Page 32 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

She watched in amusement as Raiden crouched over the firewood, striking rocks and growing increasingly frustrated. Finally, he sat back, brow furrowed, and scratched his head.

‘What?’ he muttered, glancing at her sharply.

Kneeling, Cahra laughed. ‘You have all these camps but you can’t start a fire?’

‘I’m not usually the one to do this,’ he groused.

She reached into her satchel. ‘Try quartz.’ Grinning, she pulled a rough stone from her bag and held out her other hand. Raiden looked at it, confused. ‘Your knife,’ she told him, then sighed and rolled her eyes at him. ‘Afraid I’m going to stick you in your other side?’ Raiden’s face darkened, but he handed it to her. Cahra whittled a stick into little shavings, arranging the tinder in a small circle on the pile of wood. She selected a piece, pressed it to the quartz and tilted Raiden’s knife, winking.

And remembered something, rummaging through her pack.

‘Oh! I almost forgot.’ Cahra withdrew a lump of tenebrite for Veil’s Eve, the final night of the Festival of Shadows. She pushed it deep within the wood pile. ‘To keep the fire burning,’ she told him.

She hit the quartz with the knife. It sparked for her on the first go.

‘How did you do that?’ Raiden asked as he uncrossed his arms to warm his hands.

‘Blacksmith, remember? Fire is my friend.’ Even before she’d been one, she thought, when she’d lived on Kolyath’s streets.

Her and Terryl’s eyes met, and the story of her past, her growing up a homeless, kinless urchin, was on her tongue again. She swallowed, ridding herself of the words.

Despite all he’d said and done, she couldn’t tell him. He was a lord, and she was—

A beggar. Always a lowly beggar, no matter the esteem she earned.

She stood and ambled farther into the cave. Someone had lit torches and placed them around its edges, which was wise as she could feel a cool breeze gliding past to the entrance. Cahra raised her palms to a flaming torch, the heat radiating like it would thaw her soul.

‘You never told me,’ Terryl said quietly from behind her.

She’d barely heard his footsteps, she’d been so deep in thought. ‘Told you what?’

‘The things about you that I do not yet know.’ He echoed her words from his garden, right before they’d fled Kolyath in his coach.

Cahra’s chest hurt the more she looked at him. But it wasn’t Terryl’s fault, it wasn’t anyone’s. Life just happened, like it always did to her. Her childhood, the dungeons.

But unlike then, now she was free.So why did she feel so lost?

Cahra tried to smile. But her sadness was so close to the surface, too close, and all it would take was to think of something dreadful happening to Lumsden—

She took a shuddering breath. Then Terryl’s hand was on her shoulder, his warmth permeating her skin, melting her numbness in a way the fire couldn’t. The cave was dim where they now stood, Terryl’s dark hair gleaming beneath the torch, but she could still make out his blue goldstone eyes. He didn’t say a word, he just stood by her. And saw her pain.

In the darkness of the cave, Cahra found the courage to let go, and finally wept.

When she was done, Cahra and Terryl sat by the soft light of the torch under a blanket, hot mugs of cider in their hands as they waited for Langera to roast the wild pheasants Queran and the others had caught.

‘I feel like a child,’ Cahra said, wiping away the last of her tears. ‘Inevercry.’

‘Perhaps you needed to. You are grieving, in a way. Your life will not be the same.’ Terryl gazed into her eyes. ‘It will be better.’

Will it?Taking a sip of the mulled alcohol, she said, ‘If you say so.’

Terryl flashed a playful smile, saying, ‘The Oracles best heed my will.’

‘I never believed,’ Cahra said after a moment, staring into the torch’s flames. The carefree flicker of its fire was comforting, the way the orange light whipped and twirled, dancing towards the ceiling. He gave her a questioning look. ‘The Seers. The prophecy.’

‘Ah.’ Terryl raised his mug and drank, then lowered it to his lap again. ‘Cahra… Regardless of what Jarett, Atriposte or any one person thinks – prophecy or no prophecy – I must thank you. For stopping me and warning me. For giving my people a chance to escape. We are all here tonight because of you. I am deeply grateful.’

Cahra opened her mouth, but she didn’t know what to say. Eventually she managed, ‘No, thankyou. For getting me out of the kingdom. I didn’t dare to hope for an answer, and then you stepped in. I’m thankful too,’ she told him. She really was grateful for him.

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