Page 50 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame (Fated for Hael #1)

Raiden did the same. ‘Look for any signs of a disturbance, anything out of place, if you can. You may see something we couldn’t.’

‘The air, the blood —’ Wyldaern’s eyes were open now, but it was like she couldn’t see the people gathered around her.

‘Blood?’ Queen Avenais’s gaze was fraught with alarm as she gripped her husband.

‘We found blood on the ground a ways from the gatehouse,’ Raiden said quietly. ‘Not much, but enough.’

They all watched as Wyldaern spasmed, violently this time, then returned to the room, her peridot eyes lucid.

‘What did you see?’ King Royce cried, beating Thelaema to the question.

‘A struggle,’ Wyldaern said, dabbing the sleeve of her robe to her damp forehead. ‘And a man. A soldier of Kolyath, I believe, by the pin. Tall, lean. Protruding brown eyes,’ Wyldaern recalled. ‘He and others ambushed Thierre not long into his journey.’

Cahra halted mid-step as something inside her burst into livid flame. The shards of emotion she’d been piecing back together since her and Hael’s abreption converged at once: there was no fear, no sadness, no guilt floundering inside Cahra any more.

There was only Hael’s Netherworldly darkness.

‘ Jarett ,’ Cahra snarled, his name spewing from her with such force it shook the room. The Commander and his sadistic Kingdom Guards were always a part of her night terrors, haunting the recesses of her memories. Thierre wasn’t the only one who’d been taken prisoner.

Cahra exhaled, the air crackling as fire burned within her core.

And from her eyes.

Queen Avenais gasped, her own eyes, her mouth, wide with terror.

‘Cahra,’ Thelaema warned, reaching for her arm then flinching and hissing as her skin scalded Thelaema’s fingers.

Wyldaern rushed for her teacher. ‘I survive yet,’ the Oracle muttered.

Picking up a napkin from the sideboard, Wyldaern placed it in a teacup of cool water and pressed it to Thelaema’s inflamed hand.

Cahra blinked, staring at her arm. She’d burnt Thelaema without even trying. But before she could dwell on it, Sylvie’s voice cracked like a whip.

‘What in Hael is Commander Jarett doing outside Kolyath? That’s Sullian’s arena.’ Sylvie’s fists were clenched so hard Cahra thought the woman might break her own knuckles.

‘Finishing what he started,’ Cahra said, her speech guttural. ‘And addressing his failure to capture Thierre and I in the first place.’ No one said what she was thinking.

That Jarett had made up for that now.

All eyes were on her as Thelaema said, ‘Peace, Cahra. We will locate them.’

Cahra could barely acknowledge the Oracle without feeling as if her own restraints weren’t slipping but galloping away. All she wanted to do was destroy, everything .

But as the room filled with palpable tension, she felt a troubling pang of guilt. Shame. I nearly slaughtered a man in that cave. She sighed. I’ve done enough damage for one day.

Thelaema’s gaze slid to Cahra once again and the Oracle said into her mind: The Reliquus is the Scion’s guardian. His Nether-powers exist to protect you. You only did what Hael would have, had he been with you.

Cahra glared at Thelaema. Is that supposed to make it okay?

The Oracle’s amethyst eyes cooled. It was an enemy soldier, in self-defence.

At first, but not by the end. And that’s not the point! Am I so beyond punishment now? So important that my life ranks above all others? She remembered with sudden clarity Thierre telling Raiden he couldn’t keep putting the Prince’s life above everybody else’s.

‘I cannot be responsible for any more d—’ Any more deaths. Finally, she understood. To Thierre, his future wasn’t worth risking other people. Not if it meant their lives were forfeit.

Cahra had nearly beaten a man to death, all because of Hael’s Nether-powers and her own supposed fate. She scowled at Thelaema.

Wyldaern picked up on the flurried exchange of looks between Cahra and the Oracle, surely sensing a disagreement brewing. But the Seer relaxed as Sylvie handed Wyldaern a cup of tea from the Queen’s platter.

King Royce’s shoulders slumped. ‘Will they demand a ransom?’

Commander Tyne had moved to stand alongside his General and the tabletop map. ‘It’s likely.’

‘What could we possibly ransom?’ Queen Avenais, who’d been muted in her tears, finally succumbed to sobbing into her husband’s shoulder. The King pulled his wife into a tight embrace as she said, ‘Royce, however do we get him back?’ She dabbed at her eyes.

‘Thierre only wanted to keep the kingdom safe. It is why he dreamt up those assignments, to aid us, to see a future without war. He just wanted…’

‘To help,’ Cahra finished, feeling empty. There is value in helping others. That’s what Thierre had said to her.

While she, on the other hand, had spent her whole life running, hiding, from so much. Loneliness, sadness. Happiness.

Love .

And her hidden wish.

To be acknowledged, for her life, her suffering. As Thelaema had, with her apology. To be seen, finally. To matter, to someone. To be more than just a lowly beggar, for once.

Now, as the Scion, as Empress, she would have those things.

But before all that, Thierre had been there. And despite how things had ended, that honour would always be his. He had seen her, and while he had lied about his own truths, he had not shied away from her own. He had helped her, and she valued that.

An idea started to take shape in Cahra’s mind.

Meanwhile, King Royce had fixed his stare on Commander Tyne, who vehemently shook his head as the King replied to his wife, ‘There is but one thing more valuable than a Luminaux Prince.’ Royce stood quietly. ‘A King.’ Queen Avenais burst into tears anew. ‘Tyne. Offer them a trade.’

Cahra stepped from the back of the room, Thelaema’s sharp gaze slicing into hers.

There is value in helping others.

Thelaema’s spitfire words pierced Cahra’s mind: Do NOT even finish that thought.

But Cahra knew. When Hael had told her of the unimaginable, the inconceivable – that she was an Empress – her first thought had been Thierre.

That it should have been him, that he would have known exactly what to do.

That he’d spent his life training to be King and knew what all of this required.

One day, Thierre would rule Luminaux, and that role was something he’d been groomed for since birth.

Not Cahra; she wasn’t a leader, not even close.

Regardless of the Key or the capital or the weapon, Thierre was the smart choice, whereas she didn’t have a clue. Until now, that is, she thought.

She didn’t need training to know her next words were the right ones.

‘You’re wrong,’ Cahra told King Royce. ‘There’s something even more valuable.’ She looked around Luminaux’s den of war, knowing once she spoke the words out loud, she could never take them back again.

Good. Maybe if I do this, I can save a life, instead of destroying one.

And that life would be Thierre’s.

Thelaema, like Tyne, shook her head, the Oracle’s eyes shooting daggers: Cahraelia – Cahra! DON’T!

A sense of resolution washed over her. Cahra turned to King Royce, her voice steady. This is how I help. With newfound determination, she locked eyes with Thierre’s father.

Taking a deep breath, Cahra said, ‘An Empress trumps a King.’