Page 113 of Heart Cradle
Taelin didn’t look at him, his gaze was fixed on the fire. “A fucking hideous thing. Coiled around a broken crown, its scales looked freshly painted. This isn’t subterfuge any longer, it’s becoming spectacle.”
Eiran’s hands curled into fists. “He wants us to know he’s close.”
Orilan’s fingers tapped once against his glass. “Vargen’s always been more beast than king, but even beasts know patience when hunting.”
Eiran pushed to his feet, pacing once across the thick rug. “So what’s his plan? Rattle our gates until we flinch, or draw us into a trap on open ground?”
Taelin’s reply was quiet, controlled. “He wants a reaction. A bastard declaration. If we strike first, he can paint us as the aggressors. Rally the fringe territories. He wants to fracture us.”
Orilan gave a slow, considering nod, eyes never leaving the map. “We can’t strike first.”
Eiran turned to him sharply. “You want us to wait? While his forces mass at our borders. While our villages grow nervous and whispers of war bloom like rot.”
Taelin’s voice didn’t rise. “I want us to act intelligently. Not impulsively, Eiran.”
“You mean politically.” Eiran sneered.
“I mean strategically.” Taelin finally looked at him. Their eyes met, so alike but of different elements, fire and frost. “If Vargen’s making a show of force, he’s either bluffing or ready. Either way, we will not waste lives chasing spectres.”
Orilan gestured to the tokens on the map. “We reinforce the Galthorn ridge. Quietly mobilise supply lines and increase screiven and dragon rotations along the border.”
“They’re already circling nightly,” Eiran said, still pacing. “They saw torch lines in the northern woods two nights ago. Much too disciplined for bandits.”
Orilan’s fingers flexed. “Then we watch closer. Tighten our hold on the northern wards. Have the magicers double-check the illusion barriers and insist the Runekeepers contribute. If Vargen means to cross into Melrathen, he will find we are not unprepared.”
He leaned forwards now, and the fire caught in his eyes, the strategist of old, emerging with the quiet menace of a drawn bow. “Caution is not weakness. Neither is resolve blunted by fear. If war comes, it will be because he made it so, not because we stumbled into it.”
A beat of silence, then another.
Eiran exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his dark hair. His mind flicked briefly to Maeve, her steady strength, her mate bond, her gilded-tie to the realm. He thought of the others too, Fenric’s smile dulled by worry, Laren’s arrows finding marks in the backs of Avelans and Soren laughing too loudly to cover his fear.
They are ready.
Orilan raised his glass, the motion was simple, but in it lay a cutting edge. “To sharp eyes,” he said. “And sharper patience.”
Taelin and Eiran lifted their whiskey murmuring, “to burn and to shield.”
Chapter Fifty-One – Skeld
Eiran moved quickly through the darkened corridors of Elanthir Keep, each step echoing off the time-smoothed stone. The political theatre with his father and grandfather still clung to him, but he cast it off with every stride. He needed to be back in his tower, with Maeve. His pulse quickened at the thought of her presence, her steadying touch. She was his anchor now, and the spark that made his soul feel real. Every step that brought him closer to her eased the knots in his chest, but a part of him still carried the tension of the war.
The hallway ahead twisted, lit only by dim, floating faelights flickering along the ceiling. The larger torches had guttered out hours ago, and most of the Keep slept. Silence pressed close, disturbed only by his own breath and the soft sound of his boots on stone. He turned the corner and stopped dead, a large black shape stood at the far end of the corridor. Still and watching, a mass, taller than any guard and cloaked in shadow. No identifying armour, no visible face, just a void.
Eiran’s instincts surged, as his hand went to his sword, drawing it in one smooth motion as his mind reached out across the bond.“Xelaini.”
Her response was immediate, clipped with focus.“Little One, what is it?”
“Intruder. End of the far east corridor.”Eiran thought.“I want eyes in the sky. Wake the thunder.”
“Done.”
Eiran’s voice rang loud and commanding into the still air. “Identify yourself.”
Silence.
“Show yourself.”
The black shape remained unmoving, then too suddenly it lunged and Eiran stepped back. Instinctively slamming his palm against the cold stone wall beside him, gathering will and breath and magic surged through him like a spark catching flame.
