Page 15 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

She hesitated, feeling the hot prick of fear at last.

‘Finally, I meet the urchin who has given my Kingdom Guards such trouble,’ he said, as she took step after cautious step, stopping several feet away from the cell’s locked door. ‘You are smaller than I imagined,’ the man mused.

That’s what they all thought. Just a little girl. How much trouble could she be? Until she was scampering off to peddle their high-born trinkets.

But the man was still speaking, apparently also used to people paying attention. ‘Listen to me, you miserable little guttersnipe,’ he hissed, a gloved hand shooting through the bars of her dank cell to seize her chin. ‘I am Atriposte, Ruler of the Kingdom of Kolyath, and you will heed me!’ The man shook her – hard.

Terryl drew her gaze, his eyes alert but gentle. ‘Cahra.’

Everything her life had taught her. She would need those lessons now.

Steward Atriposte, the ruler of Kolyath. His eyes were filled with hatred and rage.

She knew what he saw when the Steward’s bulging amber eyes glared into hers: the layers of dirt so caked they were a second skin, the hair that hadn’t been washed in months, the muddy-coloured eyes to match. She wasn’t pretty. But gulping back the bitter acid in her throat, she didn’t need to be. She only needed to do what every beggar in Kolyath did.

Survive.

‘I bet you’re smaller than every girl imagines,’ Cahra said, clenching her fists and spitting a gob of saliva right in the Steward’s face.

He recoiled, dropping her, his face inflaming to a tomato shade of red as he wiped furiously at his cheek. With a snarl, he fumbled to unlock her cell. She inched back.

Then he charged, as she’d guessed, hands reaching for her. Bad men liked to hit. Before he could, Cahra leapt to headbutt the Steward’s chin with the top of her small skull, slipped the mortar shiv between her fingers…

…and stabbed Steward Atriposte, Ruler of the Kingdom of Kolyath, in his thick neck.

She’d never return to the dungeons, never let the Steward’s guards capture her alive. She’d made a vow, and Cahra knew she’d face any peril, even death, before she’d yield to Atriposte, the ravager of Kolyath.

‘Terryl.’ She closed her eyes. ‘There are things about me, things that you don’t know—’

But their conversation came too late. The sounds she’d been dreading since she’d said goodbye to Lumsden had finally found them: raised voices, the stampede of boots on stones and the harrowed peal of an alarm bell in a high tower. The Kingdom Guards were coming.

Cahra turned to Terryl. He was a noble; surely he’d trained in fighting and endurance. ‘I know what we need to do,’ she said, gazing in the direction of the rising uproar.

And the chase began.

CHAPTER 7

It was like the gates to Hael had opened. Cahra sprinted down the kingdom’s main street, Kolyath now a living maze as she tore past manicured hedges and shot over flower beds in the wealthy district closest to the Steward’s castle. The Kingdom Guards were a bend behind, armour clanking as they stormed towards her. Terryl was somewhere behind her too, but Cahra didn’t dare to slow and check on him.

Terryl’s carriage was their destination, near the stables and Kolyath’s gatehouse. Access to the gate was strictly controlled by the Steward.

But as Cahra neared the stretch of road leading to the Haellium gate and their freedom, her stomach churned at the sight of the Kingdom Guards amassing. So she changed course, her legs burning, lungs screaming for air, barely noticing Queran’s arrows flying from above.

Suddenly, Terryl was beside her as she veered left. The guards struggled to mobilise, their hulking chainmail a hindrance for pursuits in Kolyath’s twisting, cobbled lanes.

‘The markets,’ Terryl puffed, his breathing surprisingly steady. He might be a lord, and more used to the Steward’s court than streaking through the kingdom’s streets, but he was keeping pace better than Cahra had expected.

She nodded, running for the marketplace. The swarm of traders hawking wares, noisy haggling and the jostling, unruly crowd would always be a labyrinth, no matter the hour. This route wouldn’t lead directly to the stables, but if they could weave their way through the thrumming market, using it as cover, they may have a chance to lose the guards.

Cahra skidded to a stop. The markets were just beyond a small alley intersection ahead, the perfect place to blend in, to disappear. But stationed outside were four of Jarett’s guards blocking the narrow entrance, their capes the colour of the blood they’d spill if she and Terryl got too close.

‘Damn it!’ Cahra swore.

Right before feeling a prod in the middle of her back. She whirled, grabbing a small arm belonging to a familiar face. The boy with the aquamarine eyes.

‘You!’

The boy pulled her and Terryl into the safety of a darkened doorway, flashing Cahra a lopsided smile. ‘You in trouble?’

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