Page 8 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

Before she could decide how to reply, he moved on.

‘May I ask, how did you become a blacksmith?’ Lord Terryl asked, a welcome segue. ‘Your weaponry is much desired at court.’

At the mention of the Steward’s castle, Cahra pressed the tankard to her lower lip. Where to start?

Maybe not with the dungeons.

‘I met Lumsden when I was small. He helped me escape… a difficult situation, then offered to train me as his apprentice. So I said yes. Ever since, I’ve learned as much as I possibly can about blacksmithing: steel-making, forging, grinding, heat-treating, engraving, gemstones, scabbards, the lot. The harder I work, the more I repay Lumsden for his kindness.’ She hadn’t thought about it before, but it was the truth.

Nothing she did could ever match Lumsden saving her from the Steward and that cell. But that’s why she was here. Hers was a life debt, and for him, she would pay the cost.

‘Honourable,’ Lord Terryl replied, his fine shirt rustling as he leaned in. ‘Was it difficult, learning the various skills?’ He looked at her intently.

For an instant, Cahra felt the familiar sting of shame. Men were always surprised, confronted, by her physical strength. Only, when she met his gaze, he didn’t seem to be judging her physique or making fun of her.

Gripping her ale between both hands, she said, ‘Practice, I guess. It’s been nearly ten years now.’ She thought about all the things she’d pushed herself to learn. ‘But I suppose it is unusual,’ she admitted. ‘The Military Quadrant’s smithy is ten times our size as it arms Kolyath’s soldiers. At ours, it’s just me and Lumsden. But we only make weapons for court, not war.’ Cahra squirmed, drinking deep from her ale. She’d never talked so much about herself before.

‘Ah, yes.’ A shadow flitted across Lord Terryl’s face, and she surprised herself by wondering what he was thinking.

‘Have you seen it? The war,’ she said softly. Here was someone who’d been outside the kingdom’s walls, and though she knew she shouldn’t ask, she had to know.

Their eyes met. ‘You might say that,’ Lord Terryl said, voice low, then stopped again. ‘However, such talk is not for…’

‘Ladies?’ Cahra finished, giving him a pointed look. ‘I’m not exactly one of those.’ She gestured at her mug for emphasis, tapping a finger on the time-worn table, as she asked, ‘What about Hael, then? Surely if you’ve travelled, you’ve seen Hael’stromia.’

‘Such questions.’ A hint of amusement softened his features.

‘It’s the metal of Kolyath’s gate,’ Cahra mused. ‘It drives me mad. Whatisit? All we know is that it’s the capital’s Haellium, but I’ve never seen anything like it, anywhere.’

She recalled the first time she’d spied the gate, where the Farming and Military Quadrants met at their southernmost tip. The ‘gate to Hael’ that led into the Wilds was black and brutal, so dark it seemed to swallow all the sunlight, with spikes and thorns sharp enough to lop a leg clean off. Every kingdom had a gate, it was said, and Hael’stromia had several.

The lord gazed at her for a long moment, Cahra realising the ale was loosening her up too fast on an empty stomach. She hastily replaced her mug.Where is that food?

Then Lord Terryl spoke. ‘I have seen Hael’stromia.’

Cahra sat up, her eyes wide. ‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘The first thing you see is the black tri-cornered pyramid, its summit piercing the murky clouds. Then the capital, girded by its soaring defences, with bars thrice as high as Kolyath’s gate. Catch a glimpse between them, and the city, entombed by its own shattered walls and crumbling buildings, lies bare. It is quite a sight.’

Cahra lifted her eyes to Lord Terryl’s and asked the one question burning in her mind. ‘Did you go in?’

He smiled, brief and brittle. ‘No. The rumours are correct, the capital is impenetrable. I was simply passing on my western travels.’

There were tales, of those who reached one of its gates, only to meet some tragic end. Her eyes slid to the young lord’s. ‘Probably for the best.’

Talk of Hael’stromia dwindled as their dishes arrived. She inspected the white meat in soup with potatoes, carrots and a splash of something green.

Meanwhile, Lord Terryl was transformed as he inhaled the fragrant steam wafting from the table, a hum of contentment on his lips. ‘The pork is seared and boiled in water, then the succulent meat is served with it as broth. Exquisite!’

His pleasant air caught her off guard after his sober words about Hael’stromia. Cahra raised a spoonful to her lips, then another, and had to agree with him as she demolished her bowl. When was the last time she’d eaten so well? She honestly didn’t know.

Satiated, Cahra rested her head against the wall, thoughts drifting, untethered, as she gazed at her unexpected dining companion. Her bout outside the tavern was all but forgotten as the heady buzz of alcohol teased away the last of her nerves.

Lord Terryl caught her looking at him. ‘Do you feel much improved?’

‘I do.’ As much as she disliked expressing gratitude to high-borns, she made herself say the words and meet his eyes. ‘Thank you, Lord Terryl.’

‘My pleasure,’ he said, face bright. ‘And please, call me Terryl.’

---