Page 124 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

His voice was hoarse. ‘Would you mind? The bolts.’ The flames in his other palm rippled. ‘I am reluctant to douse your only light source.’

‘Of course.’ Cahra blinked. Then she hesitated, more worried about his exposed bones than any torch. But she gingerly unwrapped his hand and sprung to unlatch the door’s bolts.

In the silence, Hael stood rooted to the ground, wrestling with the untamed yearning to kiss her, to allow Cahra’s touch to spiral into what could never be. His fantasy, of a life, a future – without the two of them as Master and Vassal.

Of course, his wish was farcical. Who was Hael without his calling, his Nether-magicks?

And should it bother him, he thought, as she yanked free the final bolt.

Should it bother him that he had no answer… None at all?

Hael’s torso tensed as he suppressed the human urge to sigh, then led them onward.

Their moment, like everything in his protracted life, had passed.

He and Cahra entered his blackest dungeon. Indeed, his hand would heal; until then, the blood dribbling down his chin, his jaw, his fingerless hand, would serve as a reminder to the evil caged ahead, of what Hael truly was.

Supreme destruction. Even if it was his own.

‘Prepare yourself,’ Hael told Cahra, whom he knew had seen worse in her short years. Still, every cell beheld its horrors. This was no exception.

As they accessed the hall, the flames licking Hael’s palm burned brighter, lighting his gruesome face and fangs, his footsteps thundering against the walls. He wanted his prisoner to hear, fear, that someone approached. He lowered his chin, the fires of his eyes burning black, knowing how the vision of his looming, gore-soaked figure lit a torch to mortal men’s fears.

And, oh – how he would make Kolyath’s Commander Sullianfearhim.

When their interrogation was over, Hael and Cahra left, her hand laced through his. All prisoners eventually spilled their secrets to the Reliquus; their secrets, and their blood. Commander Sullian had been no different.

Or so the pair had thought.

Sullian was barely clinging to consciousness, head hanging over the metal back of the chair on which he sat, its frigid spikes stabbing into every point of contact with his flesh. Shackled to the torturous iron chair, he knew not how long that heathen monster Hael would incarcerate him here. But he assumed that he was intended to die in this foul-smelling place, this putrid prison of dank rot, the stench of death carried on stagnant air.

With the grievous injuries the weapon had inflicted, and the state of his black cell, Sullian presumed such an end would not take long.

This is where I die. After his life of service beside his Steward, oblivion would be perhaps a respite, the best that he could hope for. If, indeed, that was his destination.

‘So be it,’ Sullian snarled to the darkness, with what little energy he possessed. He could feel his body withering with each tenuous breath.

He would die, at blessed last. He would be glad of it, he thought.

That is, until he felt… a wind. Rushing, rising, whisking the detritus from the dirt.

With monumental effort, Sullian battled to raise his head, his skull heavy as a stone. A light flared, blazing white in the dungeon’s gloom. A portal opened.

And a figure stepped through.

The man was garbed in a robe, off-white like Grauwynn’s, the High Oracularus of Descry; pristine and clearly tailored, by the look of the spotless cuffs and hems. He removed his cowl, studying Sullian, who drooped, bathed as he was in his own blood.

A moment later, a brilliant light, pure like the sun, lit in the man’s outstretched palm.

Sullian bolted upright, pain searing across his body.

‘Who are you?’ He spoke slowly, jaw throbbing from where Hael had struck him.

‘Commander.’ The man in white circled him like prey, not answering his question. ‘Your brother, Jarrett. He is dead?’

Sullian ignored the ache inside his chest at the stranger’s words. Sullian had hated Jarett in life, hated their rivalry for Atriposte’s favour. His admiration.

Yet, he had loved his cretin brother, also. Head sinking, he nodded.