Page 79 of Heart Cradle
She was alive.
Soren took an instinctive step back, glancing from Maeve to the Chain, which again glowed with its now customary soft, golden light. “That’s not natural,” Soren murmured. “That’s not just magic.”
Cira stared, silent for once, then she gave a soft, distracted hum, as if trying to remember something long forgotten. “That should have killed her,” she said finally. “The blade, the trauma, the painstone, all of it. It was a rash decision, a final reach.”
Taelin breathing hard, his hands were trembling, not from exhaustion, but concern. “You risked her further on a bloody gamble?”
“There was no other option. It just felt as if I had to, something told me to. I don’t know Taelin… I just had to try… I had to.” Cira answered looking nervous, her bloodied hands clasped at her waist.
There was a long moment of thought and finally Taelin whispered, still staring at Maeve. “Thank you Cira, forgive me.”
He then slowly, dropped to one knee beside the healer’s bed. “I swear the fealty of my lands, my crown and myself to her,” he said, voice rough, gaze still locked on Maeve’s face. “As witness to this moment, the Gods can attest. As proof of what she is, as proof of what she will be. I will protect her at all costs and all those who protect her, fight alongside her, are my sworn-bound. I am charged to burn and to shield and I shall.”
More shocked silence followed and no one moved. Eiran stared at him, stunned but something in him knew this was right. That Maeve wasn’t just the centre of his world anymore, she was now something far more.
Soren, Branfil and Cira knelt together uttering, “To burn and to shield, sworn-bound.”
Cira slowly stood and carefully lifted the painstone from Maeve’s forehead, her touch soft. The runes were now dim, its glow fading to almost nothing. She cupped it in her palm a moment, then passed it to Eiran without a word and he looked at it, frowning. “You should have it set in a ring,” she said softly. “It’s tradition for the healed one’s most treasured to wear it. To honour outwardly, the stone that saved them. It’s symbolic, of survival, of devotion and of defying death.”
Eiran’s throat worked as he swallowed, staring at the small stone now dull in his hand. “She’ll laugh at that drama of it,” he murmured. “But I’ll explain it to her.”
?????
Taelin had left a few minutes ago, striding from the room to inform the King and Soren and Branfil had followed, their expressions withdrawn, already preparing the keep for their incoming prisoner.
Eiran remained, he hadn’t moved from Maeve’s side. His clothes were still soaked with her blood as he sat beside the healer’s bed in silence, head bowed, murmuring thanks to the gods and the magic.
Cira emptied vials into a bowl of warm water and brought it over to the bed and carefully, he dipped a cloth in mixture and cleaned the blood from her neck and face, each pass tender, his fingers trembling as he worked, as if each stroke might bring her back a little more. The chaos had passed, but inside him, everything still screamed. He had carried her here in his arms. Had thought she was dying, he had felt her slipping through his fingers and Eiran dropped the cloth in the bowl and sat back, running a hand down his face, trying to gather himself.
“You know,” Maeve rasped, “I can’t seem to wake up without you being the first fucking thing I see.”
His head snapped up. Maeve’s eyes were heavy-lidded and watery, but scanning his face. Her lips tugged into a crooked smile. Eiran let out a whoosh of air, leaning over her, brushing damp hair from her forehead. “Love...”
“Did we win?” she interrupted.
“You didn’t die,” he said thickly. “So yes, I think that counts, my darling girl.”
She groaned softly, fingers curling weakly around his. “What happened? Last thing I remember, pain. So much sodding pain, then shouting. Then… Jeipier?”
He laughed again, breathless this time. “Yeah. Jeipier nearly tore a male in half, and Xelaini looked disappointed she didn’t get to do it herself. They’re both safe and on their way with him.”
Maeve blinked slowly, her gaze drifting towards the ceiling. “Remind me to give them a steak each.”
“You can give them the whole fucking herd,” Eiran said. “You scared the shit out of me, out of all of us.”
Her eyes found his again, softer now. “You stayed… again.”
He nodded. “Always.”
She reached for him weakly, fingers brushing his chest. Her eyes were already fluttering shut, exhaustion dragging her under. “Tell me the rest later, Eiran,” she murmured.
“I will,” he promised. “Sleep now, love. Just sleep.”
As her breathing evened out again, Eiran looked down at the painstone in his hand. The one that had saved her, the one that would never glow again. He turned it slowly between his fingers. Maeve’s chest rose and fell in slow and steady breaths, peaceful. The blood on her chest was drying now, Cira had said the wound that should have killed her was gone, like it had never existed. Eiran stared at the rhythm of her breath and his shoulders began to shake. Silent at first, just a tremble, just a breath, but then it hit,
A tide too vast to bear.
He bowed his head, pressing his forehead to the back of her hand, desperate to feel her skin. To prove she was still there. Still warm, still breathing. He tried to hold it in, but the dam cracked, it broke as he broke and a sob tore from his throat, sharp and brutal. Then another, and another. Each one louder, rougher and ragged than the one before. They seemed to be pulled from the depths of a soul that had been stretched far too thin.
