Page 109 of Heart Cradle
“But he didn’t?” Maeve asked.
“No, still hasn’t,” Eiran murmured. “They’re not mates, but the closest thing to it. They love each other enough to make everything else bend. He waits as she runs, and somehow, they always find their way back here.”
The mates looked at them, at the casual lean of Laren’s body, the way Fenric’s mouth curled when she laughed and at the invisible shared breath stretched tight between them. There was something sacred about that kind of devotion.
Maeve stepped forwards and called out, “Evening.”
Fenric turned first, a grin tugging at his mouth. “Evening, indeed. You two look like you’ve either been fighting or fucking. Knowing you pair, probably both.”
“Definitely both,” Laren said, flicking her wineglass towards them with mock solemnity. “Let me guess, trip to Eldrisil, so… Fae-Fire?”
“The one and only,” Maeve replied, unable to hide her smile.
“That explains the shine,” Fenric said, eyes narrowing in amused suspicion.
Maeve turned to Laren, blushing. “Can I ask you something?”
Laren nodded. “Of course, Maeve.”
“Why do you not have a dragon? Jeipier told me you didn’t add to the thunder when you arrived. Just Elenwe’s paired, Zairathe.”
Laren swirled the last of her wine in her goblet. “Even at the age of five, I knew I didn’t want to be paired with a beast. I don’t want to be bound to anything that would require me, control me and hold me. I don’t want to be kept in one place for the sake of feelings.”
Fenric frowned and Eiran stepped closer, his voice steady. “Bonds don’t behave like that, Laren. A bond doesn’t hold, it provides. It doesn’t trap, it offers. Love doesn’t take away your fire, it feeds it. It can make you and the other burn brighter.”
Maeve blinked, surprised, but she smiled. “It’s a thread. Silken and warm. It feels like coming home to yourself in someone else’s arms.”
Eiran turned to Maeve, hand on hers. “Being connected to your love, it’s not confinement, it’s freedom that you choose, again and again… forever.”
Laren stared at them both, something in her face dropping, just a little, a breath caught between disbelief and wonder before saying, “Fae-Fire indeed.”
Branfil arrived then, pipe in hand, the sweet scent of lavender smoke curling around him. “Young people these days,” he said, puffing lazily. “Drinking Fae-Fire like it’s lemonade.”
“We’re almost the same age, Bran!” Eiran called back.
“Only in body.”
Moments later, the doors opened again, and Orilan and Elenwe stepped out, followed by Calen and Soren, already mid-banter.
“I’m telling you,” Calen was saying, “you only won the goblet tower because you fucking cheated.”
“How do you cheat at balancing cups?” Soren demanded.
“Very carefully, you cheating fuck!”
Elenwe gave an exaggerated sigh. “We have defended the eastern borders against six uprisings and one kraken horde, and this is what keeps you occupied?”
“Important work, Mother,” Laren said, deadpan. “The future of the realm rests on who can drink the most without breaking glassware.”
Orilan barked a laugh, eyes dancing. “Well said.”
They all sat, goblets refreshed, voices warm. The air shimmered with peace, Hayvalaine and Taelin emerged next, arm in arm, with Aeilanna and Nolenne trailing behind, their fingers laced.
Hayvalaine paused, taking in the crowd. “Why has the party migrated out here?”
“Soren got sweaty failing to balance goblets,” Calen said helpfully.
“And the moon is showing off tonight,” Branfil added.
