Page 11 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame (Fated for Hael #1)

Leaping from Terryl’s goods wagon, Cahra’s well-worn boots hit the ground with a jolt.

She winced as pain erupted along her aching soles.

It had been years since she’d bolted through Kolyath’s streets like that, let alone in her battered smith’s boots.

Her feet would hurt for the rest of the day now, maybe longer.

But it was a small fee to pay for freedom, she told herself, even if it hurt like Hael.

She toed a few steps forward, gingerly, then shouldered her satchel.

Then she froze, her eyes meeting something even more shocking than escaping the Steward of Kolyath: men and women vanishing into the trees in droves, their weapons lowered, faces hidden and as mysterious as the land itself.

Some stopped to talk to Raiden as he shared out thanks in the form of Terryl’s goods, and Cahra’s mouth fell wide open.

The Wildspeople, who notoriously cared as little for the realm’s three kingdoms as the kingdoms did for them, had defended Terryl and his people? Why?

Before she could unravel the idea, Terryl broke in. ‘We made it,’ the lord breathed, gazing at the greenwood grove. He peered at her with concern. ‘Are you injured?’

Cahra shook her head, not wanting him to fuss.

Instead, she drank in the raw, dark beauty of the Wilds, thick with shadow and the inexplicable hush of night.

The sun’s rays seemed unable to penetrate the abundant canopy, yet greenery ran riot across vast swathes of the forest floor.

It wasn’t grass but bracken, net-like vines and a furry array of mosses, which blanketed fallen branches and climbed the trunks of ancient elms that reached as if with arms to touch the sky.

Cahra bent down, the moss damp and velvety beneath her fingertips, and something loosened just a little in her chest.

Terryl watched her, curiosity lighting his fine features.

‘Where are we?’ She inhaled, the fresh air sweet and lovely in her lungs.

‘A safe place to rest, for a time,’ he said softly.

Cahra straightened, stifling a yawn and leaning back against the wagon’s sturdy wood. The surge of energy from sprinting through Kolyath was dwindling fast.

‘They found us out,’ she mused aloud, eyes flickering to Terryl. ‘After the gate, I mean.’

‘It was always a possibility at the gatehouse, but it does not matter, now.’ He smiled. ‘We are under the cover of the Wilds.’

‘And no one’s following?’ She suppressed a shudder at the thought of the Steward’s guards, or the soldiers of his army, rounding a copse of trees and discovering them. Terryl’s own guards were noticeably absent.

‘Not that we can ascertain.’ Terryl glanced to Raiden, who was inspecting the arrows sticking out from the lord’s carriage and the wagon hitched to it, the one Cahra had been hiding in.

She spotted the second coach and wagon, along with the horses belonging to Terryl’s guards and wondered who else made up this travelling caravan – but was quickly distracted by the sound of Raiden unsheathing a blade from his belt to sever the offending arrows with gusto.

‘Fear not,’ Terryl said, following her eyeline. ‘Kolyath would be crazed to follow us. They have a kingdom to defend.’ He gave her a wry look, then gestured to the Wildspeople.

The tightness in her chest loosened even further, and she stretched.

‘So now what?’ They’d never talked about what came after the escape, as there hadn’t been time. And while Terryl had kept his word and gotten her out of Kolyath, well, she didn’t like surprises.

‘First,’ he said, ‘Raiden’s people will examine the carriages and conduct any repairs. After which, I should like for you to join me. You and I have much to discuss.’

An invitation to a lord’s personal carriage. If they weren’t under the threat of capture, would she be flattered? She nodded, suddenly very interested in her boots.

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—’

‘ Lord Terryl,’ corrected Raiden, flashing teeth.

‘Raiden,’ Terryl said gently.

Cahra exhaled outright this time, managing not to roll her eyes. ‘As I told Lord Terryl, I designed it. Every weapon is simple geometry, so I drew a pattern for the pommel’s insert.’ She gestured to the longsword’s handle.

‘You’re telling us that no one told you how to create this sigil?’ Raiden scoffed at her.

She supposed it did seem unlikely.

‘Well, unfortunately, it’s the truth. I wish I had some kind of explanation, but I don’t.

I’m sure you know, but Lord Terryl proposed the commission to me as a “blank canvas”.

He knew nothing of the longsword’s design.

It’s why I warned him when I saw him in the street.

’ The unfamiliar urge to help a high-born still confused her. Cahra’s eyes glided to Terryl.

Why had she warned him?

Raiden went on. ‘And nothing else out of the ordinary happened?’

‘No,’ she said, rubbing her face as she realised everything had only happened today, and the day wasn’t even done yet.

She raked her fingers through her hair and took a breath, recounting her morning.

‘I went to get bread. The sword was on display behind the counter, waiting to be collected. I came back and saw Commander Jarett interrogating Lumsden, so I snuck into the smithy to find out why. Then I learned about the Sigil of the Seers, and the Commander knowing I’d forged the sword.

Lumsden sent him north so I could run south with Lord Terryl’s longsword.

That’s when I found you.’ She nodded at Terryl.

‘Thankfully, before the Kingdom Guards did.’

Even now, just the thought of him being captured by the guards sent her pulse tearing along inside her. Seers, she thought, had she saved the lord’s life? Surely, that had to count for something…

Raiden’s next words were less harsh. ‘What else do you know?’

‘Only what Lumsden told me. That the Commander said it was the first time the sigil had been seen outside the castle in centuries.’ At Lumsden’s name, a guilt-ridden pang hit her in the depths of her chest. ‘That, and something about the prophecy.’