Page 15 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame (Fated for Hael #1)

Cahra’s heart-stopping scream halted the coach so fast she saw Terryl go flying forward – Raiden throwing a protective arm out, a dagger instantly in his other hand. Wide awake now, she kicked the blade from Raiden’s grasp and gaped. Terryl stared in shock between them.

‘What in Hael is wrong with you?’ Cahra spat at Raiden.

‘You’re the one shrieking like a wraith,’ Raiden snapped back, throwing open a door and leaping from the coach.

Cahra glowered, watching from the window as the man circled the travelling caravan, weapons out.

‘Forgive him,’ Terryl said quietly. ‘Raiden is forever concerned with attracting unwanted attention. I, however, am more concerned for your well-being. Are you all right?’ Lips pursed, Terryl’s savvy gaze swept her.

‘Bad dream,’ Cahra said, the anger dulling inside her just a little.

She squirmed, fidgeting with her coat’s hem.

The burning place in her dreams stole the air from her lungs, yet it was so familiar.

The memory of her panicked turn in Terryl’s wagon flooded back and she fought the urge to shiver as she realised she hadn’t been asleep to dream of that place.

That tomb .

What was happening to her?

‘Well, you are awake now,’ Terryl stated, his voice soft. ‘And it is as you said earlier, you are under my protection. Perhaps they shall set your mind at ease.’ He nodded outside.

Cahra’s eyes flashed from Terryl to the glass, where she could see Raiden’s people finalising their security checks.

She grunted, but watched as the man named Queran dropped from the nearest tree, bow slack, shaking his head at Raiden.

The black-haired woman fighter from Terryl’s mansion emerged from the underbrush with stealthy precision to join them, casually tossing a dagger in one hand.

Cahra didn’t want to admit it, but Raiden’s people did help to calm her.

Moments later, however, as he climbed back in and slammed the door, she forgot all about it the second Raiden settled his iron eyes on Cahra.

Face drawn, Raiden fired at her, ‘Want to tell me what that was about?’

‘No.’ Cahra glared back. ‘Want to tell me why your blade was pointed at my head?’

Raiden opened his mouth but Terryl silenced them both with a question.

‘Report?’ The edge to the lord’s tone was plain.

Raiden straightened. ‘The perimeter is clear,’ he replied. The horses hitched, the coach jostling back into motion.

Terryl nodded. ‘How long until we stop?’

‘Approximately one hour,’ Raiden told him, his eyes scanning the trees outside. ‘We’re approaching the first secure location.’

‘Secure location?’ Cahra tried not to mimic Raiden, but it was tough.

‘A pre-determined spot, known to our group and those we trust,’ Terryl explained. ‘We have them scattered along this route to offer us places to rest, replenish supplies and regroup if need be. Each has been vetted for security, so as to avoid any potential threats.’

Like Kolyath’s army, Cahra thought with a shudder.

Terryl looked pointedly between her and Raiden. ‘Now, must I enforce a rule of no sword-play in the carriage?’

‘No,’ she and Raiden begrudgingly replied, Cahra narrowing her eyes at the man.

‘Excellent,’ Terryl told them. She watched as he slipped a little cream envelope into his jacket pocket, then squirmed at her nosy urge to ask about it, looking away.

As promised, the coach pulled to a stop an hour or so later. Raiden leapt out again.

‘Wait here,’ he said, shutting the door.

Cahra peered into the near-endless trees.

Were the woodlands so different from when they’d first entered the Wilds?

It was hard to tell. Each shadow seemed to twist and morph, playing tricks on her vision, her frayed nerves.

The vastness of the land was overwhelming and yet there was a dark and haunting beauty in it, a rugged allure to the verdant shadows that tugged at something deep within her.

Alone with Terryl, her eyes found his. The young lord’s smile came effortlessly.

Then a minute later, Raiden banged on the door. ‘We’re ready for you,’ he told Terryl, holding the door open for the lord. Raiden watched Cahra through wary eyes.

She ignored him, hopping from the coach step to the spongy forest floor. The fresh scents of tree sap and damp earth wafted to greet her. ‘Refreshments,’ Raiden said gruffly, jerking his chin at a table of delicious-looking food and drink to one side of the small clearing.

She nodded. The nausea from her hunger pains was getting harder to shut out, but she cleared her throat as Terryl made to leave, asking, ‘Erm, can we talk?’

Terryl turned back, his features soft. ‘Of course. First, I must check on my people. There is bread, meat, cheese and fruits to be had. Avail yourself, and I shall be with you.’

He raised an arm to her as he strode away, reminding Cahra of the first day they met. Which reminded her of the smithy. Of Lumsden.

Please, just let the old man be alive.

Cahra swallowed, bracing herself against the thought, and made a beeline for the table.

She plucked a pastry with dark blue jam baked into it from a shiny dish, also taking a hunk of bread, a little soft cheese and a big green apple, straying from the others to sit alone on a fallen log.

Sighing, she bit into the flaky pastry, jam bursting onto her tongue.

No tasty treats would dull the pain of never seeing Lumsden again.

She hadn’t really thought they’d make it out. That she’d escape. But if she’d known… if she’d known, she would’ve taken Lumsden, the boy Ellian and any and everyone she could, as many as she could fit in that wagon with her.

Instead, she’d left them to their fates. To the Steward and his ruthless Kingdom Guards.

She shut her eyes on the guilt, the revulsion she felt, the tears welling against her will, and focused on the scene before her: Terryl striding from the coach to the table via everybody else, talking and laughing and looking every bit the kindly lord from Luminaux.

Terryl looked after his people. She was a coward who’d left Lumsden behind. Shame flooded her as she thought of the old man stuck in Kolyath.

All of a sudden, she didn’t feel so hungry.

Pausing to look for her, Terryl made his way over, seating himself beside Cahra with that languid elegance all high-borns seemed to have.

Except Raiden, she thought, eyeing him from across the glade.

That man saw the world through shrewd eyes, his actions calculated.

Like he lived for a fight. Or maybe for starting one, she thought with a smirk.

Yes, Raiden was an arse, but he was ever-vigilant for danger. It wasn’t unlike her, always looking and listening and ready to move. But it was an exhausting way to live.

And now I’m right back here again.

Before her mind could grab hold of that thought and torment her with it, Terryl handed her a cup of water. She marvelled in silence as she took it, the liquid clear as spring dew.

Cahra whispered to him, ‘Where did you get this?’

‘There is a stream nearby,’ Terryl replied. Her expression must have been something, because he chuckled. ‘I take it that you have never drunk such water?’

‘It’s so clear,’ she breathed, taking a sip. The water tasted pure, cool and pristine, no dirty sediment or metallic taste.

‘Hmm,’ Terryl said. ‘The well in the Traders’ Quadrant was of a lower quality than in the Nobles’ own. Perhaps, that is it?’

Cahra looked at him in dismay. ‘Why am I not surprised?’ she said angrily. ‘Seers, how did you stand it? Living there, I mean.’

Terryl looked up, viewing Raiden and his people with admiration. ‘I had help.’

‘Right,’ she said, feeling unexpectedly envious. ‘So Raiden is your…’

Terryl’s eyes crinkled, fondness in his gaze.

‘Raiden is many things,’ the lord said. ‘My advisor, my confidant. My friend. And he is my second in charge, not to mention an incredibly accomplished swordsman. We trained together, though he outpaced me swiftly. Thanks to your longsword, I may have motivation to catch up.’ Something crossed his face, Terryl’s good humour slipping ever so slightly.

She wondered if it was talk of the longsword, a reminder of the prophecy.

Or maybe his home of Luminaux. There was still so much she didn’t know about the lord.

But there was something she’d figured out.

‘Raiden’s got quite a command over the caravan.’ Cahra paused, guessing the rest. ‘He’s head of your private guards, isn’t he?’

Terryl slid his eyes towards her. ‘Correct. He is Captain of the detail of elite guards travelling with us.’ He loosened and leaned back, as if not bothered by Cahra knowing, and admiring her powers of deduction instead.

‘As you might imagine, entering Kolyath from Luminaux necessitated planning. That included enlisting a few choice professionals.’

She sat back too, taking a bite from her floury hunk of bread. ‘And the others?’ She spied Queran keeping to the shadows, the red-haired man’s bow strung across his back, brown cloak tossed over a rangy shoulder.

‘The quiet one over there,’ Terryl said, following her gaze, ‘is Queran, our top archer. He may appear reserved, but his watchful eye misses nothing. Also, he can split an arrow lodged in a bullseye from over three hundred yards.’

‘Has bow, likes heights. Got it,’ Cahra said around a mouthful of food, then pointed to the woman she’d seen at Terryl’s mansion earlier. ‘What about her?’

‘That is Siarl,’ he told her, nodding at the dark-skinned woman with twin blades hanging from her belt.

Siarl’s braids were immaculately woven and trailing down her back, her laughter rippling through the glade.

‘Siarl is a master of dual weaponry and yet to be defeated, with the singularly best reflexes that I have ever seen.’ The lord glanced sideways at her as he said, laughing, ‘Be warned. Her intellect is as quick as her blades.’