Page 125 of Heart Cradle
She hadn’t hesitated. Not once, and that frightened her because she was recovering. She knew that, she had noticed the grey was lifting. The nightmares were less frequent, she could breathe now without flinching. She could laugh, kiss and want, she could live.
“I don’t want killing to come easy, even when it’s right. Even when it’s the only choice. I don’t want to stop feeling it.” She said, voice barely above breath. “I think I’m okay. I think I’m getting better, but sometimes I’m not sure what parts of me are healing… and what parts are just going numb.”
Maeve stared at the breach in the wall, at what it had cost. She hadn’t heard the door open behind her. She didn’t need to, she knew the sound of his boots. Felt the shift in the air as he paused in the doorway. Eiran didn’t speak or move closer. He just stood there for a long moment, then crossed the balcony and sat on the stone rail, silent and steady.
Maeve didn’t look at him at first, but when she did, their eyes met. His were full of tears not yet shed, held with quiet care, his jaw was tight, but his gaze was open. She didn’t look away. Her own eyes were raw from the bath, not just from crying, at least not in any purposeful way, but tears had come anyway.
Grief has its own currents, sometimes you must swim against them and sometimes you must float.
“I knew the ceremony was political, I knew that and I told myself it didn’t matter.” she said, voice low as the wind stirred her hair. “I told myself that even if it was for the realm, if it was to be for legacy, spectacle and duty, it could still be ours. That we’d still find the joy in it.”
She swallowed.
“And we did. It was ours.” Her voice cracked.
“I was proud to stand with you. Proud to be seen, the realm welcoming me. I think they like me, and I want to fight for them. I chose to fight for them.” Her eyes stayed on the distant breach. “But it still hurts that it was today. That on the day I became yours, I was made to kill.”
The blanket slipped slightly down one shoulder, she didn’t move to pull it back.
“I know they were skeld. I know they weren’t fae anymore, but they were once, and I destroyed them. I followed the Chain, I chose my strikes and I didn’t hesitate.”
She turned back to him then. Her voice was shaking. “I hate the Pale Court for that. For planning it this way, for trying to steal the one thing that was meant to be ours.”
Eiran still said nothing, he just watched her, eyes blinking fast.
Maeve rose, the blanket slipped lower and caught just at the swell of her hips. Bare torso kissed by moonlight, scars and marks highlighted. She stepped across the stone floor, barefoot and unguarded, and moved to him. She didn’t speak, she just stepped between his knees, wrapped her arms around his waist, and lowered her head into his lap.
Eiran curled forwards without hesitation, cradling her, his fingers sliding into her hair and forehead resting gently against the crown of her head. They stayed like that for a long while, the bells rang once more, and then, his voice broken, barely a whisper. “I am full of rage. I hate that Vargen planned it for today, that he tried to take it from us.”
He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head faintly. “But the truth is… this day wasn’t really ours.”
His hands moved gently, slowly, through her damp hair. “Our day was at the Cottage, love. That day is seared into my heart, that was the day we chose each other fully. That was our bond, that was my joy.” His voice thinned. “And when the bells rang, when I saw the Chain flare, gods, Maeve. I thought I’d lost you again. I thought he was going to rob me of you.”
A shaky breath broke across his lips, almost a stifled cry. “I thought he’d take you from me, or me from you… once again.”
Maeve turned her face against him, pressing her closed mouth to the fabric of his tunic, then she looked up. “Are we selfish?” she asked. “For wanting the day?”
Eiran’s mouth twisted, half a laugh, half a sob. “No, Maeve, we are not selfish.” He leaned closer, their foreheads nearly touching. “You can feel grief for those who fell. You can mourn a broken city, and you can feel rage for a joy that was stolen. You can feel all of that together, and it won’t mark your heart. I promise.”
She reached up, brushing a tear from the corner of his eye, and kissed him, gently and full of love. The action was of quiet gratitude, of peace.
Eiran held her tightly, and murmured. “Do you trust me?”
Her answer came without hesitation. “Always.”
He smiled, and then fell back, taking her with him as he tipped off the edge of the balcony. Maeve gasped, clutching him, the world tilting violently, wind rushed around her in a sudden roar. She squeezed her eyes shut, and felt it, the thrum beneath her bare legs, the deep pulse of wingbeat and heat.
Xelaini.
The Nyxshade caught them with impossible grace, her massive wings slicing through the night. Her scales shimmered darkly beneath them, magic rippling in her wake.
Maeve let out a stunned gasp and Eiran lifted her, steadying their position on the dragon’s back. She turned to him, wind snapping the blanket under her. “What in the fuck was that?”
Eiran’s grin was bright and boyish, hair windblown and now eyes glowing. “A surprise.”
Maeve narrowed her eyes. “Eiran, throwing your naked mate off a balcony isn’t usually how surprises go.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight – The Storm Table
