Page 10 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

For now, Cahra concentrated on the decorations, the black sheen of a ribbon’s tail flapping farewell over her shoulder. Anchored to her senses and flowing with the crowd, she cradled her loaf of bread and navigated back to the smithy.

Until Commander Jarett’s furious bellow rent the Traders’ Quadrant, the man’s words tolling like an ominous bell:

‘Who is the owner of this sword?’

Cahra tucked her hair beneath her vest, popping a chunk of bread into her mouth and strolling past the smithy, her old life and the instincts it had borne already surging back. Turning a corner, she passed the shops trailing like straggling children from the main street.

As soon as she’d vanished from view, she broke into a sprint.

Racing along the first backstreet parallel to the main road, she leapt over a tumble of weeds and flung herself headlong into the gap between a wall and canvas sheet – her wall – landing on the hammock in her corner of the smithy. Glued to the shadows, Cahra dropped and slunk behind the sleeping forge, barely drawing breath as she listened.

‘Lumsden.’ Commander Jarett had lowered his voice but the result was chilling, a bloodhound about to strike and make its kill. ‘I will not ask again.’ She watched him lean towards the old man on the other side of the curtain that hung for privacy when brokering, between the counter and the workshop. It was the only thing separating them from her. ‘Where is she?’

Lumsden said, ‘And what if I crafted the longsword?’ Cahra’s eyes flew to where Lord Terryl’s blade had hung, awaiting the young noble. The only complete work in the smithy.

‘That ostentatious hilt? I think not. This isherwork,’ Jarett spat. ‘And if you do not hand over that brat, I will make short work ofyou.’ Cahra’s heart thundered in her chest. ‘Who was this weapon commissioned for?’

Lumsden was silent. ‘Of course, he could have instructed her in such a symbol…’ Symbol? What was the old man talking about? He knew Lord Terryl had done no such thing.

What is happening?

‘He?’ Jarett thumped the counter, his meaty fist a boulder.

Lumsden didn’t spook easily, but then, he already knew the horror of the dungeons. ‘Terryl, the merchant lord,’ Lumsden told the Commander. ‘It’s his sword.’

‘And your apprentice? Where, pray, is she?’

‘At the fishmonger’s, picking up our supper.’

Cahra saw Jarett’s silhouette whirl from the counter and bark, ‘To the fishmonger’s! And send guards to apprehend Lord Terryl!’ Jarett returned to Lumsden. ‘I will find one, then the other. We will get to the bottom of this odd phenomenon.Donothinder me, old man.’ Jarett’s profile faded in full, leaving six guards in his wake.

Cahra was shaking.What in Hael have I done?

Lumsden appeared from behind the curtain, Lord Terryl’s longsword in hand. Rounding the forge, he caught sight of Cahra, his eyes flickering towards the back. She ducked into the safety of the smithy’s rear. No one on the street would see them now.

‘Cahra. Lord Terryl’s sword, the sigil on the pommel. Where did you get it?’ Lumsden whispered, his face ashen.

‘What do you mean? I made it up, like I always do. It’s just geometry,’ she said.

The old man shook his head. ‘No. The pattern you created…’ His voice was hoarse. In that moment, Lumsden looked so frail. ‘It’s the Sigil of the Seers, Hael’stromia’s Oracles. According to the Commander, it’s the first time it’s been seen outside the castle in centuries.’ He took a steadying breath. ‘Jarett thinks your sword is the first omen of the prophecy.’

‘What?!’ Cahra choked, staring at Lumsden in dizzy disbelief. ‘He can’t be serious.’

Jarett speaking of the prophecy and its omens to a low-born only meant one thing: he thought they knew something about the weapon. An ingrained fear burned in Cahra’s chest at every macabre Red Square death she’d seen, victims whimpering, screaming, for their lives—

She clenched her fists, trying to shut the grisly memories out. The blood…

Lumsden closed his eyes. ‘Cahra, he’s on his way to the fishmonger’s, and when he doesn’t find you there, he’ll come straight back.’ The old man clasped her hands. ‘Foryou.’ His eyes shone. ‘My girl, you need to run.’

‘No.’ The vehemence in her word came out a snarl. ‘I won’t leave you.’

Lumsden looked into her fearful eyes. All she saw was smoky quartz and amethyst, and all she wanted to do was sob. ‘I won’t have you in the dungeons, never to be seen again. You don’t know what you’re facing. It’s the prophecy, theweapon. They’ll never let you go. And if Atriposte learns that it was you all those years ago…’

‘I won’t leave you,’ she told him again, her voice trembling.

‘My dear girl, I fear that if you don’t, we’re both as good as dead.’

NO.

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