Page 37 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame (Fated for Hael #1)

Wyldaern gave her a gentle nod. ‘You are welcome. Besides, you did the same for me when you and Thierre’s Royal Guards rescued me.’

Cahra grinned back at her. ‘Okay, last question, for now. When I meet the Oracle, what happens then? About the Key, and the rest of what Commander Tyne said?’

‘Much that I cannot speak to, but She will. And you will learn of your fate, your involvement in all of this. But first…’ Wyldaern paused.

Cahra waited. ‘Mmm?’

With a laugh, Wyldaern asked, ‘Can we please return to the palace for breakfast? I am famished!’

Before eating, Cahra entered her room, catching herself in the full-length mirror. She was coal-streaked and sweaty from smithing. Something told her walking into the royal dining room looking as she did wouldn’t do.

Bathing quickly, she reached for the soap and lathered it into her hair, the scent of lilies blooming in the steam-filled room.

Then she pulled herself from the milky water and groped about for a towel, finally discovering her own clothes.

They’d been washed, scrubbed and folded, her linen shirt soft against her skin.

But she couldn’t find her vest. Cahra scanned the room as she had earlier.

That’s when she spied a ribboned parcel on the console table by the door. With a card.

Safe travels.

Cahra stiffened. She’d watched Thierre, as Terryl, scrawl enough notes in his carriage to recognise his handwriting. But ‘Safe travels’? She frowned, turning her gaze to the box, then slipped the velvety ribbon from it and opened the lid, refusing to draw breath.

She should have. ‘By the Seers!’

It was her vest, or it had been. Because whoever had transformed it had not only replaced the worn leather strips and stitching, but also added metal plates shielding the torso, sealed and supported by a layer of supple leather closest to the skin.

Chain mail curved from below the bust to her waist, so she’d be protected without her range of motion suffering.

Cahra gaped in awe as she beheld her new breastplate.

And there was more, she discovered, lifting a pair of leather riding trousers aloft, unfolding like a concertina from seat, to knee, to ankle.

There was also a new coat with fur hood and trim, longer than her own and better suited to the changeable weather she’d experienced on the road, plus a new shirt, underwear, socks, even brand-new boots.

Ordinarily, the thought of a stranger choosing her underthings would have embarrassed her, but Cahra was too shocked to register it.

All of this, each garment more splendid than the last, all from Thierre, a gift for her ‘safe travels’. He’d made this happen, for her.

But, Cahra thought, could she accept it?

In Kolyath, she would never have contemplated accepting a gift from a high-born.

Nothing was ever free, and men like that expected things in return.

But this was Thierre, he wasn’t like those nobles.

So what was this – amends? One final gesture after she’d run from his kiss? Or was this his grand farewell?

And if she accepted his gift, what would it mean?

Cahra stared at her old clothes, sighing.

Her boots, holed before she’d left Kolyath; trousers, shirt and coat the same, especially after that first fight; her socks and underwear, many times over.

Even her vest had seen better days. But Thierre’s garments?

They were unworn, untorn, sturdy and steadfast. Practical for the journey ahead.

Did he want her to stay, or go?

But what could she do here in Luminaux? Adopt Quillon as her new Lumsden and try to go back to the way things were? Too much had happened. What bothered her the most was she didn’t know why – why the Sigil of the Seers, why her? Why any of it?

Wyldaern had said Cahra would learn her fate. And she wanted to meet the Oracle. She had to know the truth of what was happening.

If Cahra stayed in Luminaux, she’d only be staying for Thierre. And for what, to watch him marry someone else? No. The choice was him, or herself.

At least if I choose myself, I’ll never be betrayed.

She was a survivor. One that would accept new garments for her journey ahead. And maybe something to remember Thierre by.

Cahra squared her shoulders, staring at the box.

She dressed in every single item, then towelled and combed her hair, letting it fall in wet waves past her shoulders.

Standing in front of the mirror, Cahra stared at her reflection.

She looked strong . Wild and free in her new leathers, the trousers snug around her waist, her refashioned blacksmithing vest hugging her curves.

Finally, a proper woman’s breastplate! Cahra raised her eyes to her face, for once not hidden by soot or sweat.

Her irises popped green against the copper of her freshly washed hair, the bones of her cheeks and splash of freckles so clear without her mask of low-born grime.

Inhaling, Cahra straightened. And offered the person in the mirror a tentative smile.

A self-assured young woman beamed back at her.

Cahra swallowed, awed to find that for once, she actually felt… pretty.

She took one last look in the mirror. Then strode to the bed, stuffed her old things into her satchel and glanced around the guest room, at everything spun in blue and gold. Luminaux had given Cahra her first taste of luxury. But such things weren’t meant for her.

There were other things, important things, and she would learn their secrets. Today . All she needed to do was get through breakfast.

And say goodbye to Thierre.