Page 20 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

When she looked up, Raiden was watching her. Watching them both.

She knew the look on the man’s face. It was a staple in her own arsenal.

Raiden doesn’t trust me.

Terryl excused himself to speak to the man then, so Cahra made straight for the trees. Who knew how long they’d be travelling, and in the wake of madcap running, the usual sensations were at play: hunger, exhaustion and the increasingly urgent need to relieve herself. But before she’d taken two steps into the trees, one of Raiden’s men blocked her path.

‘Nature is calling,’ she said. The guard didn’t budge. Bristling, she added, ‘Lord Terryl invited me to his coach. I guess you’ll be explaining why I was made to soil his seat, then?’

The harshness to his face persisted, but he grudgingly stepped aside.

Cahra stalked off, shaking her head in disbelief. She might be free of Kolyath’s grip, but had she swapped one dungeon for another?

Am I their prisoner?

Raiden’s fake name and the story about Terryl flashed into her mind. They couldn’t possibly be working for the Steward, not after all this…

Trying to ignore her worry, she wandered into the woods. She’d appeal to reason, to Terryl himself. It was all she could do. Because while she was free of the Hael that was her kingdom, as she squatted in the dark forest, reality hit her like a wintry gale.

She was completely alone. No Lumsden, just her, a speck in the sunless expanse of the realm’s unbroken Wilds. The enormity of her situation sank into her.

Alone.

Cahra could feel her shoulders shaking, and she braced her fists either side of her on the ground.No. However frightened she might feel now, she’d faced worse before and lived. She had to believe she’d face whatever came next. As long as she kept moving.

Inhaling slowly, Cahra rose and returned to the caravan, eyes open. Should things take a turn and force her to run again, even from Terryl, or more to the point, Raiden…

…she’d be ready.

The young lord approached, his usual polish restored: fresh trousers, and a shirt and tailed coat that rested trimly on his shoulders. Cahra knew how she must look and smell after making their escape. She pulled her coat tight and smoothed her hair self-consciously.

‘Shall we?’ Terryl asked her.

She nodded. The lord’s people had cleaved the arrows from his coach and wagons, the swirling blue paintwork still gleaming in the low light of the Wilds. She climbed into the coach to sit facing the goods wagon she’d stowed away in, still attached at the rear. Terryl sat facing the front, across from her, and smiled.

She looked at him, and a flicker of hope sparked within her, that things might be okay.

Then Raiden entered, sitting down next to Terryl.

Cahra glanced at Raiden as outside, Terryl’s carriage driver urged the horses forward and they restarted their journey. She was beginning to think the hard look to Raiden’s face was, well, just his face.

Meanwhile, Raiden set the longsword she’d forged for Terryl across his knees, the glittering pommel angled at her accusingly.At least it’s not the tip of the blade.

Raiden eyed her coolly, and she thought back to her earlier question…

Now what?

Sighing, Cahra had a feeling she knew.

Despite the overt luxury of Lord Terryl’s coach, Cahra felt anything but comfortable. The seat’s plush fabric caressed her palms, downy as fleece, and the plump cushions at her back were trimmed with gold stitching, buttons and the finest lace she’d ever seen. But there was no comfort in the face of Raiden’s gaze, his grey eyes of iron, keen as a fighter’s blade. Luckily, Cahra knew how to make iron yield.

Raiden spoke first. ‘Tell us about the sword.’

Here we go.She resisted the urge to sigh. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Who instructed the creation of this sigil?’ Raiden stabbed his finger at the sword’s pommel.

‘No one.’ She glanced at Terryl. ‘As I told Terryl—’