Page 22 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame (Fated for Hael #1)

Cahra awoke, the remnants of a dream clinging to her consciousness, which was new.

She usually forgot her dreams the moment she woke up.

But this time, the image of Hael’s ruby-red fires for eyes remained.

The being haunting her visions was a mystery.

She took a deep, steadying breath and stretched.

The memory of Hael faded, the blackness of his hood replaced by the dimness of the cave she’d slept in, a lone torch still burning. She sat up, expecting her shoulders to feel stiff, like every day she awoke in Kolyath, but noted with surprise that she was fine.

Then she remembered Hael’s miraculous healing and her heartbeat quickened.

Throwing off the covers, she peered at the hole in the knee of her trousers.

The swelling had completely disappeared.

And not just disappeared, Cahra thought, as she bent and straightened her knee, over and over again.

It was like the injury had never happened to her.

She grinned, unable to help a little shriek of glee.

Until, that is, the next thought struck her.

This bed. There was no way it was hers.

She could feel the lavish fabric beneath her fingers, the plushness of the mattress, which was no doubt why her body didn’t ache.

That was because there were not one, but two thick mattresses, a topper of feathers placed above the wool-filled base, where even straw would have been a luxury after her hammock in the smithy.

The pillow was also full of down, but what really unnerved her was the showy sheet and blanket, silk and fur-lined respectively.

All a vibrant blue, embroidered with gold.

Just like Terryl’s coach. Cahra nearly choked.

She had slept in Terryl’s bed. A lord’s bed!

Then came the next thought.

SEERS! Surely she, he, they hadn’t… The evening’s memories crashed into her, more from sheer panic than any cider-fuelled forgetfulness.

She’d only drunk one mug of the stuff, however large it was.

No, she thought at last, she hadn’t bedded him on his lordly mattresses, prompting a sigh of unadulterated relief.

The last thing she wanted was to spoil whatever was between them by slipping back into old ways.

She’d relieved her maidenly honour of its duties years ago, another rebellion against, well, anything.

The idea of a low-born being pure or chaste had felt like a good place to start.

It wasn’t as if she’d had a dowry for a husband.

Cahra ran a hand through her hair, then cringed at the oil and dirt that greased it, resolving to wash immediately. She leapt from the bed, willing the most casual air possible, and hurried for the fire. Her knee didn’t twinge one bit. At that, she hid a smile.

Langera looked up and beamed, apron dusted with flour as she cradled a large wooden bowl in one arm. ‘Breakfast shan’t be long,’ she said.

‘Great,’ Cahra said quickly. ‘I was actually looking for where to bathe?’

Merali glanced up from a wooden chopping board, helping with the morning’s fare. The willowy physician looked her up and down, and said, ‘I can lend you a shirt and trousers, if you would like to wash your own.’

Normally, Cahra would have snapped a retort at such a comment, but there was no malice in the woman’s words. Only a kind offer.

Had it really been so long since she’d had a female friend?

‘Thank you,’ she said slowly, ‘though yours may be a bit long on me.’

‘True,’ Langera laughed. ‘Come on,’ she said, Merali taking the mixing bowl from her as Cahra followed her into the cave, stopping at the chef’s bed. A wool mattress, but with no featherbed top or any other indulgences.

Cahra had definitely slept in Terryl’s bed.

Ignoring her embarrassment for the second time that morning, Cahra accepted the dress Langera handed her. Her outstretched arms sunk under its weight, the lacy white frills gushing out of her grip as she eyed the poufy skirt in horror. The woman couldn’t be serious.

‘Don’t you have anything like that?’ She gestured to Langera’s own dress, a simple blue shift, nipped at the waist and tied with a bow at the back. Cahra could do without the bow, but the rest was plain, clean and nice enough.

‘I, too, need to wash my things,’ Langera chuckled.

‘Now, there are pools for bathing farther into the cave. You’ve good timing, as the Captain and his squads are outside training, so the pools will be empty.

’ She handed Cahra a fresh bar of soap and a towelling cloth.

‘Borrow the sundress as long as you like,’ the woman said, smiling.

‘A day will be long enough,’ Cahra said. Then blinked, adding, ‘Erm, it’s pretty.’

Langera laughed, seemingly not offended. ‘Not your style?’

Cahra raised a brow. ‘I hit things with a hammer for a living.’

Langera angled her own in return. ‘You can’t do so in a dress?’

Cahra opened her mouth to speak, shutting it as Langera twirled with a flourish, sauntering back to Merali and the fire, humming as she went.

Once Cahra was clean and had scoured her clothing, she stepped from the pool and dried herself. Then eyed the flouncy dress, sighing.

She had absolutely no doubt she was going to regret this.

It was the first and only time Cahra wished she had a mirror.

She peered down at the sleeves, too tight around her upper arms and under them, the seams biting into her skin.

This dress would not take kindly to sweating.

But then, Cahra supposed, it wasn’t made for women who actually did things.

She wondered how Langera worked all day in such get-up.

Having retrieved her satchel on the way over, Cahra upturned it, dumping the bag’s contents onto the ground.

She didn’t think she’d find anything to make the sundress less girly, but she still pulled a face when she came up short.

Then found something, two somethings, that she wasn’t familiar with: a small dagger, and a diamond the size of Cahra’s fist.

A few essentials. Lumsden’s words before he’d given her the satchel.

The old man had kept a precious gem like this in the smithy?

If Jarett had found it… Cahra shook her head, stunned at his boldness.

She picked up the gold dagger; for throwing, she thought, touching the intricate handle.

But it was when she pulled the knife from its sheath that her breath quickened. This bladework, this artisanship—

It was one of Lumsden’s.

She thought she was done with crying after last night, but she soon found her eyes dampening again. Blinking back tears, she clutched Lumsden’s dagger, the only physical thing she had to remember the old man by. Resheathing the blade, she tucked it safely away.

Cahra didn’t own a brush, so she combed her fingers through her hair, then repacked her satchel, gathered her clothes and the soap and towel, and returned to the cooking fire. Langera squealed in delight, unable to hide her excitement over Cahra’s transformation.

Cahra exhaled through her nose, the humiliation piling on this morning. She thanked the chef with a quick smile and turned to go.

‘Are you hungry? Take some fruit,’ Langera insisted.

Cahra shook her head, only wanting to find Terryl, though she was still mortified at the prospect of kicking him out of his own bed. She spotted the blanket they’d sat on the evening prior and remembered everything.

It was oddly light outside, given the early hour and the dimness of the Wilds.

Cahra spotted Raiden easily, pacing between groups and shouting drills, correcting angles and demonstrating attacks.

She still couldn’t see Terryl, until the crick of stones under a boot sent her spinning to find him by the cave’s entrance. Staring at her.

Feeling the hot creep of a blush, Cahra turned to Raiden. ‘He’s good.’

‘The finest,’ Terryl agreed. ‘I see you have colour in your cheeks again. Are you well?’

‘Yes,’ she said quickly, stepping to him. ‘Except… Thank you . I feel so embarrassed – it was your bed I woke up in, wasn’t it? Did you sleep?’

Terryl smiled, eyes bright. ‘Cahra. You were exhausted and hurt. I put you where it would do you the most good.’ His gaze lingered on her knee, hidden beneath layers of ruffles. She flushed again, the frills of the dress making her feel like a giant doll.

Minutes later, Raiden turned towards them, then took one look and fell about laughing. ‘Training?’ He grinned at her, sword in hand.

‘You think I can’t?’ Cahra folded her arms.

Raiden belly laughed. ‘Not in that thing!’

It was at that moment that she decided to keep the secret of Hael healing her knee, because she was going to kick his arse when he least expected it. ‘Oh, you’re wrong.’

Raiden, clearly not one to shy from a challenge, just laughed and tossed his blade, unfastening the decorated buttons of his jacket. ‘Let’s see how you go with your fists, then.’ He dismissed his men for breakfast, half heading inside, half lingering by the cave to watch the early morning show.

Oh, boy. Well, at least she knew a thing or two about brawling. She glanced to Terryl, then locked eyes with Raiden and raised her fists. The Captain circled, assessing her position, before returning to face Cahra again, still grinning.

‘Okay, blacksmith,’ Raiden said. ‘Show me a punch.’