Page 81 of Heart Cradle (The Melrathen Saga #1)

The long breakfast table in the dining hall of Elanthir Keep was crowded with food and fae alike.

Sunlight spilled through high windows, gilding platters of soft-boiled eggs, smoked river fish, sweet fruits sliced into fans, and thick-cut bread still steaming from the oven.

Clay mugs steamed with black coffee, its sharp scent establishing the morning.

Everyone present, royalty, leaders, and allies, ate without speaking for the first few minutes, their attention split between their plates and the golden map projection hovering above the central hearth.

Glyphs pulsed faintly over the riverbanks and coastlines of Melrathen and Armathen, glowing with unreadable runes.

Maeve sat between Eiran and Hayvalaine, one leg tucked beneath her, nursing a coffee she hadn’t really tasted.

Across from her sat Orilan and Taelin, both quiet and sharp-eyed.

Branfil was farther down, reviewing notes, seated beside Ghaul of the Glimmerhold, who was grinning through a mouthful of eggs.

Laren sat on Ghaul’s other side, elbowing him playfully every few bites.

Fenric, Calen, and Soren silently argued over toast and Aeilanna and Nolenne sat close, shoulders brushing, eyes intense while in quiet conversation with Hayvalaine.

General Kareth spoke first, voice low but cutting through the tension like steel. “If we want to win this war before it swallows us, we start by severing their legs.”

Orilan raised a brow. “Meaning?”

“Logistics,” Kareth said, pushing a slice of smoked trout across his plate. “Disrupt their roads, bridges and food lines. Starve their march, force them to scatter.”

“I agree,” murmured Elenwe. “A slow army is a dead one.”

“That’s a poetic way to describe breaking their bones,” Rinya added, smirking around her coffee cup. “But effective.”

Orilan leaned back. “Then let’s make it more than fucking poetry.”

“I like poetry,” Ghaul said cheerfully, licking grease from his thumb. “Especially the kind that ends with someone’s head rolling off a siege cart. ”

Taelin looked stricken, as if personally offended by the levity.

War had settled across his shoulders like a mantle, and flippancy grated, but fifteen thousand Fayean horn-striders did not.

He cleared his throat, every inch the commander.

“Take your fighters to Maelinar Ridge. There’s ample room at the barracks, the staff will get them settled. ”

Ghaul nodded. “Make sure there’s plenty of ale.”

Laren sniggered beside him. “And wine maidens.”

Elenwe rolled her eyes skyward. “Gods preserve us.”

“You know the way to my heart,” Ghaul said, planting a loud kiss on Laren’s cheek, “and the hearts of every soldier I brought.”

“Yes,” Fenric breathed, doe-eyed. “Bloody wonderful, isn’t she?”

Eiran glanced over with a faint grin. “Fenric, you need to take a cold bath.”

“And maybe repent,” Maeve added into her coffee.

“Hmm, that too,” Calen said.

Orilan’s gestured towards the map. “We’ll need surgical strikes by small teams. No one survives to warn the rest.”

He looked to the side of the table. “Nolenne. Aeilanna. There’s a fortified stone bridge near the Ironpine Valley. Scouts say it carries supplies from Vargen’s northern stockpiles. You two are to find it, collapse it and make it look like sabotage from within.”

Aeilanna inclined her head, already reaching for the map glyph with a flick of her fingers and Nolenne smirked, the expression shadowed by focus. “It’ll be down before nightfall.”

Orilan nodded and then turned his gaze. “Calen. Soren. I want the Avelan scouts at Dirth’s Hollow dead. No signal. No survivors.”

Calen sat straighter. “Fast and clean, or loud and messy?”

“Clean,” Taelin snapped. “We don’t want them to see us coming.”

Soren nodded once. “Consider it done.”

Orilan’s gaze swept down the table. “Fenric and Laren. Disrupt their stones. I want every transport and relay stone in the eastern reaches non-functional by this evening. That means sabotage, interference runes and anchor cracks. Whatever it takes. No fae jumps between fucking camps. ”

He opened his mouth to continue, but Taelin spoke first, his tone calm and measured. “Laren can’t fly with Iskarra yet. They haven’t trained together in the air.”

“Rivakar will carry you both,” Branfil added, glancing at Fenric. “He’s used to tandem flight. You’ll have a steadier ride and better focus.”

Fenric looked at Laren and licked his lips. “Sounds like a joyride to me.”

Laren rolled her eyes. “Try not to fall off, we’re not circling back for your corpse.”

“Yes, well, make sure he’s strapped in please, Laren,” Orilan said dryly. “Especially if he’s just going to whimper after you like a lovesick pup the whole way”

A few of the leaders groaned or chuckled, just enough to ease the tension crackling through the air like old parchment.

Taelin spoke again, still scribbling notes with calm precision. “We’ll need coordination between teams. Secure return points. I’ll place runners at the fallback stone lines.”

“Isn’t that risky?” Maeve asked, tilting her head. “What if Avelan tracks them?”

“They won’t,” Branfil said simply. “Not if I write the runes myself.”

Soren smiled faintly. “God’s help their cartographers.”

Maeve smirked, then glanced to Orilan. “And the main force?”

Orilan tapped the map once, and a larger glyph flared, pulsing near the northern plains of Melrathen.

“We let them keep marching south, keep them pinned in the pass. Let them think we’re uncoordinated.

Then we’ll strike, after we’ve scattered their resources, severed their scouts, and blinded their transports. ”

“We must hit them when they’re at their weakest,” Taelin added. “The hammer can only fall once.”

Silence settled for a moment, heavy and final, then Hayvalaine, raised her cup. “To bridges burned and wars won.”

The dining hall doors creaked open and Yendel entered quietly, the hem of his ink-dark robes brushing the stone. He was taller than most fae in the room, his presence was gentle, but never small. He paused just inside the threshold and bowed low. “Your Majesty,” he said, voice gravel-soft.

Orilan looked up, his expression easing. “Ah, Yendel. Yes. Come in.”

The magicer stepped forwards, folding his hands behind his back.

His eyes flicked briefly towards Maeve, then Eiran, before settling again on the king.

Orilan leaned forwards, fingers steepled.

“The new princess,” he said, gesturing towards Maeve, “has made a rather unusual companion. I hear the Thunder are calling her Chainling.”

A murmur stirred down the table. Several heads turned, curious again. Maeve blushed, deeply.

Bloody Xelaini.

“We need to understand what it is. And what it’s becoming. Its intentions, its will,” Orilan continued, his voice softening, though steel edged every word. “She is bound to us, and to something far older. I will not have her sacrificed by accident, or made a pawn of relics best left buried.”

Maeve stiffened slightly in her seat.

Yendel drew a small scroll from his sleeve and unfurled it midair.

The runes fluttered faintly, pulsing with layered protective magic.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “As you know, I’ve been thinking about this for some time.

We’ve spoken at length with the Runekeepers.

Yesterday, they sent word, they’re now ready to see you. ”

He looked to Maeve. “If you’re willing, we can take a transport stone there and back, you’ll be home by mid-afternoon.”

Maeve glanced at the map, then nodded. “And they think they have answers?”

“Yes.” Yendel said quietly, “It’s time to ask the right questions.”

Eiran sat forwards. “Then we’ll go.”

“No,” Taelin said sharply. “Eiran, you’re needed here. For the strikes, for command. You are a prince of Melrathen, not a courier.”

Eiran’s eyes went cold. “She is my mate.”

“And you are a leader,” Taelin snapped.

Maeve opened her mouth, but Orilan raised a hand and the room stilled.

“I understand both sides,” the king said slowly.

“But this isn’t just sentimental. The Chain turned the tide during yesterday’s…

disturbance. We need to know what it’s capable of, and what it might cost. If it becomes unstable, or worse, sentient in a way we cannot control. ..”

Eiran’s jaw was tight, trying to manage the urge to protect his mate. “Then I’ll send a double,” he said, voice low.

Branfil leaned forwards, calm as ever. “He means me.”

Eiran turned to him. “If I can’t go, Bran does. He’s trained in intention defence. If anything touches her…”

Maeve squeezed his hand gently. “I’ll be safe, Eiran. I trust Yendel and Bran with my life.”

“You better be safe,” Fenric muttered. “We just got you in a crown.”

“Are you implying I’m high maintenance?” Maeve said, arching a brow.

Fenric grinned. “I’m implying that if you die on us, Eiran will be so insufferable we’ll have to throw him off a tower, then you’ll both be dead.”

“Fair,” said Calen, without looking up from his toast.

Orilan raised a hand again. “Enough, leave for the Runekeepers now. The rest of us prepare to make war.”

“Or make love,” Ghaul added with a grin, leaning back in his chair and lifting his mug. “Either will suffice.”

He sent a wink down the table to Chiefess Rinya of Tidehaven and she didn’t miss a beat, tipping her head lazily towards Taelin. “Commander, see to it my tent’s pitched near Ghaul’s. Strictly for… tactical alignment, of course.”

Taelin looked like he wished the table would swallow him whole, especially as Ghaul grabbed his crotch with theatrical flair.

Across the room, Hayvalaine’s father, Veralis of Eldrisil raised a graceful hand. “And what would you have the rest of us do, Your Majesty? Our forces await orders.”

Orilan straightened, his tone shifting back to command. “All allied forces are to move to the Maelinar Ridge barracks. There’s a bay large enough to harbour the Storm Coasts. Aeilanna has shielded the entire site, its completely cloaked from the Pale Court’s scouts. They won’t sense our numbers. ”

“The barracks are reinforced with layered wards,” Aeilanna added. “Twelve transport stones anchor the main hall, and the bay holds one as well. We can dispatch entire wings in under a minute.”

Eiran nodded. “It’s where we last staged a campaign. Well defended and fast.”

Ghaul let out a low, satisfied whistle. “My Fayean bastards will like it there.” He shot a grin towards Rinya. “Especially with Storm Coast fighters nearby.”

Thalen of Edhenvale sipped his coffee. “Then we’d best hope the barracks survive us.”