Page 18 of Heart Cradle

Page List

Font Size:

Maeve woke with a start, for a moment, there was only darkness. Then a sharp sting of damp air in her lungs, her heartbeat thudding loud in her ears. Cold, gritty stone beneath her hands as her mind reached back, fumbling, the kiss, the pulse, the crack of something splitting open.

Then, nothing.

She sat up too fast. The world spun sickeningly as panic surged up her throat. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to steady herself, her other hand moved instinctively to her pocket, the pouch was still there. It’s velvet was damp, but unmistakably present, nestled safely against her dress. Maeve’s fingers closed over it in quiet relief, she didn’t dare pull it out, not here, wherever here was.

Keep the Chain a secret.

The stone cell was bare and cold, with one, iron-bound wooden door, no windows and no sound.

She gulped for air, then heard a quiet rustle. She spun, her back hitting the wall. A woman sat on the other side of the cell, watching her.

“I didn’t want to startle you,” the woman said gently, raising her hands in a non-threatening gesture, palms out.

She was thin. Bruises bloomed along her arms and collarbone. Her long dark hair was tied back in a rough plait. Beautiful, but battered, like something once radiant had been kept too long in the dark and she didn’t move closer.

“I’m Aeilanna,” she said softly. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

Maeve’s throat was dry and her heart pounded against her ribs. “You’re not?” she rasped.

Aeilanna’s smile was faint, but real. “No. I’m a prisoner too, I have been for a long time.”

Maeve’s mind raced, grip on the pouch tightening. She didn’t know how she knew, but this woman was fae. Panic crept up her spine, her jaw clenched.

“Breathe with me,” Aeilanna murmured. She inhaled slowly, exhaled evenly. “In. Out. In. You are here. Out. In. You are alive. Out. In. out. I will keep you safe. In. Out. In. Out.”

Maeve followed, not entirely by choice. The rhythm steadied her, the panic receded slowly.

“I’m Maeve,” she said hoarsely.

Aeilanna nodded. “A strong name.”

Maeve glanced around the cell again, chains bolted to the far wall next to a bucket, a broken wooden stool in the corner and a few cracked, mismatched bits of crockery. There was nothing else. “You’ve been here... how long?” she asked quietly.

Aeilanna exhaled through her nose. “Too long. I stopped counting after the tenth winter.”

Maeve studied her, the emaciated frame, the healing cuts and the hollow cheeks. She looked like she’d been starved of everything but oxygen.

“Why are you here?” Maeve asked.

“Because I refused to help them,” Aeilanna said. “I was a Spellweaver in Melrathen.” She touched the iron bands at her wrists with a grimace. “They clamped these on to block my magic and then threw me in here.”

Maeve frowned. “Spellweaver?”

Aeilanna gave a faint, almost sad smile. “Spellweaving is a specific form of powerful magic. Any fae can use magic, spellweavers are different. We don’t just call on power, we shape it, braid it, hone it into something sharp.”

Maeve listened, something cold and heavy settling in her stomach.

“Spellweavers are the guardians of intention,” Aeilanna went on. “I strengthened the realm’s heart. When the land sickened, I healed it. When the wards faltered, I restored them. I spun magic into the bones of the world so it couldn’t break.”

Her golden eyes met Maeve’s, fierce and unwavering.

“I was trusted,” she said. “Because spellweaving demands more than strength, it demands control. If you don’t have the right soul, the magic burns you from the inside out.”

Maeve swallowed. “You were a guardian?”

Aeilanna nodded. “Guardian, architect, defender and sometimes a soldier, when I had to be. I could shatter an army’s will with a whisper.” She touched the bands again, almost absently. “They feared what I could do, and what I could undo.”

“You must have been... important,” Maeve said, cautiously.