Page 12 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame (Fated for Hael #1)

Cahra never wished to the Seers like others did. But for Lumsden, she prayed that he was safe, that he’d done what she’d told him to and renounced his ties to her. And that Jarett and his guards had bought every single word.

‘What, exactly?’ Terryl leaned forward.

‘That this was the prophecy’s first omen.’

‘And what do you know of the prophecy?’ Raiden crossed his arms.

Cahra scoffed. ‘Apart from Jarett thinking the longsword is related to it? Not much. Before today, the same folk stories as everybody else.’ She counted them off on her hands.

‘Hael’stromia fell centuries ago. The ultimate weapon, the sword or whatever it is, is housed within the capital’s walls.

Kolyath supposedly keeps getting closer to beating Luminaux and Ozumbre at getting Hael’stromia’s weapon every year.

And these omens, that no one has ever seen, mind you, will announce the capital’s rebirth. ’

Before today, she hadn’t known what the omens were.

And she hadn’t cared. In fact, she still didn’t.

The loss of Lumsden, the smithy – her life, as depressing as it had been – the loss of all she’d known, was like a dead weight driving her, crushing her into the ground.

What would she do now? Where would she go?

Raiden looked her right in the eye. ‘That no one has seen outside Kolyath’s keep, until today.’

She shook her head, turning to Terryl. The lord was quiet. ‘You can never go back to Kolyath now, can you?’ she asked him softly.

Cahra had worried running would make her look guilty, but Lumsden had been right. If she’d stayed, there was no telling what the Steward would have done, and no hope of the old man saving her this time.

Maybe no hope of living through the night. She swallowed.

But she hadn’t thought of what running would do to Terryl. How guilty he’d look too.

‘No,’ Terryl conceded. ‘I think not.’

She slumped in her seat. The whole thing was twisted, some kind of mad coincidence. But her fault or not, she was responsible for Terryl losing his home. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It is for the best.’ Terryl smiled. How was he always smiling? ‘Truthfully, Cahra, there are things that I would like you to know, about me.’ Terryl went on, as Raiden blanched. ‘For example, I have multiple homes. Kolyath… Well, there are other options.’

Cahra fell silent. ‘Oh.’ But his tentative honesty thawed her enough to say, ‘Like?’

Raiden interjected before Terryl could reply. ‘One final question. Did the Commander mention the name “Thierre” to Lumsden?’

‘No. Who?’ Cahra asked, puzzled, noting the look that exchanged between the two men, as she pretended to study the sword again while saying the name over and over in her head. Thierre. If it was important to them, then she’d better remember it.

Meanwhile, Terryl was staring at the sword. He lifted his palms in silent request, Raiden handing it to him. The lord inspected the pommel then the blade, its steely surface etched with a metallic paint of cobalt blue. The pommel’s blue goldstone reflected in his eyes as Terryl raised them to her.

‘It really is a work of art, Cahra.’

After what she’d been through getting to him and getting the sword out of harm’s way, she almost cried.

‘Thank you,’ she told him, then swallowed, his brief pleasantry giving her the confidence she needed to finally ask, ‘Where are we going?’

Terryl’s reply was swift. ‘To Luminaux.’

‘What?’ Cahra recoiled. Luminaux was an enemy of Kolyath. The thought of her arrest on arrival didn’t exactly appeal. ‘Seers, why?’

Terryl stared out the window, the piney conifers giving way to old, unyielding oaks, before returning her gaze. ‘It is my homeland.’

She studied him: his eye contact, his tone, all the way to how he arranged his limbs as he spoke the words to her. It was the truth. And suddenly, it all made sense. Why he wasn’t like other high-borns in Kolyath, and how being a merchant lord factored in.

Cahra hummed. ‘You weren’t joking when you said you had other options.’

‘Kolyath is one kingdom that I have resided in. Luminaux is my home.’

Cahra weighed Terryl’s words, saving the unexpected sting of being misled for later. ‘So you’re not arming the Steward in the war, like Raiden said at Kolyath’s gate?’

‘Certainly not,’ Terryl said, laughing. Raiden snorted.

Cahra pressed on. ‘And what about me? Am I your prisoner?’

Terryl looked horrified. ‘Absolutely not! While I wish to return home, your safety is still my concern. Further, I should like to request something of you: an audience with my kingdom’s King and Queen. They must hear of your story, and of Kolyath more generally.’

She considered. ‘And then?’

Terryl spread his hands. ‘That is yours to decide. You will have permission to remain in Luminaux, should you wish it. However, if you desire otherwise, you shall be free to go.’

Another honest answer. Cahra rolled her shoulders and leaned back, exhaustion from the day’s ordeal taking hold. It was clear Terryl seemed to need her, at least for the time being.

‘Fine. But if I’m no prisoner, and assumedly under protection until we get to Luminaux, someone needs to tell your people.’ She glared at Raiden.

‘Of course,’ Terryl replied, Raiden’s eyes burning in indignation.

With a smug smile, Cahra asked, ‘Any more questions?’

‘No. For now,’ Raiden added, shooting Terryl a look.

She nodded, her eyelids sagging with drowsiness that crashed in great waves.

The downy gold pillow curved at her back, the coach’s rocking to the horses’ rhythmic hooves – everything served to soothe her aching body.

She tuned out Terryl and Raiden’s talk of those travelling with them, unable to hide a yawn.

Then Cahra slept. For a while, at least, her body pushing to permit her a short period of actual rest. Eventually, all was quiet.

But so cold, an unshakeable chill descending…