Page 63 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame (Fated for Hael #1)

‘ Cahra! ’

Fear permeated Hael’s voice, a panic Cahra had never heard in him before. Her head lolled as she strained to look up at him, breaths shallow.

‘Hael.’ Cahra’s vision dimmed again, but she struggled to sit up from the floor.

‘No,’ he said, cradling her head as he stroked her hair. ‘You must rest.’

‘I must live ,’ Cahra retorted, wincing as she peeled her hand from her stomach, her fingers slick with blood. She looked into Hael’s eyes – his real, flaming eyes before her, as his steadfast, warrior’s arms held her tight. Had she done it? Was he finally free?

‘You will.’ Slowly, Hael lifted the chain mail below her breastplate.

She gasped at the pain. Atriposte had thrust his sword under the metal links to stab her, then Ozumbre’s King had claimed her revenge, and Lumsden’s, by killing Commander Jarett. But there was a problem. Cahra knew what stomach wounds did. How they ended.

By the tight look to Hael’s face, so did he. ‘Healing . Now ,’ was all he ground out.

Cahra tried to reach for him, but her hand, too heavy, fell away.

Hael’s lips hardened into a pinched line. ‘Cahra. Cahra! ’

She felt so sleepy… It was like she could hear his voice, but he was drifting from her as the cold shock paralysed her limbs. The last thing she saw before her eyes fluttered closed was Hael dissolving into smoke. And that sound…

Roaring . No, she thought. Wailing . Hael was hurting—

Agony wracked Cahra as her stomach wound scorched, burning like glowing coals, before a hot and cold sensation crept from her toes to the tips of her fingers. She was slipping, sinking somewhere lightless. Water… Water?

She was floating. On a gently lapping river of night.

Am I dead? Or just unconscious?

Either way, she should have her wits. Cahra tried to focus, but in this vision-like place, overwhelming exhaustion accompanied her thoughts.

So nearly dead then. Now what? She tried to move, to roll from her back, to swim, but her body wasn’t having it. Frustrated, she exhaled, trying to think. Hael?

She waited, but no answer came from him.

Cahra was alone.

She wasn’t sure what to do as she waited for – what? For Hael’s magick to work, while she floated down a dreamscape river? Cahra glanced to one side, flinching as she saw the river was on fire, black flames licking at the riverbank.

Where were these mystical waters taking her? Why was she here? Where was here? What was happening?

Right now, Cahra knew Hael would be doing everything in his powers to save her life. The question was, what was she doing?

No.

The voice came to her from nowhere, and even in Cahra’s weakened, weightless state, she jumped, spluttering in the unearthly fire-water.

The question is: what do you want?

Cahra’s thoughts stilled, if only briefly. It was a question she’d never dared to think, never dared to ask herself. Such pondering was for spoilt high-borns, not the likes of her.

But then, she technically wasn’t a low-born any more. She sighed.

Still running, I take it?

Cahra’s face darkened. Okay, yes, she’d avoided the question, she thought, scowling. She didn’t know how to answer, given she’d gone from poor and expendable, to the realm’s Imperial sovereign in a heartbeat when she’d become the Scion. Duty came first now, right?

It was just like she’d said in Luminaux. She’d never had a choice in her life before. Now someone was asking what she wanted?

Then it occurred to her. And who are you?

Still running. The voice lilted with amusement. She’d never heard the voice before, that she knew, so it wasn’t Grauwynn or Thelaema. This was someone – something – new.

Cahra swallowed. Fine . She squinted her eyes shut, forcing herself to concentrate. Want, want… What do I want?

To stop running from my responsibilities, she thought.

The voice chuckled. That is the Oraculine talking, her projection of your duties.

Ugh . Cahra rolled her eyes. Peace in the realm?

This time, the voice laughed outright. Clever. But no.

Cahra was starting to get annoyed. Seers, what then? She racked her brain to come up with something big, something vital. What had she missed out on, in her life?

What had disappointed her, broken her, as a child? Stunted her in its painful absence? What had Thierre and his family, who seemed so close, experienced that she hadn’t?

There was only one thing. One thing she would regret never pursuing, if she died now. One thing she’d wanted to hold on for. And had, for a few minutes, before here.

Eyelids still closed, she breathed, summoning the only word, the only image she could think of as Hael’s face took shape in her mind’s eye. A single word escaped from Cahra’s lips.

‘Love,’ she whispered.

A dark figure rose before Cahra in the rippling water, and bowed.

‘ Then your journey on the River Tenebri is at its end, ’ the figure said, aloud this time. ‘ Do give my regards to Andruit, won’t you? ’

As Cahra finally began to awaken, she felt it: the slowing blood of her gored stomach, congealing at the site of her injury.

Her skin and tissue, each strand threading and weaving itself back together, the pain dulling to a distant thrum to disappear just like her sword wound, as if no puncture had ever existed.

Lifting her head, she was stunned to find she could move, sit up, maybe even stand, feeling stronger than expected.

Hauling herself gingerly to her feet, Cahra looked around in silent disbelief.

And trembled as her hopeful eyes met Hael’s.

Swirling like a benevolent windstorm, he’d transformed from his smoky cloud into himself again.

But gone was his tattered Seers’ robe, replaced by a black floor-length coat, collared and narrow at the waist, with hems that fractured into flame-like slits.

From his hair, inky, velveteen and shining as fiercely as his firelit eyes, to the dewy moonstone of his bare feet as his coat grazed the tiles, Hael was a vision.

His wine-coloured eyes, softly blazing, beheld Cahra. She could only do the same.

‘Do not fear,’ Hael told her. ‘This room, this shrine, is our hallowed domain. As of now, none can enter except you and I.’

She just nodded. Hael’s voice had changed, maybe with the corporeality of his form. The wraithlike tenor wasn’t as pronounced, which made sense, given he’d been behind the veil in their visions. But she surprised herself by finding she missed his Netherworldly tone.

All traces of softness left Hael’s face, seemingly at the look on hers. ‘Are you hurt?’ He fell to his knees, hoisting the mail below her breastplate to peer at the site of her wound, invisible to her eyes. Hael’s gaze bore into hers, cheekbones sharp with unreleased breath.

‘No,’ she said, unable to help the broad smile that broke across her face. ‘The opposite.’

Something loosened in Hael’s features. His fires, a moment ago raging, alight with alarm and dread, had banked, rolling softly like the waves of that mysterious black river. His grip on her relaxed, affirmation of her presence, her survival. That she was here, with him. That she was okay.

Hael rose to his feet then, his expression hardening as his gaze swept to the tunnels, pale lips curling back to reveal his brilliant fangs, so white in the darkness.

‘They will pay, each and every one of them, for hurting you,’ he said, his voice low and lethal.

He turned to leave and, instinctively, she reached for him.

And felt…

An electrifying surge of heat, like standing one step too close to a white-hot forge, its embers radiant and crackling with molten energy.

The sensation was potent – a bolt, a jolt – a spark that ignited something deep in her core, setting her soul ablaze.

In that singular, defining moment, she felt a sensation more intense, more profound, than she ever had.

It felt like…

Being undeniably, exhilaratingly alive .

Cahra and Hael stood, staring at one another in the darkness.

Hael’s face was too blank, too carefully composed as he whispered to her, ‘I must go.’

‘Wait,’ Cahra pleaded, lost for words. ‘I…’

She looked at Hael, and the realisation began to crystallise inside her mind, clear and brilliant as a rare diamond.

Why she ran from Thierre. Because no matter how much she thought she’d desired the Prince, it would have been a huge mistake.

And it would have cost both of them, deep down.

She knew they could never be, even if she was a royal now.

She’d said goodbye to Thierre not for her sake, but to spare him future heartbreak.

Because while she did care for the Prince, her own heart yearned for someone else.

Thierre wasn’t who she wished to be with.

The answer was staring straight at her, in the form of a man with fire for eyes, patient and hopeful as he waited for her to speak.

‘Hael,’ she said, exhaling his name like a wish.

Slowly, gently, Cahra took his hand.