Page 30 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame (Fated for Hael #1)

All eyes were on Cahra as she stilled to speak, perched on a leather chair that dwarfed her – a feat given her solid blacksmith’s frame – in a room of Luminaux’s palace that could only be described as a den of war.

Its walls were hunter’s green and adorned with an armoury of weapons carrying the scent of oil and steel: pairs of poleaxes, morningstars, halberds, even great-hammers, all with handles crossed like ‘X’s marking danger.

A sprawling map of the realm was unfurled in the centre of a mahogany table, Hael’stromia’s black pyramid flanked by blue, red and grey hand-carved pieces for Luminaux, Kolyath and Ozumbre’s armies, doing battle on the table as they were in life.

But Cahra’s gaze was on that map, eyes drawn to the painted black pyramid at its heart depicting Hael’stromia. Hael .

The memory of his fiery eyes that burned with their own light filled her.

Eventually, Cahra glanced up from the map to the Luminaux royals awaiting her tale. Thierre’s longsword lay on the table, tormenting her. As did everything about this place.

At least Lady Delicia had been dismissed, potential talk of the war too much for her high-born sensibilities.

Looking anywhere but at Thierre, Cahra caught Wyldaern’s peridot eyes, the Seer nodding in encouragement. Cahra could almost hear the words inside her head, the words that had roused her outside the palace.

You will endure.

One night. She could endure one night. Then she’d be free of Thierre forever.

Longing for nightfall, Cahra began.

Luminaux’s royals were in differing degrees of shock by the end of Cahra’s story.

King Royce moved to peer at the longsword she’d forged for his son, glancing quizzically between Cahra and the sigil on the pommel.

Commander Tyne, arms braced on the table, glowered at the red and grey pieces on the map, the furrow etched between his eyebrows clearly a product of fierce and frequent thought.

When Cahra spoke about Lumsden revealing ‘Lord Terryl’ as the sword’s owner and her finding Thierre before the Kingdom Guards did, Queen Avenais gasped.

And Thierre himself stressed that not only had Cahra saved Raiden during the first attack, but she and Wyldaern had found Kolyath and Ozumbre’s pins on the soldiers in the second one.

Gracious of him, to assert she wasn’t a foreign foe.

But that didn’t make Thierre a friend.

All the while, Princess Sylvanir, Thierre’s sister and General under the Commander, leaned against a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. A booted ankle crooked behind her armoured leg, she stared from Thierre to Cahra and back again.

As with Delicia, Cahra didn’t flinch under the young woman’s piercing gaze, but not from resentment or defensiveness.

There was something Cahra respected about her and the idea of a woman leading a kingdom’s army.

Cahra wasn’t a soldier, but she’d known the looks and comments that went along with existing in a man’s field.

She wondered if Luminaux’s General had experienced them too.

Wyldaern spoke next, her Sigil of the Seers on display, to the delight of the Queen, which surprised Cahra.

All she’d ever heard of the Seers from the Steward’s proclamations was ‘heretic this, heathen that’, despite the prophecy providing for his precious war.

Wyldaern explained she’d been travelling to her teacher, stopping to forage for food when the allied patrol had attacked.

As with Cahra’s, the Seer’s tale ended with the pins.

And it was those enemy pins, that new piece of information – that Luminaux’s rival kingdoms had conspired – that was the royals’ cause for concern, and debate.

Cahra didn’t have concerns or strength for debating left. Not after hours of questions about Kolyath, Steward Atriposte, Commander Jarett and the Kingdom Army, when all she wanted to do was sleep. Instead she listened to the royals brood and plan, and tried not to think.

Of Thierre, sneaking her glances from the opposite end of the room.

Of Delicia, the perfect bride for Luminaux’s Crown Prince.

And of herself, leaving them to their pre-wedded bliss in the morning.

Cahra sat up from slouching in her chair as Wyldaern handed her a turquoise teacup.

Upon the Queen discovering Thierre hadn’t eaten since breakfast, food and drink were swiftly laid out on a serving table at the room’s rear, a huge honey-roasted ham on a silver platter with a rainbow medley of baked vegetables, and enough wine to tipple then topple an army.

Cahra had eaten her fill, but had no wish to drink, so Wyldaern had fetched her a cup of the tea the Seer had been sipping.

Cahra took it, the steaming cup a comfort.

Meanwhile, the mood in the room had shifted, now abuzz with the implications of Cahra and Wyldaern’s revelation about the pins. King Royce and Commander Tyne were poring over the realm’s tabletop terrain, General Sylvanir pacing and frowning at random pieces, shaking her head.

‘Anything?’ The Commander didn’t look up, also scowling at the map.

‘Nothing, except that all campaigns are now compromised,’ the General said through gritted teeth, indicating several points on the table: their blue pieces outside Luminaux’s gate; more to the north, half-way to Kolyath, at the bottom of what looked like caves; more still flanking Kolyath and Ozumbre’s kingdom gates.

‘Based on the latest reports, each location is, at most, a day from not one but both forces. If this alliance has occurred at a kingdom level, they outnumber us everywhere. They could strike at any time.’ Sylvanir turned to Tyne, the indigo of her arresting eyes – hers and Thierre’s – flashing. ‘We must retreat.’

Silence. The Commander’s forehead buckled.

‘No. We cannot forfeit the northern mines.’ It was King Royce, his voice of hoarfrost. ‘Or the surrounding Wilds.’

‘And if it comes to the mines or our men?’ Tyne countered.

Sylvanir remained unmoved. ‘Pull them back. We strike once we have a clear strategy.’

The King replied, ‘Is that not why you are here?’

‘It is,’ she fired back, ‘unless you’d rather I flounce about in pretty dresses so that I might snare one of the landed gentry, instead of defending our kingdom?’

Thierre bristled at the reference.

Raiden glanced between them, then to Cahra and Wyldaern. ‘Is there anything else? Anything that could help us fight them?’ His gaze lingered on Wyldaern.

‘I wasn’t exactly privy to the workings of Kolyath’s court,’ Cahra said.

Why don’t you consult the Prince, isn’t that why you were there?

The King and his advisors kept arguing. Exhaling, Cahra lifted the teacup to her lips. And sniffed, her eyes flashing to Wyldaern.

Queen Avenais smiled at Cahra and the Seer in turn. ‘Chamomile,’ she said. ‘Exquisite, is it not? Steeping it extracts such a soft, sweet flavour.’

‘Quite.’ Wyldaern nodded, eyeing the Queen then murmuring to Cahra from behind her cup, ‘It is also a herb used for purification and protection.’

Cahra was too tired to question why Luminaux permitted herbs when Kolyath didn’t.

That said, their royals had welcomed Wyldaern as a Seer.

In Kolyath, well, she would’ve been hauled off to the Red Square.

Cahra never understood why the Steward hated the Seers and scrying magick when he was so obviously in favour of the prophecy’s weapon.

Wyldaern softened. ‘It heals, too. The tea will aid your sleep,’ she said.

Cahra grunted. Good.

‘We keep more than chamomile,’ the Queen mused, her silver speech polished with practiced high-born persuasion. ‘Eyebright, sage, meadowsweet… Our kingdom did not forbid worshipping nature, or scrying magick. The ways of old,’ she said pleasantly.

Cahra frowned. What was the woman getting at?

‘There must be a way.’ Thierre’s voice broke through the din, Cahra’s upper body tensing at the sound. She gripped her teacup, the piping heat biting into her skin.

‘There is.’ Sylvanir was steadfast. ‘We cut our losses and regroup. Unless you’re so willing to face our adversaries united, whose forces amount to double our own now.’

‘How do we combat an enemy of that size?’ The familiar hardness to Raiden’s face was a mirror of Commander Tyne’s.

It was Tyne who spoke next, the Commander turning to Cahra. ‘What do you know of the second omen of the prophecy, girl?’

Wyldaern narrowed her eyes, as Thierre interjected coolly, ‘Her name is Cahra.’

Beside the table, Sylvanir straightened, eyes on her brother.

The Commander just laughed. ‘Well, Cah-ra ,’ he said, drawing out both syllables, ‘the Seers have indeed reappeared.’ Tyne gestured to the longsword and then to Wyldaern.

‘That’s the first omen. Now, the Key needs to be bestowed.

’ He turned his gaze on the Seer. ‘I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that? ’

‘Perhaps a tincture?’ The Queen’s blue eyes lit up as she clapped excitedly, telling Wyldaern, ‘You are welcome to pick from my personal garden, should you need the divination herbs.’ So that’s it, Cahra thought. The woman wanted a demonstration.

But Wyldaern’s eyes were on Cahra. Fatigue weighed on Cahra’s bones, her very soul. The nervous exhaustion was wringing her skin, making it feel too tight for her body, and all she wanted was to lie down on the ground and sleep, shove her consciousness into tomorrow. So she could forget today.

‘May we rest first?’ Wyldaern demurred sweetly. ‘I am weary and there was not time to stop for healing after our attack. I must confess, my head is paining me.’

‘Of course,’ Queen Avenais soothed, summoning one of her attendants with a wave. ‘Fetch my physician,’ she instructed, ‘and show our guests to their rooms.’ The Queen smiled. ‘We shall call upon you for supper at eight o’clock.’

‘Thank you, Your Royal Highness,’ Wyldaern said, curtseying deeply. Cahra gave it her best attempt, struggling to right herself. Finally, they were dismissed.

As she and Wyldaern were leaving, Cahra heard the Queen ask after Lady Delicia, one of her attendants replying the woman was in her quarters in the palace.

In Thierre’s room?

Stop. Cahra bit the inside of her cheek, then ground her teeth against the pain. Don’t think of her, or him. Just get through tonight.

Endure.

Sleep’s oblivion was looking good.

Cahra retreated to her guest room, shutting the arched door behind her as Wyldaern bid her good rest. She slumped against the wood, sinking to the cool alabaster tiles.

Vision blurring, she could just make out the patchwork of her smithing leathers next to her, the last remnants of her old life in Kolyath with Lumsden, before lords and swords and prophecies and princes. And bitter, utter heartbreak.

Thierre .

Hot tears arrived before she could blink them away, the hurt, the anger, swelling.

Before she knew it, Cahra was stripping off her dress, dumping it on the floor and, with it, every piece of her defences.

When she finally stood in her underclothes, she had no energy left to bathe.

To eat. To do anything. Except not be awake.

Cahra staggered to the bed, threw back the blankets and buried herself in its centre.

Silently, she let the tears fall.