeve’s heart clenched and Eiran went still, eyes distant, locked to Xelaini through their bond. His voice dropped. “Skeld. South gate, more than a dozen. They’re breaching.”

“More than…” she began, but he was already turning.

“All paired thunder, down!” Eiran commanded, voice like struck steel.

Dragons dropped from the sky in synchronised descent, landing across the plaza in a rolling rhythm and the celebration shattered.

Taelin’s voice rang out like a whip to the head of the city guard. “Disperse the crowd safely! Shelter protocol now! Keep the exits clear, no crushes!”

The royal circle exploded into motion, Branfil mounted Tharein, his face grim. Soren, Calen, and Fenric sprinted towards their dragons, their ceremonial garb already burning into battle gear. Laren leapt behind Fenric, plait flying, her longbow in hand .

Eiran turned to Maeve. “We must fly.”

Their wedding finery shimmered and vanished, replaced by leather and metal, intention-forged and ready for war. Jeipier landed hard, his young but steady form coiling low for her. Maeve didn’t hesitate, she mounted him in a single smooth motion as Eiran vaulted onto Xelaini.

Above them, the unpaired thunder rose. Over three hundred dragons in formation. Wings beating, the sky trembled, and they flew. They cut through the wind making a burning sweep over the city. Maeve’s eyes stung from the rush of air, but she didn’t blink, her heart was a war drum in her chest.

Above the city, they could see smoke unfurling ahead, black, angry and rising from shattered stone.

The south gate was broken, fractured inward as though the wall had been folded like parchment.

City guards clashed below in chaos, but it wasn’t the breach that stopped her breath.

It was what moved inside it, dozens already multiplying by touch.

They blinked in and out of form, bodies flickering like leaves against an autumn wind. Some slithered, some sprinted. Maeve saw one reach a guard, he cried in ecstasy, convulsed and then rose again.

Skeld.

Her gut turned cold. “They’re multiplying,” she said hoarsely. “So many…”

Eiran and Xelaini were already diving, plummeting like a meteor, her flame spilling wide as Eiran leapt from her back mid-flight.

He hit the ground in a roll, already swinging.

Two skeld closed in and one fell in sparks beneath his blade.

The other forced back with a wordless wind spell, before Eiran struck again.

Above, Maeve hovered and Eiran looked up, mouth moving. “Xelaini.”

Maeve followed his gaze as the dragon counted.

“Fifty,” Xelaini whispered through the mind-talk, sounding horrified . “At least.”

Orilan’s voice rang through every mind linked to the thunder. “ Form a perimeter, contain with no contact. They will try to destroy the structures. Strike to dust and hold the line.”

Below, it was chaos. Citizens fled, their screams splitting the air. Magic tore the cobblestones, the plaza was blood, fire and shadow .

Solirra hovered twenty feet above the plaza, wings stretched wide, flame-orange and copper catching the sun like burning silk.

Aeilanna stood tall on her back, wind whipping her plaits, eyes narrowed in focus.

She lifted one hand, then the other and golden threads unfurled from her fingers, weaving directly into the air beneath her.

Step by step, the magic took shape, thin platforms of light, delicate and sure, suspended in a spiral.

She walked down them like a goddess descending from a blaze, her cloak lifting behind her like a banner of war.

Below, the skeld surged and at the final step, Aeilanna raised her arms, focused on finishing them with spellweaving.

Magic arced out in radiant strands, curling wide, gold silk spun into power.

A dome flared into place mid-air, meant to bind, to hold, to end this before it broke the line.

For a heartbeat, the skeld paused and then they moved.

Some bent backwards, their form cracking at unnatural angles as they slipped between threads.

Others dissolved into flickers of smoke, re-forming beyond the boundary.

Only a handful dropped, writhing, the rest surged forwards, untouched.

Aeilanna’s breath caught and her hands trembled. “No,” she whispered, “that should have held.”

At the signal Maeve and Jeipier dove, and landed with force.

Maeve leapt from his back, blade drawn, the Chain blazing on her wrist. The first skeld she struck hissed and turned to smoke, a boy falling to the floor.

The second lunged low, she spun and cut its throat, watching it fall with a shiver of revulsion, another child.

The Chain pulsed. “There. That one. Closest to the blood. It knows. Mark it.”

Her stomach dropped, but her legs moved through the storm of chaos, through fire and shrieking shadow, she began to run. Her blade knew the rhythm now, her body ready.

“ They are spreading faster than we can kill them. More fire, more blade now.” Roared Xelaini in everyone’s mind. “Brontis, cover Draeven.”

Above, Brontis let out a sonic bellow, high winds running along his stormscale hide as he veered sharply, shadowing Draeven’s descent like a shield of gale.

Taelin and Draeven fell as one, silent and precise.

Halfway through the dive, they vanished.

Draeven’s magic flared cold and clean, cloaking them in veiled shadow.

Even the air stilled around them as their forms blurred into nothing.

Only a flicker of pressure remained in their wake, the whisper of descent.

Dark-blue flames exploded in a ripple around the skeld formation, licking up misted legs and shoulders, binding.

Not burning just immobilising, attempting to hold them in place like prey before the block.

They shrieked and twisted as Taelin struck.

He rolled clean off Draeven’s back, landing with such force it should have cracked the stone.

His sword broad, gleaming and brutal didn’t hesitate.

The Commander charged as three skeld closed in.

The first went down with a clean horizontal sweep, thick black mist smattering the ground.

The second lunged, Taelin twisted low, slicing through it from the hip.

The third almost slamming into him, he shoved it back with a blast of wind magic, but he was already off-balance, boxed in against the wreckage of a toppled cart and a burning beam.

It was too tight, there was no clean line to swing.

The skeld regrouped, circling him, but an iron tipped arrow sang and hit the nearest skeld, dropping it instantly.

Laren, stood on the back of an unpaired dragon, drawn bow already nocked with a second arrow.

“YOU’RE WELCOME!” She shouted, giving Taelin a wink.

Fenric landed a second later, rolling off Rivakar with casual fury.

He swept through the last two with iridescence, slamming one into the wall with a burst of water magic, turned ice and locked the other’s legs with a flick of pure intention from his wrist. Taelin didn’t wait, he surged forwards, both hands gripping the hilt of his massive blade.

With one clean, brutal curve, he cleaved through both subdued skeld in a single strike.

He exhaled, tight, controlled. “I was handling it,” he muttered.

“Sure you were.” Fenric grinned, already turning back to the fray.

“Next time,” Laren called, “try ducking.”

Maeve moved faster, searching. A skeld near the gate wasn’t like the rest, taller and more stable. Its hands sent dark tendrils through the air and the others responded.

Their commander.

Maeve drove her blade forwards, but it wasn’t her sword that broke it.

It was the Chain. A pulse of blinding gold erupted from her wrist, striking the skeld’s face like divine fire, it shrieked as it staggered.

Shattering, and all around them, the lesser ones faltered.

Most dropped instantly while some scattered.

Eiran found her fast. “What was that?”

Maeve’s chest heaved. “It was leading them, the Chain showed me.”

Then, another pulse, more insistent, almost painful .

“Strike the stone beneath the flame. Now!”

She looked and at the centre of the square, a half-buried rune stone glowed faintly and smoke poured from it.

Maeve didn’t question, she ran and lifted her blade, bringing it down.

The sound was like a bell tolling through bone and with it, a column of light burst from the rune.

It surged upward, then outward through Maeve, through the Chain, through the world and everything stopped.

The entirety of the skeld fell and silence rolled in like a tide.

Maeve stood alone, sword lowered, the glow dimming slowly around her and the Chain went quiet.