Page 101 of Heart Cradle
She was right.
Aeilanna slipped away to speak with a cloaked figure at the back, something about spellweaving access and a private conduit on the Storm Coasts, Maeve didn’t ask. When she returned, she had a fresh tankards and cheeks already flushed with warmth.
They drank, deeply and ale turned into feasting, then into shots of some fae spirit that tasted like burning ice and strawberries. The three of them slid into a booth beneath a window that looked out on a city humming with moonlight. They talked until the tavern dimmed around them, until even the music softened into memory.
On the walk back, Maeve glanced up and spotted a silhouette gliding high above the rooftops.
“Xelaini,” she muttered.
“Eiran must have sent her to shadow us,” Nolenne said. “He’s so bloody predictable.”
“Mates.” Aeilanna said with a mock grimace.
Maeve wanted to be annoyed, but instead, she felt something warmer. Not surveillance, just... care, even if it was unnecessary she understood the urges of the mate bond.
“He means well,” she said. “And I’m not exactly subtle when I need grounding.”
They walked in silence for a time. Then Nolenne said lightly, “We’re going to have an official binding.”
Maeve looked between them.
Aeilanna was glowing, a lot from drink, a little from something deeper. “Not until long after yours. Don’t worry, and not here. Because of my spellweaving, we’ll need to go to one of the Storm Isles. There’s a cove where the currents wrap around the vows.”
“Gods,” Maeve whispered. “That sounds beautiful.”
“It does,” Nolenne said, with a wide grin.
They walked further. Maeve asked about the other realms, their magic, their leaders and their alliances. Aeilanna and Nolenne answered easily, they spoke of Eldrisil, of Veralis, Aeilanna’s maternal grandfather, who ruled with silence and knowing. Of Edhenvale, veiled in forest and illusion. Of Armathen, harsh and honest and carved from stone, of the Storm Coasts, wild and loud and fiercely loyal.
And, of course, of Avelan, the mostly iced scar to the north.
Maeve listened, absorbed in it all, she wanted to visit these places, immerse herself in the cultures. She realised then that she had only just scratched the surface of the Fae Lands and she wanted to see it all, with Eiran, with her family. When they reached the Keep’s gate, Aeilanna leaned against the wall with a dramatic sigh. “One last thing,” she said, voice now slurred with fondness and too much ale. “The Chain. We’re still in contact with the Runekeepers, they’re ready to meet. But not drunk.”
Nolenne snorted. “Speak for yourself.”
Maeve laughed. “Fine, Chain talk tomorrow. Tonight, I just want to remember what it feels like to be free.”
?????
Towards the end of the week, Maeve and Eiran joined the others in the firelit drawing room. Aeilanna, Nolenne, Soren, Calen, Fenric and Branfil all sprawled across cushions and low couches, voices weaving together like a net of warmth. And yet, beneath it all, tension curled. Davmon hadn’t broken and Eiran still hadn’t let Maeve near him and it irked her. Not because she needed control, but because she understood what silence could mean, she’d been on the other side of that table before. Eiran, Calen, and Fenric had spent hours in the dungeons. They’d tried everything, menace and mercy, truth and lies. They’d extracted the truth from every other Avelan soldier, false trails, masking magic and planned delays. But Davmon said nothing, he remained shackled, bruised, and defiant.
Eiran couldn’t hide his frustration.
“I don’t want you, Nolenne, or Aeilanna anywhere near him,” he told Maeve one night, voice tight as they lay in bed, the firelight painting gold across their skin. “He’s dangerous. He’s not just some soldier. He’s Vargen’s loyalist, and trained to endure far worse than anything we’ve thrown at him.”
Maeve propped herself up on one elbow, gaze steady. “Nolenne doesn’t know if she even wants to see him, Eiran. I’m not saying we walk in and play nice. I’m saying I know what I’m doing. At the Met, I handled people who’d murdered with their bare hands for a few quid. I’ve gotten psychopaths to talk without ever raising my voice. ”
“This isn’t Earth,” he said. “And he’s not just another thief or killer. He’s Nolenne’s brother, he knows what she is to us now, what she is to Aeilanna. That makes him… volatile.”
“Which is exactly why you need me,” Maeve said. “Because you can’t scare someone who’s already damned. But being seen, that’s different, that’s where I can come in.”
Eiran was silent for a long moment, staring into the fire. Maeve reached across the blankets and took his hand. “Please, Eiran. You said you’d trust me, I know how to find the crack,” she said quietly.
He turned to her then, and finally, he nodded. A single, sharp motion. “All right. Tomorrow, he’s yours. Lead it your way.”
Maeve let out a slow breath, tension draining from her shoulders. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Eiran caught her chin, brushing his thumb across her bottom lip. “Just don’t let him get into your head.”
