Page 2 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

‘LordTerryl!’ Lumsden corrected her, clapping and beaming at the high-born. ‘Welcome.’ She shot the old man a sideways glance.

Seers, what was so special about this one?

Apart from him sticking up for you against Jarett?

Grudgingly, Cahra looked up, right into the lord’s eyes. Blue goldstone, she mused, an indigo gem that twinkled gold and silver like the starry night sky. She’d made a point of studying precious gemstones, as the Steward’s court demanded them.

‘Lumsden,’ Lord Terryl greeted in return, dazzling eyes flashing back to Cahra. The lord’s mouth curved up. ‘And you are, Miss…?’

Chewing her lip, she realised she’d failed to introduce herself, and to a lord, no less. Anyone would think she’d never spoken to a noble before. Lumsden would be mortified. ‘Cahra,’ she told the young lord quickly.

‘Cahra, of course.’ He nodded. ‘I spoke with Lumsden about you.’

She whipped her head up to the old man, who swiftly nudged her with his foot.

‘The Steward’s advisors speak highly of your artisanship at court,’ Lord Terryl said. ‘What might you craft, if I were to offer you a blank canvas?’

Cahra didn’t know what confused her more, the question or the compliment. ‘Sorry?’ Mercifully, the damp coastal air swept the heat from her pinkening cheeks.

‘A longsword that you could craft freely,’ Lumsden explained. ‘You would decide on the design, the materials, everything.’ She caught the words the old man left unsaid: unlike with the Steward or his infuriating court, whose dictates choked her love of smithing.

‘Speaking of materials,’ Lord Terryl began, eyes sparkling. ‘The Steward’s sword. Was that a Haellium blade, the everlasting ore? And those rubies, like none that I have seen!’ His full attention was on her, and she shifted under the intensity of his gaze.

‘Star rubies,’ Cahra said slowly. ‘They’re rare. Almost as rare as Hael’stromia’s ore.’ She gave the lord a pointed look.

Haellium, the metal forged from the ore of the realm’s lost capital, was more precious than gold due to its pure indestructibility. But no one had mined it since Hael’stromia’s fall, centuries ago. Commander Jarett hadn’t said how he’d obtained some for the ruler’s rapier.

The Steward’s rapier was the only Haellium weapon in Kolyath, and with the man’s vicious reputation, one was more than enough. Crafting a weapon like that for such a tyrant gnawed at her, and Cahra clenched her fists. Everything wrong with Kolyath – from its starving beggars, like she’d been as a kid, to its crushing taxes, all to aid a never-ending war – was the Steward’s fault. She never should have forged that sword.

But what could she do, refuse? His guards wouldn’t just drag her to the kingdom’s Red Square for a spot of public torture, they’d take Lumsden too. To make examples of them, of all low-borns. Of what happens when you defy the Steward of Kolyath.

The ruler’s punishments had moved beyond mere dungeon cells.

Cahra tensed at the memory, fear needling her. A weapon, Haellium ore, the capital; this conversation was skating dangerously close to forbidden territory for low-borns, like the ancient Seers and their prophecy. And its treasure, the real sword the Steward could never be allowed to get his hands on.

Hael’stromia’s ultimate weapon, the reason for the realmwide war.

Cahra cleared her throat, changing the subject. ‘Milord, a sword is a personal effect. I’d need to know your family’s crest, or animal, plant, colour, anything to signify your kin…’ On one hand, his request intrigued her. On the other, it seemed like a quick way to waste coin. Lord Terryl laughed, but not the haughty snigger of the wealthy high-borns who frequented the Traders’ Quadrant. This was a soft chuckle, as if he saw her hesitance and found the situation amusing, and not her.

‘You seek parameters for your artistry, which is fair. So, Miss Cahra, my favourite colour is blue.’

Her gaze flickered to the lord’s face. He was handsome in that typical high-born way. Dark hair, chiselled jaw, sweeping brow and all the rest: unbroken nose, snow-white teeth.Eyes the colour of blue goldstone. He cocked his head. Cahra realised she was staring at him, and a hot blush finally crept to blot the freckles flung across her nose and cheeks. Knowing his favourite anything felt oddly intimate.

‘Blue,’ she said, doing her best to think, speak, like a person. ‘Blue can be, erm, plain. Royal blue, for example, is overused. How about a brighter blue, like cobalt? It has a vibrancy, a resonance. There’s life in it—’

What in Hael was the matter with her? Besides living on little sleep for weeks, and the Steward, the rapier, the Commander. High-borns in general.

Lord Terryl studied her again, for so long she thought she’d said something wrong, then smiled. ‘That, Miss Cahra, is why I sought you.’

She tried to take the praise and failed. ‘Just Cahra, please, milord. However, it will be days before I can start on your longsword.’

‘Then it shall certainly be worth the wait.’ He handed her a cream-coloured envelope, his gloved hand grasping hers, warmth radiating from the supple leather as he held her gaze. ‘Measurements, for the sword,’ the young lord told her, inclining his head as he smiled. Swallowing, surprise rendered her speechless as he said, ‘A pleasure to meet you, Cahra.’

He was bowing to her!

‘And you, Lord Terryl,’ she said, attempting her best curtsey and still managing to fumble it completely.

The young noble smiled and lifted his hand in farewell, nodding at Lumsden, then slipped into the noonday sea of people.

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