Page 78 of Heart Cradle
Eiran didn’t look, he couldn’t, but Branfil was right. The Chain wrapped tight around Maeve’s wrist now, once warm with light, had turned a dull, a tarnished silver. The black stones no longer pulsed, they were as lifeless as her.
They crashed into the healers’ quarters in a blur of doors and shouts. Cira, stood with tightly plaited white hair and sharp eyes, already waiting. “On the bed. Now!” she barked, clearing the way, doing away with any formalities.
Eiran laid Maeve down, hands trembling, blood-slick fingers brushing her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, barely. “Maeve, stay with me.” His voice cracked. “We’re not done, we’ve hardly begun.”
She tried to speak, lips trembling, but no sound came. Only a wet rasp as blood welled in her mouth and dripped down her chin. Her hand twitched towards his, but she was slipping fast. Cira leaned over her, assessing the wound with brutal efficiency. “The blade is lodged against the lung. If I pull it, she’ll drown in her own blood before I can seal the tissue.”
Taelin’s fists were clenched so tight they shook. “Then what do we do?”
“You remove the sword with care,” Cira snapped. “With your magic, you’re strongest in precision, Taelin. You draw it out, gently, or she dies. It’s all we can do for her.”
“Okay.” Taelin whispered, voice wrecked. “Just tell me what to do and when to do it.”
“Branfil, vials from the silver rack. Two blue, one black. Now.”
Branfil ran and a second later, the door flew open again. Soren stormed in, wide-eyed and breathless. His eyes landed on Maeve and he froze for half a heartbeat before rushing to Eiran’s side.
Cira moved with purpose, mauve skirts rustling as she crossed the room to her satchel. Her hands were steady, her expression unreadable but focused. From a narrow inner pouch, she drew a small red leather-bound box, she removed a dark blue velvet bundle, no larger than a plum. With great care, she unwrapped it, careful not to touch the contents. Inside sat a small stone the colour of deep amethyst, etched with tiny yellow gold runes that shimmered faintly with an inner pulse, making the air around it seem to drone.
Taelin’s eyes widened. “Is that…”
Cira gave a short nod. “Painstone, one use, if misapplied deadly to all around.” She turned back towards Maeve, voice quieter now. “It will staunch the bleeding, but the pain… she will feel every second of the magic burning her blood, scorching her very being, it will be absolute agony.”
Eiran clenched his jaw. “Fuck… just do it now, p-please.”
Cira stepped to the bed, holding the stone with the velvet, above Maeve’s brow. “Hold her,” she said softly. “She’ll need you, Eiran.”
Cira took a steadying breathe before pressing the stone to Maeve’s forehead murmuring something old and unknown. The reaction was instant, Maeve’s back bowed violently, her body arching off the bed as if struck by lightning. A sound tore from her throat, a wail that was raw and shattering. It was the sound of something being burned away and Eiran flinched as though he had been struck, tightening his grip around her as she thrashed in his arms.
“STOP!” he bellowed, the sound hoarse and breaking and he lunged forwards, reaching for the stone, for Cira, for anything to end it. Soren slammed into Eiran from the side, arms locking around him in a brutal hold. Eiran fought like a wild creature, teeth bared, every instinct in him screaming to protect her. “She’ll live,” Soren growled in his ear, muscles straining as Eiran bucked in his grip. “If you want her to live, let her scream.”
Maeve convulsed again, her body jerking. Her nails dug into his forearm, her eyes blown and sightless, mouth open in a now silent cry. The Chain around her wrist pulsed violently, its light sparking like fire caught in a storm. Eiran roared, thrashing, wild with helpless fury, his magic flared unchecked, rattling the bottles and vials on the wall, cracking a lantern overhead. His mate bond straining, urging him to fight and protect her.
“Eiran!” Taelin barked. “Control yourself or you’ll kill all of us, you stupid bastard!”
Maeve shuddered violently again, her jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth. Each breath rasped wetly, blood frothing at her mouth and spilling down to meet the crimson tide pouring from the open wound in her chest where flesh split, and pulsed with every beat of her failing heart. Her hand reached for something, anything and Eiran broke free just enough to take it. “I’m here, love.”
Blood though slowing, still ran in rivers down the table. The sword still jutted from her chest glowed violet, showing a cruel, gleaming truth.
Death, certain death.
Maeve’s body shook again and again beneath the stone, her teeth ground together as another wave of pain cracked through her chest. Her eyes bulged, locking eyes with Eiran, as if urging him to help her, to save her from the agony. Eiran clutched her hand tighter, knuckles white, kissing the skin on the back of her hand. “I’m here, love. Don’t leave.”
Cira leaned closer, eyes narrowed, voice cutting through the panic. “Taelin. Now.”
He hesitated only a second, then he stepped forwards, face pale, jaw clenched and nodded, raising both hands above the wound.
“Gods, please guide me,” he murmured under his breath, an old invocation, runes on his ring flashed. “Not to strike, but to free.”
Then he gritted his teeth and began the removal and the room held its breath. His magic, pure and sharp, shimmered at his fingertips. He didn’t pull the sword, instead, it slid free in perfect silent accuracy, clattering to the floor. A blinding flash of gold-white magic erupted outward from the Chain, swallowing the room in radiant force.
The air cracked with soundless pressure, and everyone staggered back, struck by an invisible wave. Shields went up instinctively, arms raised, magic flared, anything to protect against the searing brilliance that spilled like a sun igniting indoors. Runes burst into life, hundreds of them, glowing sigils in foreign scripts, spiralling from the Chain in swarms of molten gold. They moved with purpose, orbiting Maeve’s body in perfect, pulsing patterns. Some spun faster, some slower, all drawn to her like planets pulled to gravity. The temperature dropped sharply as light and magic collided in the air, sucking heat from the room even as power surged.
Maeve’s body rose a few inches off the bed, suspended in a cocoon of swirling light. Her hair floated weightless around her face, lips parted and skin glowing faintly from within. The Chain had come alive, no longer just a metal artefact. It was spellwork made flesh, intent, legacy and fury forged into form and at its centre, Maeve did not scream, she just burned.
Then a primal sound came, like a low chime, deep not magical, the light faded and then the room was still.
Maeve lay flat on the healer’s table, her clothes were torn and soaked, beneath them her skin was slick with blood but whole, healed and unbroken. The wound was gone, no gash, no bruising, just a faint raised line where the blade had pierced her only minutes ago. Her breathing was now steady, slow and calm. Eiran blinked in disbelief, one hand drifting to her cheek, warm and alive.
