Page 59 of Heart Cradle
“Then consider it a compliment to your taste,” Fenric replied with a crooked grin. “Maeve’s still here. She’s glowing, which is weird, but glowing’s probably better than bleeding.”
The door swung open again and Aeilanna strode in barefoot and wild-eyed, her emerald dress wrinkled, her hair loose around her shoulders, faint sigils glimmering at her wrists.
“I felt her,” she said, voice taut with urgency. “Through the threads of my weaving, something tore open.”
Her eyes dropped to Maeve and she moved towards the bed, her palms already glowing with thin golden thread. “Oh, Mae,” she breathed.
She reached for Maeve, only for Eiran to lurch forwards, arm outstretched. “Don’t touch her.”
“She’s not just yours, Eiran,” Aeilanna’s eyes cut to his, sharp. “I know her, I sat beside her in that cell and I heard things from her I’m sure you haven’t. I watched her break in pain and I watched her hold herself together with nothing. So back off!”
Eiran flinched as if struck and Fenric’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “Let her,” he murmured.
Aeilanna didn’t wait. She lowered to the bed, palms hovering just over Maeve’s chest. Fine threads of light spooled from her fingertips, webs of diagnostic spells, stabilising filaments, soft, intricate and sure. After abreathless pause, she exhaled. “She’s stable. Her energy is settling, not flaring. The Chain seems to be integrating, but she’s not in danger.”
Eiran sagged forwards, burying his face in his hands. “Thank the gods.”
But Aeilanna didn’t move away, her hands hovered and eyes narrowed. “I’ve seen power flares before, but not like this. Not with the Chain. It didn’t just respond, I think it evolved. The runes and sigils it cast weren’t all old. Some were new, ones I’ve never seen. Ones I think she forged, mid-surge.”
“What does that mean?” Eiran asked, barely daring to look up.
“I don’t know, but it’s not just magic anymore. It’s a relationship. Her connection to the Chain is active. It seems responsive, perhaps sentient.” Aeilanna’s gaze found his again, steady and unflinching. “That’s not something we can understand, not yet at least.”
She sat back on her heels. “I’m writing to the Runekeepers in Eldmire. We need to study this connection, how it formed, what it’s doing to her, and what it could mean. It could be a gift, or it could be a danger.”
Eiran brushed Maeve’s hair from her brow, lips trembling. “She’s not a danger.”
“I know that,” Aeilanna said gently. “But the Chain may be, and it’s better we face that head-on, rather than pretend it’s just a pretty antique bracelet. It may have been kept in the vault for a reason we don’t remember.”
Fenric let out a breath and clapped a hand gently on Eiran’s back.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You didn’t break her. You just witnessed her becoming something more. You saw her light up, that’s terrifying, yeah, but it’s also fucking beautiful.”
Chapter Twenty-Five – Not Mine to Mend
The head healer, Cira, and Yendel, the head magicer, arrived within ten minutes, cloaked in robes woven with spellthread, their presence was commanding but gentle. Eiran barely looked at them as they entered. His eyes were only on Maeve, still glowing faintly, chest rising with slow, even breaths. He stood aside reluctantly, letting them work. Letting strangers place their hands on his mate while he clenched his fists and focused on not tearing the room apart with nerves and waiting. Cira, a tall female fae with golden eyes and hands that pulsed with warmth, turned towards him after her initial assessment.
“As the Princess said, she is well,” she said softly. “She has undergone a complete fae awakening. Natural, but extremely intense. Her mind and body are adjusting to the sudden change in magic. It is unusual for it to be so delayed and then arrive so forcefully, but she is strong.”
“Yes, she is,” Eiran murmured, heart aching with pride and guilt in equal measure.
The magicer, Yendel, a large, greying fae, nodded, finishing a delicate scan of the residual energy in the room. “There is no blockage, no curse and no harm. She was simply waiting. Perhaps her soul was waiting for the right moment, or for the clarity of her own desire. Her capture by Avelan may have disrupted the natural sequence, but all is well.”
Eiran stared down at Maeve, his jaw tightening. “She’ll wake soon?”
The healer’s expression became regretful. “She may sleep for a time. Her body is conserving energy. The shift required more from her than any of us anticipated. A week, maybe less, but I’m sure no more than that.”
A week, another week without her.
They had only shared two nights together, but he felt like the air had been ripped from the room. He would have to wait.
Again.
Cira stepped closer, hesitating before speaking. “She bears old wounds. Human ones. Faint, but still felt under the surface. I can remove them, if you wish.”
Eiran froze, as she gestured towards Maeve’s ribs, her abdomen, her legs, the scar beneath her shoulder. “From what I can tell there are knife wounds, whip marks and burn scarring. They were healed with human methods, but I may be able to erase them entirely if you wish.”
He saw it, flashes of that night Maeve had barely spoken of. The night they dared to touch her, hurt her and leave her broken and dying, alone. Rage that was black and all-consuming, ripped through him, his vision sharpened and the air crackled with suppressed magic. He wanted blood. No… he wanted screams. He wanted to find the ones responsible and unmake them. Not with a blade, not with magic but with his hands. Not with mercy but, with utter tortuous ruin. It would be slow, excruciatingly so, and with his great fucking pleasure.
