Page 121 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

Piet, Siarl and Queran stepped forward, bowing as one. ‘It has been our honour, Empress.’

‘And,’ the gentle warrior said, ‘please do return to train at the palace any time.’

She raised an arm to each of them, the allies she’d made on this most difficult journey. ‘Thank you. The honour is mine,’ she told them. Then Luminaux’s army moved out.

Cahra watched as Thierre’s people gathered their wounded, mounted their horses and bid her, Wyldaern and Hael farewell. She remained until Thierre turned back to her at last, a smile on his face. But the expression seemed fixed and his blue goldstone eyes were wistful. Then he, Sylvie, Raiden and his people turned to the north-east and trotted away from her, back to Luminaux and their kingdom of light. As they dwindled to tiny dots on the horizon, a sigh escaped Cahra’s lips. With their departure, a piece of herself would journey with them, forever bound to Luminaux and her memories of the kingdom.

And the people in it who’d helped change her life.

CHAPTER 48

Once Luminaux’s army vanished into the distant Wilds, Cahra surveyed the gate to the capital of Hael’stromia; her capital, it seemed. Opening soon to every kingdom, every person in their long-surviving realm.

What do I do now?

She glanced to Wyldaern. The look on the Seer’s face – the Oraculine’s face – seemed to be asking the same thing. Wyldaern rubbed her eyes, no longer peridot, but the amethyst of a High Oracle of the Order of Descry.

Cahra reached out gently for Wyldaern’s slender arm and asked her, ‘Are you all right?’

She knew it was a stupid question, but it was a quiet acknowledgement of their shared pain. Wyldaern had lost Thelaema today, her mentor, as Cahra had lost hers in Lumsden. That loss, they would carry with them. Hael had retrieved Lumsden’s body, and though the customary rites awaited, it was a task for another day. When hearts and minds felt steadier.

Wyldaern faced the dark city. ‘There is much to do. Much to think on.’

Cahra’s gaze flickered beyond the gate to Hael’stromia’s sands, barren as they were. She knew gardening would be the least of her problems.

‘Yes,’ she admitted.

‘Then, we begin.’ Hael strode to the gate, twirling Cahra’s great-hammer in the air. She eyed the vast pack of skeletal Nether-hounds trailing behind him.

‘Really? Well, while I appreciate the enthusiasm, how are the three of us supposed to clean up the capital for a party? Including the pyramid’s hallways,’ Cahra added, shuddering at the idea of carting the dead from the temple; or maybe it was those hounds.

‘Perhaps we can request aid from the kingdoms?’ Wyldaern suggested.

Hael was silent, a playful tilt to his lips.

‘What is it?’ Cahra asked him. His inky hair and coat were so striking in the daylight against the luminous skin of his face and chest.

‘There is less to be done than you think. Yet there is much for us to discuss,’ he said, reaching the gate. He gestured for her to go first.

From the corner of her eye, Cahra noticed Wyldaern watching them, her gaze distant. There was a tightness around her eyes, a stiffness in her stance that had not been there before. Unease gnawed at the edges of Cahra’s happiness, a worry she couldn’t name.

Brow furrowed, she took a step. ‘Okay, but I don’t really understand—’

The words died in Cahra’s throat as Hael glided from behind her and, together, they crossed the capital’s threshold.

And the world around them began to bloom.

With each step Hael took, seedlings sprouted and flowers grew from the desert sands in exotic shades of flaming red and orange, jewel-like blue and purple. The ground pulsated, returning to life, all because of him. She watched the spectacle in awe as Hael kept walking, the habitat reacting to him passing, trees and shrubs shooting from the ground to thrive anew in shimmering shades of black, gold, copper and richest brown.

In minutes, the capital had transformed from a barren wasteland of sand and stone to an idyllic oasis, a sanctuary, the city’s black buildings that had lain empty but intact for years erect and proudly polished, resplendent in the sun’s embrace. The capital had become a different place. Hael had breathed life into Hael’stromia again.

Looking out over the expanse of her new city, Cahra felt a sort of vertigo, like she’d stepped off a cliff’s edge and was free-falling into the unknown. Was this really her life now? She was no Thierre, born and bred for royal rule. She was just Cahra, a girl from Kolyath and a village in the Wilds, who’d somehow found herself carrying the weight of an empire.

A girl who had wielded extraordinary dark magicks, and felt their absence keenly.

She couldn’t shake the shadow of longing that coiled itself inside her as she gazed out at the wondrous vista unfolding before her very eyes. For a fleeting moment, Hael’s powers had been hers to command, a dark and supreme force that had given her a taste of something she’d never known before: power, not to mention near-invincibility. But now that she was Empress, the prophecy fulfilled, she was expected to just relinquish that strength. Cahra was meant to be grateful, to entrust Hael to protect her in his role as champion. To accept her human vulnerability, her human helplessness.

Except… Cahra was tired of being helpless.

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