Page 79 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

Thelaema exhaled, a single, long, unbroken breath, her small frame shrinking as she prepared herself. Her voice grew quiet as a grave.

‘It was day. You were sleeping within the house, tucked away in a corner. Whenever I scried with my crystal ball to see you, I was perpetually confounded by the volume of noise that you could sleep through,’ she said, her wooden chuckle huffing into a near-sob. ‘Your village was nestled, hidden in a glen deep in the Wilds… Your parents were outside. Then, a band of Ozumbre cutthroats came.’ Thelaema swallowed, her eyes wet. ‘You were the sole survivor.’

Cahra was frozen, her blood like mortar setting, hardening into stone beneath her skin.

They died, they all died, while I… slept?

But she’d never slept well in her life. Not once, she thought, as the numbness rose, pins needling her, from her distant soles to the tips of her fingers. She was standing, but it felt like her limbs were slipping farther from her every second. Her entire body started shaking. It wouldn’t stop.

Thelaema’s eyes drifted over Cahra, voice soft yet firm as the woman murmured, trying to anchor her back, ‘Cahra, you must hear me. Your mother and father adored you, and you are so like them, you know: your mother was an artist, and she loved to paint and draw. And your father,’ she said, a grief to match Cahra’s in her eyes, ‘he was the village carpenter, making furniture for your mother to paint. Hammering, the warmth of working with wood and crafting artworks with his hands, filled him with such joy. Something you have in common.’

Tears spilled down Cahra’s cheeks at the mention of her father wielding a hammer.

Just like her.

‘They knew, from the moment they held you in their arms, what their duty was. They would lay down their lives a thousand times over, to see you safe, happy and secure. In the end, that was precisely what they did.’

Cahra’s voice cracked. ‘But why?’

Thelaema struggled to her feet, facing Cahra, then gently took her hand.

‘Because they loved you.’

At those words, something inside her broke beyond repair. Silent tears giving way to heaving wails, she crumpled to the ground, her legs buckling under the weight of her grief and emotions that rampaged like the sea; a storm inside her veins, each wave pulling her under. Salt water – her tears were the salt of Kolyath’s coastline, her mother and father’s legacy, Brulian and Inana’s, their kingdom’s. A sea people, stripped of everything, the ocean lost to them after Hael’stromia’s fall, when the walls outside each kingdom went up forever. Cahra’s body shook, feverish, as she sobbed, her pain too consuming to escape.

She wanted to cry, to stay bawling, writhing, screaming, on the grass forever. To mourn the family she had never known, all because of one kingdom’s greed and hatred. But she couldn’t. Raiden – Piet, Siarl, Queran – they needed her, and they needed her now. For the sake of her companions, those still alive, she needed to get up. To help them.

She wasnotgoing to let another band of cutthroats from Ozumbre, or Kolyath, win.

Cahra grasped two fistfuls of grass and heaved unsteadily to her feet, Hael’s reflexes already kicking in to keep her upright. Stable. Too bad she felt nothing of the sort.

Seeing her rise to her feet, Thelaema and Wyldaern neared.

‘Cahra,’ the Oracle broached, tone shifting into urgency. ‘There is something else.’ Her jaw was tight. ‘When Hael’stromia fell and the Oracles’ magicks ceased to flow freely, we Seers could no longer rely on our single, unified prescience. I was no longer All-seeing; the Netherworld still powers my visions, my divination, but I do not know all as I once did.’ Uncertainly, she continued, ‘I have wondered, since the day you and I met, whether one of my fellows survived exile, survived the centuries, as I have. I have wondered whether someone has been watching, waiting and knowing where to strike so that your kingdom’s bloodline remained dormant. What if,’ Thelaema said, raising her eyes to Cahra’s, ‘whoever was watching has found you?’

Wiping her eyes, Cahra’s mouth fell open. ‘What? But who?’

Thelaema put a hand on her arm, eyes shining. ‘You must go. Please understand, we needed you to be strong enough to face what lies ahead.’

‘And what is that?’

Thelaema, who’d procured something in the shadows, handed it to her. ‘Bloodshed,’ the Oracle told her, as Cahra gazed in perfect astonishment at the great-hammer in her hands. It was sublime, even in the black of night, the handle hewed from ebony, with glittering gems of black diamond, ruby, sapphire and grey musgravite, depicting the capital and its kingdoms. Peering at the great-hammer, Cahra had the gnawing suspicion it was forged using the metal of Hael’stromia’s black gates.Haellium.

‘All hail the kingdom of Kolyath’s kin of the hammer, heir to the royal bloodline, Princess Cahraelia. A Princess, now an Empress.’ Thelaema and Wyldaern bowed in unison.

Cahra watched as the magickal haze of Thelaema’s mountain cabin deepened to a red as dark as blood, knowing her time was up.

‘Thank you,’ she told them, turning for the caves. Then paused, whispering finally, ‘My parents. My village. What were their names?’

‘Palben and Kyreen,’ Thelaema said softly. ‘Of the village of Kolbyrg.’

My mother’s name was Kyreen.The agony of that knowledge seared into her, until Cahra’s body felt alight with flame. Looking down, the water reflected her glowing eyes. Slowly, she raised her head to the Seers.

And heard Thelaema speaking into her mind:Fear not. You have Hael’s powers now.Her last words echoed as Cahra sprinted for the caves.

Put them to good use.

CHAPTER 31

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