Page 64 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

Cahra stretched her legs, thinking about how Wyldaern had helped her, so far: marshalling her strength before Delicia, chastising Thierre – a royal – for deceiving her, even getting her away from Thierre’s parents when she couldn’t cope.

Only to find her at the smithy and aid her, yet again.

Cahra looked at Wyldaern. ‘Why are you helping me?’

The Seer paused, eventually saying, ‘I follow the teachings of the Oracle, and She has much to impart to you. It is my duty to deliver you to her.’

Duty.Hael had said something similar. The word stung more than Cahra expected.

It was strange. Ever since she’d fled Kolyath, she’d felt like things were changing, like maybeshewas changing. Running to keep Lumsden safe, warning Thierre and his people, saving Raiden, training in a weapon, Hael, even wearing a dress. But after it all, after she kept trying just to get through each day, and not give in to hopelessness…

Maybe she wasn’t changing at all, maybe she wasn’t ready to trust. Maybe everything since Kolyath had been a mistake.

Cahra didn’t notice the silence that had descended until Wyldaern spoke.

‘And yet, it is not only my duty, Cahra. I am here with you because I wish to be.’ Wyldaern turned to her, expression fierce. ‘You are the reason Raiden and Thierre came to my aid in the Wilds. You are a good-hearted person, and Kolyath was lucky to have you. I am lucky to know you. For that, and reasons that I cannot yet explain, you have my support on your journey.’

Slowly, Cahra let Wyldaern’s words sink in. She’d never been good at compliments. She raised her eyes to the Seer’s smiling face.

‘You were tough in your terms with Thierre for our safety, our freedom. Thank you.’ Cahra exhaled. ‘For fighting for someone you’d just met.’

Wyldaern gave her a gentle nod. ‘You are welcome. Besides, you did the same for me when you and Thierre’s Royal Guards rescued me.’

Cahra grinned back at her. ‘Okay, last question, for now. When I meet the Oracle, what happens then? About the Key, and the rest of what Commander Tyne said?’

‘Much that I cannot speak to, but She will. And you will learn of your fate, your involvement in all of this. But first…’ Wyldaern paused.

Cahra waited. ‘Mmm?’

With a laugh, Wyldaern asked, ‘Can we please return to the palace for breakfast? I am famished!’

Before eating, Cahra entered her room, catching herself in the full-length mirror. She was coal-streaked and sweaty from smithing. Something told her walking into the royal dining room looking as she did wouldn’t do.

Bathing quickly, she reached for the soap and lathered it into her hair, the scent of lilies blooming in the steam-filled room. Then she pulled herself from the milky water and groped about for a towel, finally discovering her own clothes. They’d been washed, scrubbed and folded, her linen shirt soft against her skin. But she couldn’t find her vest. Cahra scanned the room as she had earlier.

That’s when she spied a ribboned parcel on the console table by the door. With a card.

Safe travels.

Cahra stiffened. She’d watched Thierre, as Terryl, scrawl enough notes in his carriage to recognise his handwriting. But ‘Safe travels’? She frowned, turning her gaze to the box, then slipped the velvety ribbon from it and opened the lid, refusing to draw breath.

She should have. ‘By the Seers!’

It was her vest, or it had been. Because whoever had transformed it had not only replaced the worn leather strips and stitching, but also added metal plates shielding the torso, sealed and supported by a layer of supple leather closest to the skin. Chain mail curved from below the bust to her waist, so she’d be protected without her range of motion suffering.

Cahra gaped in awe as she beheld her new breastplate.

And there was more, she discovered, lifting a pair of leather riding trousers aloft, unfolding like a concertina from seat, to knee, to ankle. There was also a new coat with fur hood and trim, longer than her own and better suited to the changeable weather she’d experienced on the road, plus a new shirt, underwear, socks, even brand-new boots. Ordinarily, the thought of a stranger choosing her underthings would have embarrassed her, but Cahra was too shocked to register it. All of this, each garment more splendid than the last, all from Thierre, a gift for her ‘safe travels’. He’d made this happen, for her.

But, Cahra thought, could she accept it?

In Kolyath, she would never have contemplated accepting a gift from a high-born. Nothing was ever free, and men like that expected things in return. But this was Thierre, he wasn’t like those nobles. So what was this – amends? One final gesture after she’d run from his kiss? Or was this his grand farewell?

And if she accepted his gift, what would it mean?

Cahra stared at her old clothes, sighing. Her boots, holed before she’d left Kolyath; trousers, shirt and coat the same, especially after that first fight; her socks and underwear, many times over. Even her vest had seen better days. But Thierre’s garments? They were unworn, untorn, sturdy and steadfast. Practical for the journey ahead.

Did he want her to stay, or go?

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