Page 120 of Heart Cradle
The music softened.
“Kneel,” the Arkhavari said, “not in submission, but in devotion, to the choice you make freely.”
Maeve and Eiran knelt together, hands clasped. The Chain sparked gently, and light gathered at their feet like gold mist curling across the floor. The Arkhavari uncorked a vial of amber oil. They marked Eiran’s brow, then Maeve’s. “This is oil of the Everbranch. It anoints not your bodies, but your intentions.”
A second vial was lifted, blue-green and luminous as sea glass. “These are Waters of Witness. Poured from the spring beneath this temple, tears of the gods, touched by spells older than Melrathen. They do not see the surface, they only see the truth.”
They anointed Maeve and Eiran’s wrists, just beneath the Chain. The skin tingled with magic, like a spark of cold static.
“Rise.”
They stood, as more golden light rose in a spiral around them, weightless and warm and the Arkhavari stepped back, their voice softer now. “If you wish to speak your vows, let them be heard, have them be carried in this temple and to our gods.”
Maeve turned first. Her voice trembled only slightly, but her eyes never left Eiran’s. “I found you in the quiet, after ruin. I choose you now, in the fire before war. I do not vow perfection, only presence. I do not promise peace, only that I will walk beside you until it comes. You are the place my soul rests, you are my noise, my tether and my home. I have only ever known true love with you and I have only ever known true safety with you.”
The runes above their heads stilled.
Eiran reached for her hands, his voice was steady, but his eyes burned. “My mate, and now my bound. I say your name and mean mine. I hear your name and know mine. I do not bind you to me, I free you with me. In every lifetime, I would find you. In every world, I would choose you. You are not my crown, and I am not your shadow. You are the life in my blood and the air in my chest. I was made for many things, but I was shaped by the gods to only ever want you, to only ever need you and to only ever love you.”
The Chain flared again softly between their joined hands. Maeve felt it stir. Not just glow but move, a gentle lick of warmth brushing up the inside of her wrist. She didn’t look, she couldn’t, her eyes were locked on Eiran’s, willing herself not to cry. By the time she glanced down, it looked as it always had, still and familiar. The runes above them stirred again, now curling in gold and a warmth built in the air by magic stirred.
The Arkhavari bowed their head. “Let your shared vow be spoken.”
Together, their voices rose, low and sure, braided as one, “I choose you, not as an escape, but as an anchor, not to complete me, but to walk beside me. In shadow and in flame, in silence and in storm, I will not turn from you. I will not forget you. I will not let you fall alone. I will be your fire and I will be your armour. We exist to burn and to shield each other.”
“It is now time for your offerings,” said the Arkhavari.
Eiran turned first and from his jacket, he drew a small black box. Inside sat a ring, delicately wrought in interwoven lines of gold, to mirror the Chain, inlaid with dark stones, amethyst, garnet and emerald. Maeve inhaled softly as he slipped it onto her finger and the Chain pulsed in response.
The runes above flared brighter as Maeve reached forwards with her own gift. A simple gold signet, unadorned but for a single dark violet crystal, the painstone that had once saved her life. When Eiran saw it, his composure cracked, his breath leaving him entirely. “I wanted you to have it. It is yours.”
She slid the ring onto his hand. A warm pulse surged through them both, up their arms, across their shoulders and down their spines. Maeve touched his chest, her fingers over his heart. “It is yours,” she whispered. “As am I.”
The Arkhavari lifted their hands once more, while saying, “Let this be seen. Let this be carried. Let this be remembered.”
The golden runes above their heads spun faster, then stilled. One glowing sigil emerged, Unity.
From the high arches above, the thunder watched, Jeipier gave a low, delighted chuff and Xelaini, still and majestic, lowered her head just slightly. Maeve, blinking past the light thought, just for a moment, that there was a shimmer of a tear in one of the Nyxshade’s immense eyes.
The Arkhavari spoke one final time, voice radiant with magic and solemnity. “Before fire and sky, this bond is made sacred, not by magic, but by choice, not by power, but by true intention.”
A final surge of golden light encircled Maeve and Eiran. It flared once, warm and pure, then sealed itself into them. The runes then dimmed, and the temple erupted in celebration. Music soared, flower petals and gold dust rained from above. Outside, the waiting crowds cheered, and the thunder of wings swept over the sky in a synchronised salute.
Chapter Fifty-Five – Vows of Violence
Maeve and Eiran stepped through the golden temple doors, hand in hand, into blinding sunlight. The world beyond the high temple was alive with sound, cheering, music and the celebratory roar of thousands of fae voices rising across the plaza. The stone steps stretched wide before them, and the city’s heart pulsed from its base. Flowers had been tossed onto the marble and petals scattered in waves of violet, gold, and green.
Magic shimmered in the air like champagne as Maeve tried to take it in. Tried to breathe it in, she was bound. She felt whole. She was home, and then the bells rang again, but not the bells of joy, the bells of warning.
They rang once, twice, then a third time, low and sharp and cutting through the celebration like a blade. The music stopped and the crowd faltered. All at once, thousands of fae stopped moving, caught in the uncanny stillness between joy and dread.
A shriek, deafening and raw came and then the sky darkened, Xelaini being first, wings like a stormfront, her cry a tearing roar of fury and smoke curled from her throat. The thunder followed in formation, a wall of scaled muscle and rage descending with various colours and terrifying precision. Shadows fell across the temple steps as the thunder hovered over the temple.
Maeve’s heart clenched and Eiran went still, eyes distant, locked to Xelaini through their bond. His voice dropped. “Skeld. South gate, more than a dozen. They’re breaching.”
“More than…” she began, but he was already turning.
“All paired thunder, down!” Eiran commanded, voice like struck steel.
