Page 153 of Heart Cradle
Taelin’s eyes drifted closed for a beat, exhaling. “Good.”
There was a pause, then Orilan tilted his head slightly. “You didn’t see it, did you?” he said. “What the Chain did.”
Taelin cracked one eye. “The Chain?”
Orilan sat forwards, just enough drama to make it clear he’d been waiting to tell someone. “It enrobed Maeve in armour.”
“What?”
“Full body, feet to chin. Gold-veined, looked like some ancient fae war goddess. Walked right through the fire line and swung her bloody blade like she’d wielded it for centuries.”
Taelin swore. “Maeve’s alright?”
Orilan’s smile broke through. “She is. Little scraped, not nearly as bad as she should be. That Chain, whatever it is, it’s protecting her and the realm.”
Taelin shook his head, stunned. “That thing just keeps developing. I don’t know how to feel about it.”
“Neither do I. It keeps growing and its making me feel… uncomfortable,” Orilan agreed. “Which is why we’ve summoned Vaelwyn and Callix to Elanthir.”
Taelin blinked. “The High Runekeeper and the convergence theorist?”
“Hmm.” Orilan leaned back. “Both on their way. They’re not happy about leaving Eldmire though. We’ll convene when they arrive, Yendel thinks the Chain isn’t done changing and I agree. He said it’ll start to integrate with Jeipier soon, especially when she’s flying.”
Taelin raised a brow. “He’s saying Maeve might shield her dragon mid-air with that thing that we used to keep in a vault?”
Orilan nodded. “That’s the hope. We’re testing it at first light.”
Taelin gave a low whistle. “Gods, she’s going to hate that.”
“Oh, I know,” Orilan said, smiling faintly. “Which is exactly why I’m not the one telling her.”
Taelin shifted on the pillows, wincing a little, but his eyes tracked his father with familiar precision.
“You look like shit,” he said hoarsely.
Orilan raised a brow, deadpan. “Charming.”
“You need sleep.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
“Which will be sooner than it ought to be if you keep wearing that armour like it’s a second skin.” Taelin muttered.
Orilan grunted, lifting one shoulder. “Oh son, but my first skin’s far prettier.”
Taelin rolled his eyes, then hissed softly at the movement. “Gods, stop talking. You’re making me laugh again.”
“Then stop insulting your betters.”
“Not better, you’re just older, and more wrinkled.”
Orilan laughed and then he stepped closer, hand bracing gently on the edge of the bed. There was a pause, a beat where nothing needed saying. Then Orilan reached down and without ceremony, pressed a kiss to Taelin’s brow, not as a king, just as a father.
“I’ll be back later,” he said softly.
Taelin nodded, eyes warm. “Thank you, Pa.”
Orilan turned towards the door, pausing only to lift his voice with surprising strength. “Cira!”
