Page 67 of Heart Cradle
Eiran’s laughter died instantly, snatched from his throat. His spine snapped straight, eyes wide. “Did you hear, ?”
Maeve made another noise, unformed, but unmistakable.
He was across the room before Branfil could blink, vaulting over discarded books and half toppling chairs, knees hitting the floor beside the bed. Maeve stirred, her brow furrowing as if coming out of a long, tangled dream. Her voice rough as dry leaves. “Eiran?”
“I’m here,” he choked, grabbing her hand. “I’m here, love.”
Her fingers twitched, trying to curl around his. Her eyes blinked open, unfocused at first, then slowly sharpening, hazel flickering with confusion… then recognition and he broke with relief. A sharp sound escaped him, tears welled hot and fast, spilling down his cheeks. He crushed her to him, careful of her frailty, arms wrapped around her shoulders, her hair, her back. Holding her like she might vanish again if he didn’t anchor her.
“I thought I lost you,” he breathed into her neck. “Maeve, fuck, I thought…”
She was dazed, still trying to piece things together, but her arms lifted with effort and wrapped around him. Trembling, but there. Branfil had frozen in place, eyes wide in disbelief, then whirled and bolted for the door, shouting down the corridor for Cira and Yendel. Eiran held Maeve as if the entire realm could crash down around them and he wouldn’t care.
She was here.
Awake.
Her voice was barely above a whisper. “You look like shit.”
“You’ve been unconscious for five days, and that’s your first observation?” Eiran laughed through the tears, forehead pressed to hers. “Don’t ever leave me again, Maeve. I mean it. I’ll chain you to my side if I have to.”
She smiled faintly. “Always so dramatic… very on brand.”
Chapter Thirty - The Things We See in Silence
The sun was warm on Maeve’s face as she sat on the garden terrace, tucked into a low cushioned seat with a quilted blanket over her legs. A small table in front of her was laid with tea, jewel-toned fruit, and a platter of honeyed fig pastries that glistened with syrup and spice. Jeipier prowled in the distance, wings twitching and creeping through tall grass like a stalking cat.
“I think he’s hunting another statue,” Eiran said dryly, eyeing him with narrowed eyes.
“He’s definitely locked onto something,” Maeve replied, smiling softly.
King Orilan sat nearby in a carved stone chair, long legs stretched out, a half-eaten pastry in hand. “I’ll be amazed if we get through one afternoon without something getting destroyed.”
“Not the fish sculpture again, Jeipier,” Eiran called.
Hayvalaine, seated gracefully across from Maeve in soft, rose coloured, linen robes, lifted her tea. “Did you know the head gardener nearly quit over that? Called the damage an ‘affront to symmetry.’”
Jeipier chose that moment to pounce, missed entirely, tumbling into a hedge and Maeve stifled a laugh. “He’s enthusiastic, is all.”
“How are you feeling, really?” Eiran asked Maeve delicately as she picked up her tea, fingers curling around the warm cup.
“Stronger and rested, but… I don’t think I really slept. I saw things… snippets,” Maeve said. “Images. Voices. Feelings. I heard about Delvain. I knew it had burned before anyone told me. I felt the heat and heard the screams.”
Eiran’s expression sharpened. “You weren’t dreaming.”
“I know and I saw more.” She glanced at Orilan, then Hayvalaine. “I saw you,” she said to the king. “You and Taelin, in a shaded garden, playing some kind of game with knives and apples.”
Orilan’s brows lifted. “Haven’t done that in decades.”
“I saw it clearly,” Maeve said. “You were sitting beneath a large-leaved tree. The whole courtyard was carved from pale stone and vine-covered and I think you were winning.”
“Of course he was,” Hayvalaine muttered.
“And then I saw here, Elanthir Keep, I think. Huge, palatial and carved right into the cliffs. The towers shimmered like metal, and the wings of a dragon thunder flew over the mountain. It was beautiful, intimidating, but stunning.”
Orilan’s expression had grown serious.
Maeve continued. “Then bodies, of fae scouts. On the border. Faces I didn’t recognise, but I felt grief. I felt yours.”
