Page 25 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

‘A pre-determined spot, known to our group and those we trust,’ Terryl explained. ‘We have them scattered along this route to offer us places to rest, replenish supplies and regroup if need be. Each has been vetted for security, so as to avoid any potential threats.’

Like Kolyath’s army, Cahra thought with a shudder.

Terryl looked pointedly between her and Raiden. ‘Now, must I enforce a rule of no sword-play in the carriage?’

‘No,’ she and Raiden begrudgingly replied, Cahra narrowing her eyes at the man.

‘Excellent,’ Terryl told them. She watched as he slipped a little cream envelope into his jacket pocket, then squirmed at her nosy urge to ask about it, looking away.

As promised, the coach pulled to a stop an hour or so later. Raiden leapt out again.

‘Wait here,’ he said, shutting the door.

Cahra peered into the near-endless trees. Were the woodlands so different from when they’d first entered the Wilds? It was hard to tell. Each shadow seemed to twist and morph, playing tricks on her vision, her frayed nerves. The vastness of the land was overwhelming and yet there was a dark and haunting beauty in it, a rugged allure to the verdant shadows that tugged at something deep within her.

Alone with Terryl, her eyes found his. The young lord’s smile came effortlessly.

Then a minute later, Raiden banged on the door. ‘We’re ready for you,’ he told Terryl, holding the door open for the lord. Raiden watched Cahra through wary eyes.

She ignored him, hopping from the coach step to the spongy forest floor. The fresh scents of tree sap and damp earth wafted to greet her. ‘Refreshments,’ Raiden said gruffly, jerking his chin at a table of delicious-looking food and drink to one side of the small clearing.

She nodded. The nausea from her hunger pains was getting harder to shut out, but she cleared her throat as Terryl made to leave, asking, ‘Erm, can we talk?’

Terryl turned back, his features soft. ‘Of course. First, I must check on my people. There is bread, meat, cheese and fruits to be had. Avail yourself, and I shall be with you.’

He raised an arm to her as he strode away, reminding Cahra of the first day they met. Which reminded her of the smithy. Of Lumsden.

Please, just let the old man be alive.

Cahra swallowed, bracing herself against the thought, and made a beeline for the table. She plucked a pastry with dark blue jam baked into it from a shiny dish, also taking a hunk of bread, a little soft cheese and a big green apple, straying from the others to sit alone on a fallen log. Sighing, she bit into the flaky pastry, jam bursting onto her tongue.

No tasty treats would dull the pain of never seeing Lumsden again.

She hadn’t really thought they’d make it out. That she’d escape. But if she’d known… if she’d known, she would’ve taken Lumsden, the boy Ellian and any and everyone she could, as many as she could fit in that wagon with her.

Instead, she’d left them to their fates. To the Steward and his ruthless Kingdom Guards.

She shut her eyes on the guilt, the revulsion she felt, the tears welling against her will, and focused on the scene before her: Terryl striding from the coach to the table via everybody else, talking and laughing and looking every bit the kindly lord from Luminaux.

Terryl looked after his people. She was a coward who’d left Lumsden behind. Shame flooded her as she thought of the old man stuck in Kolyath.

All of a sudden, she didn’t feel so hungry.

Pausing to look for her, Terryl made his way over, seating himself beside Cahra with that languid elegance all high-borns seemed to have. Except Raiden, she thought, eyeing him from across the glade. That man saw the world through shrewd eyes, his actions calculated. Like he lived for a fight. Or maybe for starting one, she thought with a smirk.

Yes, Raiden was an arse, but he was ever-vigilant for danger. It wasn’t unlike her, always looking and listening and ready to move. But it was an exhausting way to live.

And now I’m right back here again.

Before her mind could grab hold of that thought and torment her with it, Terryl handed her a cup of water. She marvelled in silence as she took it, the liquid clear as spring dew.

Cahra whispered to him, ‘Where did you get this?’

‘There is a stream nearby,’ Terryl replied. Her expression must have been something, because he chuckled. ‘I take it that you have never drunk such water?’

‘It’s so clear,’ she breathed, taking a sip. The water tasted pure, cool and pristine, no dirty sediment or metallic taste.

‘Hmm,’ Terryl said. ‘The well in the Traders’ Quadrant was of a lower quality than in the Nobles’ own. Perhaps, that is it?’

---