Page 87 of Heart Cradle
“Good instincts, Mae,” Nolenne added. “It’s yours now.”
The sparring that followed was relentless, but exhilarating. Maeve’s arms already ached, but she didn’t stop. Muscle memory from her old life folded into the new patterns Soren barked out: parry, pivot, strike, disengage. Her footwork was tighter now, her bladework, sharpening, much less frantic. Nolenne joined in after a few rounds, stretching her shoulders with an audible pop as she stepped into the ring. “Try not to embarrass yourself,” she said, swinging one of her swords in an easy motion.
Maeve smirked. “If I had any dignity left, I might be worried.”
They started slow, testing reach and rhythm, but it didn’t stay friendly for long and blades clanged. Maeve ducked, slid to the side, caught Nolenne’s arm with a glancing blow, then got a boot to the thigh in return. “Ow! Was that necessary?” Maeve gasped.
“Yes,” Nolenne replied cheerfully, already turning for the next strike. “You left your ribs wide open.”
By the third pass, both were sweating and laughing between gritted teeth, too stubborn to stop. Maeve slipped on loose dirt, caught herself on one hand, and popped up just in time to block a downward strike. “Don’t suppose we’re allowed to hit each other with the flat?” she panted.
“Why bother?” Nolenne grinned. “This is character building.”
“Is that what we’re calling suffering these days?” Maeve groaned, standing again.
They broke apart again, circling. Soren called out a correction to Maeve’s elbow placement, and she muttered something unprintable under her breath. “You’ll thank me when you don’t die horribly,” he said.
“When?” Maeve shot back. “That’s comforting.”
By the time Soren finally called a break, Maeve’s plait was falling out, her knuckles were bruised, and her entire upper body felt like it had been trampled by a horse, but she was smiling.
Aeilanna passed her a cup of cool water at the edge of the ring. “You alright?”
Maeve wiped her face on her sleeve and took a long drink. “I’ll live… probably.”
Nolenne appeared beside her, flushed and gleaming with sweat. She picked up a hunk of bread from a tray and bit into it.
“Remind me why we’re doing this again?” Maeve asked, half-collapsing onto the bench.
“Because you’ve got a baby dragon who thinks flying into fire is a strategy,” Nolenne said through a mouthful. “And because we’re all one bad decision away from getting stabbed.”
?????
They walked to the stables shortly after, the sun now high overhead. Aeilanna handed them another cup of water, which they drank greedily. Then Aeilanna turned to Nolenne, a gleam in her eye. “There’s someone waiting for you.”
Nolenne blinked. “For me?”
Maeve raised an eyebrow. “That sounds suspicious.”
Only Soren seemed unsurprised. Inside the stables, resting in sun-drenched straw, lay a massive dragon. Her scales shimmered black with undertones of plum. She exhaled slowly, amused by their stunned silence.
“Hervour,” Aeilanna said gently. “She’s mature, but not yet paired, until now.”
Nolenne stared. “What do you mean, ‘until now’?”
“You’re part of the royal family,” Aeilanna replied. “The King has formally recognised our relationship. As tradition dictates, a dragon is offered to every Melrathian royal. Hervour asked the thunder to be considered for you.”
Maeve gave a low whistle. “Well, I like her already.”
“She chose me?” Nolenne asked, voice cracking slightly.
Hervour gave a slow blink and a puff, almost smug.
“You’ll be able to speak with her after your first flight,” Aeilanna added. “Sometimes during. Sometimes later. It depends on the pairing. Same as Maeve.”
Jeipier trotted in from the outer courtyard, wings flicking playfully. He nudged Maeve’s side, energy practically sparking off his scales. Her smile widened as she laid a hand on his neck, feeling the warmth beneath her fingers. “You’re late,”she thought, glancing sidelong at him.
“You were busy getting knocked on your arse,”he replied in her mind, tone matter-of-fact.
