Page 38 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

Feeling the hot creep of a blush, Cahra turned to Raiden. ‘He’s good.’

‘The finest,’ Terryl agreed. ‘I see you have colour in your cheeks again. Are you well?’

‘Yes,’ she said quickly, stepping to him. ‘Except…Thank you. I feel so embarrassed – it was your bed I woke up in, wasn’t it? Did you sleep?’

Terryl smiled, eyes bright. ‘Cahra. You were exhausted and hurt. I put you where it would do you the most good.’ His gaze lingered on her knee, hidden beneath layers of ruffles. She flushed again, the frills of the dress making her feel like a giant doll.

Minutes later, Raiden turned towards them, then took one look and fell about laughing. ‘Training?’ He grinned at her, sword in hand.

‘You think I can’t?’ Cahra folded her arms.

Raiden belly laughed. ‘Not in that thing!’

It was at that moment that she decided to keep the secret of Hael healing her knee, because she was going to kick his arse when he least expected it. ‘Oh, you’re wrong.’

Raiden, clearly not one to shy from a challenge, just laughed and tossed his blade, unfastening the decorated buttons of his jacket. ‘Let’s see how you go with your fists, then.’ He dismissed his men for breakfast, half heading inside, half lingering by the cave to watch the early morning show.

Oh, boy.Well, at least she knew a thing or two about brawling. She glanced to Terryl, then locked eyes with Raiden and raised her fists. The Captain circled, assessing her position, before returning to face Cahra again, still grinning.

‘Okay, blacksmith,’ Raiden said. ‘Show me a punch.’

CHAPTER 18

The next few days were uneventful as the caravan travelled, rested and travelled some more. They camped in a deserted farm, a tree-shielded elevation and even slept in the coach and wagons of Terryl’s caravan. And Cahra trained, as Raiden promised, Piet stepping up as weapons master. She adored it. She supposed she’d always wanted to learn a weapon, but just never had the chance in Kolyath. By the time she was grown, Cahra was already one of the lucky ones. She had a trade, a livelihood. Asking for more was tempting fate to take what little she had. But Terryl seemed determined to fulfil her unspoken wish to wield one of her own creations, whenever and whatever that might be. He often watched her as she trained.

Terryl. Cahra snuck a glance at him in the coach, in profile as he observed the Wilds, so lovely with his blue goldstone eyes, dark chestnut hair and honeyed skin. She felt his eyes on her all the time now, even when she wasn’t looking. As if he was piecing her together and the picture was getting clearer. She didn’t quite understand it. Yet there was a part of her that liked Terryl’s attention, a part of her that wanted him to, what, fancy her? Cahra had never kissed someone in a romantic way; it had always been so raw, so rushed. But now, sometimes she found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss Terryl. Not the desire of it, but the tenderness of it, of his warm lips on hers. The idea both excited and terrified her.

Except…

She looked down, at the borrowed dress she still wore, and at her newly brushed hair. A rarity, free of the usual soot and oil that darkened it from her pale copper to a mousy brown. Cahra imagined herself in her smithing leathers, with her ripped trousers, socks with holes, ragged boots and dirty, calloused hands. Not to mention her scars, pink and ugly from the countless times she’d burned herself at the forge, or snagged herself on a blade, or—

Inwardly, she shrunk. Yes, she craved Terryl’s desire, even for a moment. Because once she was out of this dress and back in her old things, her unshapely men’s clothes… Would he even see her? Would it be so obvious again, the space between them?

Him, a lord, and she—

A beggar.Always a lowly beggar, she thought, sighing.

Once again, Cahra found herself gazing out the window at the darkly beautiful Wilds. No matter how long they travelled, the lush, green woodlands never failed to captivate her. Even in the dimness of the silent, shaded trees, there was something comforting about the unbroken Wilds and those who dwelled there.

Until, that is, she heard noises outside the carriage and away from the road. Raiden, also alert to the commotion, signalled out the window.

Moments later, Siarl and Piet were flanking the coach on horseback.

‘What’s happening?’ Raiden asked.

Siarl answered, her voice strong and steady. ‘A skirmish between a Wildswoman and what looks to be a Kolyath patrol.’

‘This close to Luminaux?’ Terryl said, startled.

Cahra watched Terryl’s Captain in silence. ‘Raiden,’ she said, his grey eyes flickering to hers. ‘A Wildswoman under attack…’

‘How many?’ He finally ground out the words to Siarl, his eyes on Terryl.

‘Around a dozen.’

Cahra was appalled. ‘A dozen? Against one woman?’ Why was Raiden hesitating? There was a rigidness to the man’s face. Maybe she’d overstepped, but to Hael with it. She didn’t answer to him, and threw open the carriage door. One Wildswoman against that many soldiers was despicable.

‘Cahra!’ Terryl called, staring at her in astonishment.

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