Page 47 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

Sullian stood tall, defiance in his eyes. ‘It is only a matter of time,’ he said firmly. ‘These people do not travel inconspicuously and we have narrowed their likely routes.’

Atriposte’s mind wandered as Sullian droned on, anger ebbing into icy determination. He would have this Cahra girl, and the merchant Lord Terryl, and he would have them alive. No mistake from Sullian or anyone else would stand in his way.

Do not give him too long a leash. You saw what happened with Father. One minute, they are on your side. The next, their knife isinyour side.

Atriposte had seen his father execute Commander after Commander in this very room. Not only did it fail to solve incompetencies, it eroded loyalty. Not to mention that it had prompted his father’s own untimely death. For Atriposte, it was a lesson of import: no ruler is invulnerable. Unless they possessed a large enough deterrent. Thinking of the weapon, Atriposte smiled.

So, he had begun his reign by purging his father’s council. This had been followed by Atriposte reigniting the kingdom’s war rhetoric – and his subjects’ unity and loyalty – by raising low-born taxes to support his new advisors in their courtly patronage, blamed on the lofty expenditures of war and leaving Kolyath’s base residents too starved to mount an uprising. Then, his favourite: practitioners of scrying magick hung by their ankles, disembowelled and left to putrefy in his kingdom’s execution square.

He had learned from his father’s mistakes. Terror and violence were not enough, nor were bullying, torturing and killing, like his father had, with the tormenting of his own sons. Atriposte’s strength had to prevail for a reason, one that people would condone. Hael’stromia and the weapon were that reason, the war the vehicle; the outcome, prosperity and stability.

And Atriposte would take it through force. Neither Luminaux’s weakling King Royce nor Ozumbre’s barbarous King Decimus would take the capital’s ultimate weapon from him. Kolyath was the perfect fit, as it had been the last time it controlled the weapon and Hael’stromia. The last time any of the tri-kingdoms had done so, before the city’s loss.

We shall see. Whether your unregal blood dooms you to life as a sitting imposter, or whether the prophecy has something to offer you, Steward.

At the foot of his throne, Jarett spoke. ‘Please, Your Excellency, do not coddle him. Let him attempt to remedy this most egregious of mistakes. If he can.’

‘Iwillfind them and cut down any and all who stand in my path,’ Sullian growled.

A sly smile forming, Jarett mused, ‘Perhaps start with that old mule blacksmith.’

There it was, the thirst for violence. Atriposte could see it in their faces, eyebrows carving a murderous line. It was precisely what the Commanders were good for, and why he kept Sullian and Jarett all these long years: the rabble feared him, feared Kolyath. Atriposte’s soldiers and guards were the plate-fisted enforcers of his grand cause.

Realising the Commanders had fallen silent before him, awaiting his next orders, Atriposte waved a hand at Sullian. ‘If you must.’

Shooting a glare at Jarett, the army Commander bowed, turning to go.

‘Halt,’ Atriposte ordered. ‘I was to send for you, and you have saved me the trouble. Your presence is required to greet a valuable guest. It seems an accord has now been struck,’ Atriposte continued, as Sullian eyed him warily, ‘and I am to receive a gesture of goodwill from our new sister kingdom comrades.’ He reluctantly sheathed his dagger at his side, then rang a shrill bell to signal the attendants in reception, booming, ‘Come!’

He watched as first Jarett then Sullian spun, drawing their swords in unison when they beheld who, or more precisely, what, entered the room.

The Commanders’ blades gleamed as a breathy laugh rasped and rumbled like nothing Atriposte had ever heard. Certainly nothing human.

‘You’ll not end me with that, young one,’ the figure taunted, garbed in an off-white hooded robe, ripped and tattered at the hem. A shiver of sheer delight fluttered from the nape of Atriposte’s neck down the length of his spine. This…

Thiswas worth partnering with Ozumbre for.

The nefarious figure, every line and curve of its silhouette radiating danger, turned. ‘Atriposte, blood of Stewards. We meet at last,’ the figure said, his voice chillingly casual.

The sound made Atriposte’s hairs stand on end, his every instinct screaming.

Instead, Atriposte managed to grant a seemly smile in return. ‘And you, Grauwynn, Oracularus of Hael’stromia.’ His tone was almost respectful. Almost.

The elderly Seer reciprocated, amused. ‘You shall warm to our gifts, my good Steward, that we promise, especially when you hear of the All-seeing’s latest revelation.’ Grauwynn withdrew his ghostly cowl, revealing drab beige skin pulled taut over his bones, wrinkling like crepe in the hollows of his face. The wiry man’s eyes shone a disconcerting shade of violet as he beheld the Commanders.

‘Yes?’ Atriposte eyed his fingernails, looking bored. Theatrics were of the utmost importance.

To one side, Jarett, who had silently observed the exchange, began to laugh. Sullian’s face tightened, but he remained silent, his grip on his sword easing.

Yet nothing in Atriposte’s life, tallying middle years, had prepared him for the boon laid before him as Grauwynn said, ‘Your fugitives.’ The Oracle gazed into Atriposte’s eyes. ‘I know where they are going.’

PART TWO

‘When the Key has been bestowed’

CHAPTER 21

Trumpets blared as Luminaux’s Haellium gate opened, slowly enough for a swarm of soldiers in blue tabards to rush through – their archers lining the parapets, Cahra realised, not focused on Thierre’s caravan, but on the surrounding Wilds.

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