Page 36 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

‘You require healing.’ He knelt before her, faster than her human eyes could track, and she jumped. Centuries to prepare for the next Scion and Hael was fumbling before her. He felt foolish. Yet this was so different to Scions past. They had been initiated and knew what to expect when they were called upon by the Oracles. But her, she knew nothing of him, of Hael’stromia, and certainly nothing of the old ones, the old rites.

She knew nothing, and he was as a monster to her.

Slowing, Hael persisted, ensuring his movements were drawn out, non-threatening. ‘Your knee. You have aggravated an old injury, that I sense. I can heal it, if you wish.’ Imbuing his features with what little softness he possessed, he raised his flickering gaze.

For the first time, her shoulders slackened somewhat. ‘How? How did you know I’d be in peril?’

He could almost smile. ‘It is the nature of my gifts, to know when you are in danger. Your enemies will continue to strike.’

‘And why is that?’ She looked at him, hazel eyes fierce and full of light.

‘You are the Scion,’ Hael said simply.

‘Seers, not this again,’ she snorted, rolling her bright eyes. She was spirited, this one. ‘What does thatmean?’

‘You are the omen-bringer.’ A second fit of pique looked ready to erupt, if her features were any indication. How could he calm her? What did this Scion not yet know? ‘You are why I have awakened,’ he decided upon. ‘I call upon you now so as to serve.’

Like the warrior he was, his statement had struck true. She whispered, ‘What?’

‘There will be time for us to speak with each new vision. Fear not, Scion. You are learning to pass between the veil and void.’ Perhaps it was too much to speak of such things, for she looked at him as though she might cast her reason to the wind. He digressed, asking, ‘Would you have me heal your leg?’ Although he spoke calmly, quietly, he knew his voice and the way the air vibrated when he spoke with his Netherworldly cords, the infernal tones that made each word sound like a god’s. Or daemon’s.

Curiosity illuminated her face, though her eyes were distrustful as she asked him, ‘What would I owe you in return?’ A shrewd question.

‘Nought. I am strong enough to heal you.’ Hael paused. ‘A second time, however, would entail assistance.’ Four hundred years of his affliction. But he could do this, for her.

Of course, she knew nothing of his powers. The skeletons were amassed in piles from corner to corner. Prisoners of the realm, consigned to the safest place in the capital: the palatial temple where the weapon himself dwelled. A boon when the city’s defences had activated and his bone-crunching Nether-hounds were confined inside. The prisoners had met their ends during the first months of captivity. The hounds he had summoned, however, had only fallen as Hael’s dark magicks had weakened.

He banished his thoughts as the Scion nodded, toiling to straighten her damaged leg. Hael’s eyes drifted to her bare feet. No sigil, yet.

To the matter at hand. With time and strength, he could heal her from afar. But now, weakened, her injury had to be within reach. And so he placed his fingertip atop her kneecap, a tear in the fabric of her trousers permitting him to see the bruised, distended joint. Whether she flinched from the pain of his touch, or from the touch at all, he was uncertain. But when his pale skin radiated with what he hoped would form a comfortable cold against the swelling, he gently pressed his thumb, then his third, fourth and fifth fingers to her knee. The fire of Hael’s being, the Nether that had rebirthed him, ebbed, the ice of death rising in its place, infused with the source of his powers: destruction and creation.

The Scion watched as her inflammation faded away, as though it had never been.

She gazed up at him, the green of her eyes luminous this time, as she drew her knee to her chest, then chanced to stand.

‘How did you do that?’ she breathed, ‘Who are you?Whatare you?’

He smiled at last. ‘Reliquus of the Order of Descry, sempiternal of this realm and Vassal Champion to the Scion. To you.’ Still kneeling at her feet, Hael bowed to press his head upon the floor’s dark tiles, before raising his gaze to hers.

‘It is my honour to serve you, Scion. I am Hael.’

CHAPTER 17

Cahra awoke, the remnants of a dream clinging to her consciousness, which was new. She usually forgot her dreams the moment she woke up. But this time, the image of Hael’s ruby-red fires for eyes remained. The being haunting her visions was a mystery. She took a deep, steadying breath and stretched.

The memory of Hael faded, the blackness of his hood replaced by the dimness of the cave she’d slept in, a lone torch still burning. She sat up, expecting her shoulders to feel stiff, like every day she awoke in Kolyath, but noted with surprise that she was fine.

Then she remembered Hael’s miraculous healing and her heartbeat quickened. Throwing off the covers, she peered at the hole in the knee of her trousers. The swelling had completely disappeared. And not just disappeared, Cahra thought, as she bent and straightened her knee, over and over again. It was like the injury had never happened to her. She grinned, unable to help a little shriek of glee. Until, that is, the next thought struck her.

This bed. There was no way it was hers.

She could feel the lavish fabric beneath her fingers, the plushness of the mattress, which was no doubt why her body didn’t ache. That was because there were not one, buttwothick mattresses, a topper of feathers placed above the wool-filled base, where even straw would have been a luxury after her hammock in the smithy. The pillow was also full of down, but what really unnerved her was the showy sheet and blanket, silk and fur-lined respectively. All a vibrant blue, embroidered with gold. Just like Terryl’s coach. Cahra nearly choked.

She had slept inTerryl’sbed. Alord’sbed!

Then came the next thought.

SEERS!Surely she, he, they hadn’t… The evening’s memories crashed into her, more from sheer panic than any cider-fuelled forgetfulness. She’d only drunk one mug of the stuff, however large it was. No, she thought at last, she hadn’t bedded him on his lordly mattresses, prompting a sigh of unadulterated relief. The last thing she wanted was to spoil whatever was between them by slipping back into old ways. She’d relieved her maidenly honour of its duties years ago, another rebellion against, well, anything. The idea of a low-born being pure or chaste had felt like a good place to start. It wasn’t as if she’d had a dowry for a husband.

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