Page 100 of Heart Cradle
Hettae, by contrast, was an anchor in a sharper way. Scarred across her jaw and temple, she walked with a slight limp, her short gold hair, always tidy, she smelled faintly of rosemary, and her glances often held dry amusement even when she said nothing. They spoke often, not of small things but of their lives, of their experiences in a world designed to try them, always testing. Hettae never offered comfort, only clarity, and Maeve found that, more and more, she preferred it. She liked her, and slowly she was beginning to realise the feeling was mutual.
One late afternoon after a long training session, Hettae had told her she’d been found half-dead on the rocks just outside Armathen as a small child. Burned, bloodied, and alone. No shipwreck, no name and no memory. The Storm Coast folk believed she’d been a stowaway on a pirate vessel, tossed into the sea when she was caught. Hettae didn’t argue, she only said that whatever happened, her mind had buried it deep enough that no magic or memory work had ever unearthed it. Hettae said that she’dshown signs of strong magic early on and was sent to Eldmire as a teen, then moved to Elanthir when Yendel needed a new apprentice, that was over fifty years ago and Maeve had listened in silence, something tight in her chest. Not because Hettae asked for sympathy, she never did, but because it explained the way she was, like someone who expected pain and chose to keep moving anyway.
Hettae had mentioned she was seeing one of the messengers, a tall, ink-stained fae named Rhalie. They were talking about binding she said, without much ceremony but with a steady kind of certainty. “We’re not soft with each other,” she added, “but it works, she loves me and I her.”
It was the first time Maeve had heard affection in her voice and something unspoken settled between them after that. A quiet sense of sisterhood, not forged by blood or magic, but by the shared understanding of females who’d clawed their way through pain, terror and loneliness and kept going. Maeve started seeking Hettae out more, not for comfort. Just to be near someone who’d made peace with her past, even if it never gave her answers.
Aeilanna called Maeve’s power wildfire, unruly, bright, and dangerous if left unchecked. Under their combined guidance, she began to understand that fae magic wasn’t about strength, but stillness. Idea, intention and choice. She taught her to draw from within, not from panic or emotion, but decision.
The magic came slower than the bladework, there were misfires. Once, she singed her hair trying to deflect a strike. Another time, she set a training dummy’s cloak ablaze. But by the end of the week, with the help of Yendel, Hettae, and Aeilanna, who she learned was a spellweaver of rare calibre, Maeve could hold a basic defensive ward for nearly two full minutes. She’d begun weaving subtle glamour at her fingertips. She felt the shape of spells before casting them and she was beginning to read the runes, not just recall them. They were small triumphs, but they were hers.
One afternoon, as Maeve sketched a rune sequence in the chalk ring, the conversation turned to the Chain.
“I’ve been reading and there are ancient warnings,” Yendel said, watching her work, “that the Chain was never meant to be worn. That it was a tool of the Runekeepers, meant to channel, not bind.”
Aeilanna folded her arms. “Some say it was forged from the breath of the gods. Others say it was taken from a fae who burned too brightly, too fast.”
Maeve looked up from the runes. “You believe any of that?”
Yendel smiled faintly. “ I don’t think so, but I believe the Chain is somewhat sentient and it’s waking now for a reason.”
Aeilanna’s expression didn’t change, but Maeve saw a flicker of unease in her eyes. “Power that old,” the Spellweaver murmured, “never returns without cost.”
Maeve looked down at the glowing rune beneath her fingers. She wasn’t sure if they were talking about the Chain, or her and it terrified her.
?????
Evenings were quiet and sacred. Sometimes she bathed with Eiran, warm water and flickering faelight wrapping around them as they shared their days in soft laughter and gentle touches. His hands always found her, massaging the knots from her shoulders, kissing each new bruise, he called her his warrior queen. She called him a menace with a perfect face, he liked that.
One evening, as Maeve had just dressed after a solitary bath, a knock came at her bedroom door. “We’re going out,” Nolenne announced before she was even fully inside. She leaned against the frame, hair plaited back, swords slung across her back like casual jewellery. “Aeilanna has to meet someone and I suggested you come.”
“You suggested?” came Aeilanna’s voice from behind her, breezing into the room with a grin. “I insisted, there’s a tavern in the west quarter you’ll love. It’s loud, messy, and the food will probably give you the shits, but the ale’s tremendous.”
“Eiran wanted to come,” Nolenne added, not unkindly, “but Aeilanna told him to bugger off.”
“He has a realm meeting anyway, and they take an age!” Aeilanna said with a wink.
Maeve blinked. “You just... go into the city?”
“We’re not prisoners anymore,” Aeilanna said with a wink. “And you’re due some mischief.”
So they went, it was Maeve’s first proper visit into Moraveth since arriving at Elanthir. The capital sprawled below the mountains like a living map of ancient stone pressed against new glass, terracotta roofs and market silks hanging beside intricately crafted Eldrisian lanterns. Children darted past underfoot, shrieking with laughter and even the sky felt bigger there.
“It’s beautiful,” Maeve breathed. “And... clean. I haven’t seen a single person sleeping rough.”
Aeilanna nodded, her expression thoughtful. “That’s not an accident. There’s very little poverty here, at least not the kind we let stay unseen. The realm ensures everyone can survive in comfort if they can’t support themselves. The other realms think it idealistic, but we believe there is a duty of care to all Melrathian citizens.”
She glanced at Nolenne, then back to Maeve. “Mother has charities for single parents, the elderly and many for veterans. Childcare and schooling initiatives to help parents work and children learn. There’s a whole system to help people find employment. It’s not perfect, but it works for most. We’re seen as a hard, cold realm, but our people are looked after. That’s what matters.”
Maeve looked at her sideways. “And you?”
Aeilanna’s shoulders lifted slightly. “I helped when I could, before I left... But I want to do more, especially for those returning from war. They deserve care, somewhere to breathe again.”
Nolenne reached across and squeezed her hand. “It will be needed.”
The tavern they entered glowed like a lamp lit from within. Floating tankards zipped between patrons. A fae band played from a corner alcove, not with instruments, but with elemental illusions, harps conjured from mist, strings strummed by flickers of light. Laughter shook the beams, where a suspended chandelier bloomed with shifting flowers made of flame. Maeve stopped just inside the door. “I haven’t heard music in... I can’t even remember.”
“I’m sure you’ve never heard this tune before,” Aeilanna said, eyes bright. “But you’ll love it.”
