Page 67 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

Thierre rounded a corner, and instantly ducked back. Perhaps his note had made its way to Sylvie too quickly, for Commander Tyne had accosted Raiden outside his quarters. The Captain spotted him, his face weathering a storm of emotions as Thierre watched Raiden struggle with whether to halt his plan altogether. Finally, Raiden threw up his hands in what looked like intense agitation, until Thierre glimpsed the signal to go forward. His old friend had come through for him in the end. Thierre nodded his thanks to Raiden and spun to make his getaway, appraising the exits.

There was a servants’ passage beneath the palace that came out by the second-last turn before leaving the kingdom proper. With any luck, he would catch Cahra and the others there. Thierre drew his hood and hastened along the dim torch-lit path, tossing a ‘Hail King Royce’ to anyone who gave him a second look. He prayed Raiden had managed to convince Tyne not to launch a full-scale mission to apprehend him.

After what felt like an agonising stretch of time, the dimness of the tunnel gave way to light at its far end. He charged it, adjusting his cowl as he slowed to enter the flow of traffic, sweeping for anyone he knew. For the briefest of moments, Thierre’s heart sunk as he failed to spot Cahra and Wyldaern, or Piet, Siarl and Queran. But…There!Before the gate, the ermine fur-lined hood that he had been so adamant about.

Cahra.

Thierre moved towards her, trying to hurry without drawing attention. Approaching the gate, he pulled a map from his pocket and pretended to consult it, noting his father’s own Royal Guards, who looked set to halt him, when a voice rang out:

‘Guards!’ The helmed men stood quickly at attention as a fellow officer approached. ‘The Captain requests advanced support at the sky terrace, immediately!’

Thierre exhaled. It was one of his and Raiden’s coded phrases, created on the off chance that one day Raiden might need to aid Thierre in escaping the kingdom, if overrun. The guards suitably distracted, Thierre folded his map and replaced it in his pocket, resuming his search for the black and white fur hood.

At last, Thierre neared the gatehouse, the kingdom’s final checkpoint, and its jet gate. He watched as Cahra and the others proceeded forward, Piet speaking with the guards, the man’s imposing bulk unmistakable. Thierre knew that they would be enquiring about the group’s return and he strained to listen. What would Cahra’s response be?

Her reply floated to him on the breeze: ‘We’ll see.’ Despite the thoughts tumbling around inside his head, it warmed him to hear the possibility in her voice, even now.

He knew the ranking guard on duty, so, as he had done so many times before, Thierre moved for the checkpoint. The guard offered him a dutiful nod, before stepping aside to let the Prince pass. Then, moving through the black gate, Thierre quickened between the trees to reach Cahra, his focus solely on her and making sure that she was safe.

Thierre didn’t see the weapon coming down behind him until it was too late.

CHAPTER 28

The lush, towering trees of the evergreen Wilds were silent, like Cahra, as Wyldaern led the way to the Oracle. In the time of old Hael’stromia, three roads forked from Luminaux: to the west, the road that retraced their steps to Kolyath; to the south-west, the road to the capital; and to the south, a third route that once led to Ozumbre. That road was destroyed centuries ago, Piet had said, as Cahra eyed it from outside Luminaux’s black gate, the cobbles ripped up and hurled to the wind, the ancient path overgrown. Like so many people in their realm, the road had retreated into the anonymity of the Wilds.

Safety and security in hiding. Cahra understood all too well, yearning for both as her uneasy legs carried her into the unknown.

Piet had asked if she or Wyldaern wanted to ride the palomino mare saddled with everyone’s bags, but both preferred to walk; the Seer, because she was used to it, and Cahra because, without the distraction of forcing one boot in front of the other, she feared she might do something stupid. Like go running back to Luminaux.

What is Thierre doing right now?

She tried to leave the thought behind her.

Instead, she gently patted the tan mare’s powder-white mane. Cahra had a feeling the horse was more than just a pack-mule for the journey; should they be attacked, the palomino would be the fastest way for them to flee. Ahead, she watched Wyldaern and Piet chat quietly, Queran roaming somewhere at the rear of their party. Siarl had slipped into the underbrush shortly after they’d set out, her impressive silver daggers unsheathed, her long braids swept into a high knot atop her head. Cahra wondered why Queran hadn’t left and taken to the trees, as he so often did to leverage his marksmanship. Unless it was on purpose, she considered – to lull any who might ambush them into thinking she and Wyldaern’s guards were as they seemed, no one lurking as a countermeasure beyond the pastel blooms speckling the forest floor.

No wonder Thierre thought so highly of his Royal Guards.

Yet the idea of more trouble… Wyldaern turned to laugh at something Piet had said, the Seer seemingly unfazed, and Cahra envied the way the woman had about her, that ever-present calm. No matter what was going on around her, Wyldaern always appeared unperturbed.

Cahra, however, was only growing more anxious as the hours passed. Their path was getting dimmer the deeper they waded into the Wilds. Colder, too, and she shivered, buttoning her new coat, the chill in the air unnervingly like Kolyath’s.

Was it just the cold that had her shaking?

The Seer must have noticed the apprehension on her face, Wyldaern explaining to her, ‘The cave systems we are nearing are beneath mountains, hence the cooler turn of weather.’ She nodded to Cahra’s outfit. ‘The fur lining of your coat is fortuitous.’

The clothing Thierre had gifted Cahra was fortuitous indeed. It was so comfortable, from the premium-grain leather of her skin-hugging vest and trousers, to her coat and boots. She just hoped she wouldn’t regret wearing in new shoes for the first time on a day-long hike. Maybe she should have taken Piet up on riding the horse.

It didn’t matter, because soon Wyldaern was pointing a slender arm towards the rocky tor that dipped and then ascended into staggering peaks, their icy ridges dark and dizzying.

Staring intently at the precipitous terrain, there was a lightness, a peacefulness to the Seer’s face that Cahra had only caught in glimpses before. Piet left the horse grazing in a small clearing a short distance away, stripping it of its saddle to disguise it as a wild mountain mare, as Siarl emerged from the wilderness to join Queran.

‘We have reached the caves,’ Wyldaern told them. She pushed through tangled thickets and layer upon layer of viny overhang to reveal a portal into blackness that, in spite of her eye for detail, Cahra somehow hadn’t noticed. Placing the saddle inside the cave, Piet then Wyldaern ventured into the dark. Cahra rolled her shoulders, willing herself to tap into that old state of resting alertness she’d once worn like a second skin. She wasn’t surprised to see Siarl and Queran armed and battle-ready, Siarl swapping one of her long blades for the shorter, throwing kind, her bowman companion aiming an arrow back at the cave’s entrance. Ahead of the group, Piet lit a fiery torch.

‘It’s cold as Kolyath in here,’ Cahra muttered as she walked. She could feel her nerves morphing from mild tension in her neck and shoulders into something else as the cave path began to climb, the dark all-encompassing.

‘You seem to carry little affection for the kingdom.’ Wyldaern’s voice drifted to her.

Cahra snorted loudly. ‘There’s not much joy to be found in that Hael-forsaken place. There’s a reason I left, you know.’

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