Page 31 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame (Fated for Hael #1)

Thierre counted soundlessly after Cahra and Wyldaern departed, knowing exactly how long to wait before he could raise his voice.

He had overheard enough quarrels from the hall as a child to know, straining to listen through the passage’s far door while his father and Tyne scrutinised campaign after campaign.

The room’s grandfather clock struck then.

So did Thierre.

‘You should have dismissed them hours ago,’ he fumed. ‘Did you not notice their fatigue? Raiden’s men only rescued the Seer this morning, and C—’

‘You did not heal her?’ His mother arched a sculpted brow. ‘Luminaux has not welcomed a Seer in decades. This is how you honour them?’

‘I take responsibility.’ Raiden cleared his throat. ‘After the attack, my priority was the Prince. We rode hard for Luminaux.’

Thierre’s father nodded sharply.

Commander Tyne’s frown, however, deepened. Tyne had always seen their missions as a liability, regardless of his seals of approval.

‘And why were you vulnerable? I’ll tell you. You lost your focus, and your operation was compromised, in an enemy kingdom. You were damned lucky to escape with your lives!’

‘Compromised because of the prophecy,’ Thierre corrected, his jaw tightening. ‘You cannot be looking to blame me for the Oracles’ will?’

‘And how exactly was buying a foreign kingdom’s weapon part of your mission?’ Tyne crossed his arms, armour clanking to punctuate his point.

‘Would you rather I had paraded my princely rapier?’ Thierre threw up his hands, turning to face his father. ‘This is preposterous.’

Meanwhile, Sylvie was studying Cahra’s longsword. She lifted it from the table, the sword’s weight no bother, and swept the two-handed blade from her shoulder into a cut.

Her gaze locked onto Thierre’s, eyes big and bright. ‘Oh, she is good. Perhaps your blacksmith could fashion something for me?’

‘She is not my blacksmith,’ Thierre retorted, earning one of Sylvie’s classic looks. ‘Besides, you have weapons by Luminaux’s finest masters.’

‘I do,’ she replied, stooping to peer at Cahra’s pommel and the little blue stones that formed the Sigil of the Seers. She traced the symbol with her fingertip, eyes on her brother, her own glittering as she said, ‘But none of them have ever made me anything like this .’

‘Indeed,’ Tyne conceded gruffly. ‘She is skilled, for such youth.’

‘She was nearing the end of her apprenticeship.’ Thierre recalled Lumsden proudly telling him when he had first come to enquire about one of Cahra’s pieces.

Thierre should have brought Lumsden and everyone he and Raiden had befriended. Had he doomed all who had known him in Kolyath to their deaths? He swallowed. But now was not the time for sentimentality.

Anger flaring, he turned to his parents. ‘Regardless. Kolyath believes this sword, this sigil, to be the first omen of the prophecy. Cahra risked her life to warn me, so I brought her back with us. Finding the Seer, Wyldaern, was simply serendipitous.’

Sylvie’s eyes flickered to Thierre. ‘Can I ask—’ she began in an oddly muted voice, but their father cut her off.

‘You have my thanks.’ The King’s words were too perfunctory for Thierre’s liking, and not nearly thankful enough. ‘The omen-bearer and a Seer. It is the edge we need against the scourge of Kolyath and Ozumbre.’

‘I have not yet finished,’ Thierre interrupted. ‘I brought them, however, they shall not remain here. Wyldaern travels to meet her teacher and Cahra wishes to accompany her. As do I.’

The King’s stare was unyielding. ‘No.’ It was a decree.

Thierre flinched. ‘What?’

‘Hael’stromia’s black sands shall pale before I permit you to go gadding about again. It is too dangerous. It was too dangerous before, yet I allowed this folly. It was a mistake.’

He stared at his father. ‘You have welcomed a Seer and the bearer of the prophecy’s first omen into your kingdom. Tell me, what was the mistake?’

Tyne answered for him. ‘Your near-death at Atriposte’s hand.’

The Commander’s reply set Thierre’s ire ablaze and he was ready to retaliate when Sylvie murmured, ‘Thi, he’s not wrong.’

‘I cannot believe you are defending them! You are the one who warned me about Delicia—’ No sooner had the words left Thierre’s mouth than they sank to the ground like dead weights. Sylvie’s eyes flashed at his breach of trust.

I either disclose too little, or too much. I cannot win. Thierre exhaled, attempting an apologetic smile.

His mother sighed, eyelashes fluttering, and signalled for one of her handmaids. ‘Thierre, what precisely is it that you find so distasteful about Delicia? She is the daughter of a lord and decorated veteran. Her family has the requisite wealth and standing. Truly, it is an inspired pairing.’

‘She is insufferable,’ Thierre said heatedly. ‘A self-seeking opportunist who would happily trade her father for a sack of jewels.’

Sylvie burst out laughing. The Queen stared at her children haughtily, as Sylvie said, ‘What? I did tell you as much, Mother.’

‘I think that she is delightful,’ Thierre’s mother sniffed.

‘Of course you do. Except that she is not, and you are not being forced to marry her.’ The room’s eyes on Thierre, he did not hesitate. ‘Call it off.’

For the first time since Cahra and Wyldaern had left, the room fell silent. Tyne wisely retreated to an armchair near the exit, giving them the privacy for yet another family row. Raiden flashed Thierre a remorseful look, joining the Commander.

‘Please,’ Thierre begged his parents.

‘Thierre.’ The Queen rose, her face a mask of motherly concern. ‘I wish we could heed your request, but it has been decided, darling. You are to wed Delicia come the spring.’

Thierre’s heart pounded. ‘That is but months away!’

‘And we have been preparing for far longer.’ His mother batted his distress away with a flick of her manicured hand, her attendant arriving.

‘You cannot be serious,’ he said, stunned. There must be some recourse. The Queen tasked the maid with another pot of chamomile. ‘Mother, this is my life we are talking about. It is more important than your blasted tea!’

She tutted at him, frowning. ‘Thierre, if you cannot be gracious, retire to your rooms, and take that churlish language with you.’

After hours of diplomatically playing his family’s game, Thierre was out of patience.

‘I shall tell you what I take with me: the knowledge that my own parents are forcing me into a lifelong commitment with a woman I despise!’ He warned, ‘If you think for one moment that I am yielding to this mockery of a marriage, you are sorely mistaken !’ And with that, Thierre stormed from the war room, slamming the heavy door behind him.

Thierre stalked down the stairs and into the empty hallway. A moment later, the door banged shut, a second set of footsteps following.

‘Thi,’ Sylvie called. He didn’t stop. ‘Thierre!’ His sister grabbed his arm as he reached the hall’s far end. He turned, glowering at the cream columns juxtaposed against the forest green of the marbled floor.

‘Cahra. She’s the reason you are spurning Delicia, isn’t she?’

Thierre sighed. His sister had always been too good at reading people.

Sylvie watched him as she asked, ‘Just what is going on between you?’

‘I spurn Delicia because she has twisted a past dalliance into something that I am now beholden to, without my consent – and she knows it.’ Thierre hesitated, his hand on the bronze doorknob. ‘Cahra…’ He sighed. ‘I am not sure what is between us.’

‘But Thierre, she’s a Kolyath commoner . Surely, you knew that Father and Mother would never agree?’

‘Of course I knew,’ he hissed. ‘That is not the point.’

Sylvie yielded a small nod. ‘I suppose.’

‘How did you do it? How did you deter our parents’ meddling, when it was you?’

‘It was different for me,’ his sister told him slowly.

‘I’m not the heir to the throne. And I’ve done my duty, within the bounds of what is “appropriate”,’ she snorted, gesturing to the sword and buckler at her side, the plates of armour strapped to her body for protection.

‘But I didn’t let them dictate my choices. ’

Thierre nodded. ‘Then nor shall I.’ All too suddenly, he felt so incredibly tired.

‘You should rest. You’ve had an eventful week,’ she said, and he felt the sharpness of her dark blue eyes scrutinising him.

Before he could say anything, Sylvie threw her arms around him in a bear hug, strong limbs crushing his aching shoulders.

Withholding a grimace, he let the smile behind it arise instead.

‘I missed you, Syl,’ Thierre said, and it was true.

His sister flashed him a roguish grin. ‘Me too,’ she said, and squeezed his arm again. Then she paused, fidgeting with the armour strapped to her forearm, her eyes darting away as a tiny crease dented the space between her eyebrows. ‘I do have one question for you—’

Thierre stifled a laugh. Two years apart, but he’d know that flustered look anywhere. ‘Out with it,’ he said, the warmth in his voice giving him away. ‘Who?’

Sylvie’s hesitation hardened into a filthy scowl. ‘How is this amusing?’

‘Because it is the only time I see you flummoxed,’ he told her, allowing a grin to surface from the depths of his infuriation at their parents.

‘Indeed,’ Sylvie said crossly, plated arms folding across her breastplate. Anyone else would have the good sense not to anger the lynx of a soldier that was his sister. Thierre, however, had been living dangerously for quite some time.

In a small voice, Sylvie asked him, ‘What do you know of Wyldaern?’

‘Little, but what I do, I will gladly share,’ he offered. ‘May we speak about it later? For now, I should like to take your advice and retire to my rooms.’ The longer he stood still, the more Thierre feared his limbs may refuse to move again.

Sylvie nodded, face eager at the prospect of learning more about the Seer. Then she glanced down the hall. ‘I should get back to Tyne. I’ll come find you before supper.’ She squeezed his shoulder, then returned to her Commander and their parents.

He watched her go, the way Sylvie moved with swift, unwavering purpose, her warrior’s boots silent against the polished floor, the only noise the faint jangle of weapons against her armour.

He had missed his sister. She was the only one who understood what it was like to be a child of their parents, and her support meant everything to him.

Thierre left the hall and was met by a guard of Raiden’s.

He greeted the man, saying, ‘I need your help. Can you ensure our guests’ clothing is laundered and ready for them again as soon as possible?

Then, I need you to convey an urgent request to Sabean for me.

’ Thierre gave his instructions and the guard bowed, leaving.

Rounding a corner, Thierre glimpsed the entry leading to his private quarters and exhaled in relief at the familiar sight.

Reaching his door, he stilled, touching the rosewood and savouring his first moment of safety and solitude in two long years, without the need for Raiden or his guards watching his every move.

He stood at his door like that for a minute then, smiling despite the state of his personal affairs, Thierre entered his rooms.

Within an instant, the smile vanished from his face.

‘Get out,’ Thierre said flatly, the words close to a snarl.

‘Thierre,’ Delicia crooned with a toss of her blonde curls, as she reclined upon the cherry-coloured chaise in his spacious reception room. ‘Your mother is correct, is that any way to greet your fiancée?’

‘Get out before I throw you out.’

The tinkle of her teasing laughter cut the air. ‘You would not dare.’

Thierre strode for Delicia.

‘Oh!’ She giggled outright, leaping quickly to her feet in a flurry of skirts.

‘Kolyath and its brutes have changed you! Or your new peasant friends.’ So, she had noticed Cahra.

Thierre clamped his mouth shut. ‘My darling heart, the charity I might comprehend,’ Delicia mused, then looked him up and down.

‘Your ensemble, however… By the Oracles, what are you wearing?’

‘You wish to speak of my attire? I am garbed in clothing appropriate to my duties: something restrained. The precise opposite of whatever that is,’ he retorted, waving his hand in the direction of her corseted gown, tailored purposefully, he knew, to accentuate her figure.

The same ploys as years before. She had not changed.

‘I will have you know that Lord Kenley was most appreciative—’

‘Go marry him, then,’ Thierre muttered, cutting her off.

Delicia narrowed her green eyes. ‘Careful, beloved. I would not wish for your mother to hear of your callous disdain for your betrothed.’

Thierre smiled. ‘Oh, she knows.’

Delicia’s eyes widened. Clearly, she had not anticipated that. She took a step forward, her ballet slipper scuffing his hardwood floor. Thierre bridled at the sound, at the audacity of her commandeering him, when all he wished for was to be alone.

‘Thierre.’ Simply the sound of his name on her lips was infuriating. ‘Are you really so unhappy to see me?’

Thierre turned on her. ‘You forget to whom you speak,’ he snapped.

‘I am not one of your puerile ladies-in-waiting. I am the one who romanced you, the only other in this room who knows exactly why our courtship failed – and it was not of my doing. Speaking of the upstanding lords of Luminaux, please do me the favour of seeking them for private “counsel”, as you did the last time we were together, and the last time I was away serving my kingdom. Then I can put an end to this farce of a marriage.’

Delicia turned from him and he was unsure whether she would cry or scream, both of which he had endured after learning of her infidelity prior to Kolyath. It was the last time that they had spoken.

‘No pithy riposte?’ Moments passed. ‘Then it is as I said.’ Thierre pushed past her, through his reception and to his private bedchambers, throwing over his shoulder as he went, ‘Get. Out.’

A pause. ‘ Can ,’ Delicia repeated, tilting her heart-shaped face to him, ‘not have . Put an end to things, you said.’ A smile formed on her peachy lips. ‘Oh, my dearest love. Your parents have not broken our engagement, have they?’

Thierre froze, his anger churning. When he spoke, his voice was dark as he replied, ‘They will. In time.’

But Delicia had already left the room.

And time was Thierre’s scarcest resource.