Page 86 of Heart Cradle
Branfil, ever the strategist, didn’t miss a beat. “We’ve got four weeks,” he said. “And a possible war to prepare for.”
Aeilanna stripped off her gloves and took the seat beside Nolenne. Her eyes swept the table, a long plait of dark hair draped over her shoulder. She lingered just a second longer on Maeve. “Any injuries?” she asked quietly.
Maeve set her cup down and met her gaze. “I’ll explain later.”
Aeilanna held her stare for a breath, then nodded once.
“You’re paired now, Maeve.” Soren said. “Jeipier will follow your instincts, but he’s still young. Baby dragons in battle? Not the best, you’ll need to be sharper than he is.”
Nolenne reached for a pastry and bit into it. “I’m joining combat training,” she said, voice muffled but firm.
Aeilanna glanced at her partner with a touch of fond exasperation before adding, “I’m in, too. For all of it. Training, spellwork, whatever’s needed. I’ll join the magicers, can’t have a spellweaver left wanting.”
Maeve looked between them, Nolenne’s easy intensity, Aeilanna’s quiet steel, and felt something catch in her throat. Something warm, tight and fierce. “Thanks,” she said softly. “I’d like that.”
The table settled again, but it wasn’t restful. Not quite, every glance felt like strategy, every breath, a countdown. They had four weeks, to train a bonded pair into a unit. Four weeks to prepare for war. Four weeks to draw a line around ceremony and ask the world to choose a side.
?????
Jeipier stirred in the high terrace roost, wings tucked close, the cool stone beneath him barely enough to ground the heat thrumming in his chest. Something had altered. He could feel it, like a wind rising from nowhere, not weather though, but magic.
Maeve.
His paired.
Her heartbeat had always pulsed like a soft drum in the back of his mind, steady as starlight. But now it quickened, sharpened. It tasted of flint and resolve and he loved it. He rose, stretching his wings wide, letting the morning sun warm the shimmer of his ember-banded scales. His claws clicked lightly on the marble as he paced to the edge of the terrace, gaze sweeping over the Keep and the distant fields beyond.
Training for war.
He understood the press of purpose behind her silence. The weight she carried without complaint. The fear she never named and beneath it all, bright, wild and unshakable, he felt her fire, their shared fire. He could feel her now. In the dining hall below, surrounded by family. She wasn’t afraid, not really, but she was bracing. Preparing to become something larger than she’d ever imagined and, that meant he had to prepare too. The others thought him young. Too small, too soft. Too new. Let them think it. His wings would carry her, his flame would shield her.
He would hold.
Jeipier closed his eyes and sent a pulse of thought towards her.“I’m ready when you are.”
Chapter Forty – Steel and Sky
Maeve rolled her shoulders as she stepped into the training ring. The Keep’s stone yard was warm underfoot, the morning sun of June casting long shadows across the weapon racks and sparring circles. Her new leathers creaked slightly as she moved, black, tailored for agility and reinforced over her ribs and spine. Gold embroidery glinted, tracing swirling fae patterns and runes like constellations. Eiran had given them to her that morning, just after breakfast, a little sheepish when he handed them over. “Had them made. I hope you’re alright with that,” he’d said, brushing a thumb along her arm.
When she nodded, pleased and flattered, he grinned and added with a murmur against her ear, “You’ll look edible.”
Then he was gone, off to interrogate prisoners with Calen and Fenric, leaving Maeve walking alone to the sparring yard, heart thudding with nerves and anticipation. Soren waited by the weapon racks, arms crossed and hair tied back. Nolenne stood beside him, already warming up, a grin on her face.
“Right,” Soren said, eyeing Maeve’s stance. “You’ve had basic hand-to-hand?”
“Yes, and self-defence,” Maeve confirmed, rolling her neck. “Bit of baton, a lot of elbows. Nothing too graceful.”
“Well, fuck graceful, I want efficient.” He gestured towards the weapons. “Pick a blade. One that feels right. No training swords today, you’ll learn on the real thing.”
Maeve blinked. “You’re kidding.”
“No time to waste, claim your weapon.” He said with a grin. “Make it yours. I use an axe, Nolenne uses twin swords and everyone else uses swords. It’s up to you, whatever you feel like.”
Maeve moved between the racks, running her fingers along steel, brass and leather-wrapped hilts. Her eyes settled on a finer blade, a short, bright silver sword with elegant dark purple and gold details curling around the hilt and handle. She lifted it carefully, the grip sat snug in her hand. The Chain on her wrist gave a subtle pulse, like a breath taken in her stead.
She turned to face them, blade at her side and Soren gave an approving nod. “Nice choice.”
“Feels like a good weight,” Maeve said. “Not that I know what that means.”
