Page 66 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

…he was powerless to stop her from walking away.

‘Cahra.’ Thierre ventured a look into her earthy eyes. ‘I wish…’

I wish to the Oracles that you and I had more time.

‘Me too,’ Cahra whispered, and her smile hit him with the full force of the sun’s heat, right between his stinging eyes. Then she halted.

He managed a nod, fighting back tears. But as he did, she caught his hand. As he had touched hers in the light of a cave on his way home, after they had thwarted death, together.

Was that when I fell for her, this blacksmith from Kolyath?

It was too much. But Thierre was trained in courtly etiquette, in masks, so he squeezed her hand and returned that smile. Then he stepped away, her hand slipping from his.

Her farewell was nothing but the look of sadness in her eyes, as she took one step then another, farther and farther away from him until she was vanishing over the crest of the hill that would lead her from his life forever.

She wished to leave. He had to let her go. So, Thierre did nothing.

When Cahra’s silhouette was gone, Thierre turned on his heel and left, ignoring his mother’s calls and his sister’s sympathetic gaze. He simply had to get away, from everyone.

Alone in his chambers, Thierre grappled with his restless thoughts. He had done what was expected of him. He had let Cahra go. Yet he loathed the knowledge that something could happen and he would not be there, because he had been ordered to stay. It was not right.

Thierre rose, his urge to move overpowering the ingrained stoicism of his upbringing. Pacing back and forth, he tried to place the source of his agitation, for it was more than Cahra leaving Luminaux. It was the expectations placed upon him as the kingdom’s Crown Prince, and what they meant for any future Queen. The never-ending threat of spies or assassination attempts in a realm that was at war. Even more than that, it was how he and his family had been forced to cope, with repression and masks and guards, guards everywhere, his only friends those now charged with defending his life. Thierre had never wanted this life, this loneliness, for anyone, certainly not for Cahra, not even for Delicia. So, he had resigned himself to letting his feelings dwell beneath the surface. It was his shameful secret: that his life was a glorious cage, while Cahra’s was a life of freedom. He wanted her to live it.

But now, he felt strange, frenzied even, and his chest pained him. It was not her kiss, or even the idea that he might wring some confession from her as to her feelings for him. Cahra and Wyldaern faced real dangers from Luminaux’s enemies, yet he was languishing, useless, in his chambers.

Thierre eyed Cahra’s longsword, the one that she had crafted for him in Kolyath, brought to his rooms on the previous eve. Its pommel twinkled under the candelabra’s flames. Cahra had not hesitated to warn him of the danger in Kolyath, Thierre thought.

And he could not stand idly by and let her face such threats, he realised with clarity, when he could do something more than letting his guards handle it. Her burdens were not his, that much was true. However, if he was not with her and something happened…

He would not endure it.

So, though he had scarcely returned and not yet unpacked, Thierre prepared to leave his kingdom once again.

Thierre was almost ready when there was a sharp rap at the entrance to his quarters, the door flying open. Only one man knew him well enough to be so bold.

‘Thierre,’ Raiden warned, marching in.

‘I cannot permit Cahra and Wyldaern to go into the Wilds alone,’ Thierre told him. ‘Not with our enemies uniting at our backs.’

‘You haven’t,’ Raiden argued. ‘You sent your three best guards to protect them. If you can’t trust your own people, you may as well not have them.’

‘It’s not about trust! It is about an unholy alliance that we have no intelligence on, no figures, no logistics—’

‘Exactly why you cannot even think of doing what Iknowyou’re thinking of doing. The risks are uncharted.’

Thierre switched tactics. ‘And what if Cahra has more to do with the prophecy than we thought? Wyldaern never told us her reason for taking Cahra to meet the Oracle. What if there is more to her actions than we know? Unless, I –we– accompany them.’

Raiden was yet to reply, which was a good sign. They both knew how the King and Commander Tyne desired every advantage regarding the prophecy. Resisting a grin, he opened his mouth, but Raiden cut in, cursing, ‘Damn it, Thierre! Then we leave now. We order three companies and—’

‘No, our time is past. If you and I do not leave now, we will not reach them before they exit the gatehouse, and I do not know where Wyldaern is taking Cahra.’

Raiden looked ready to throw something. ‘Fine. But any of our people we pass on the way through will escort us.’

Thierre nodded. ‘Agreed.’ He placed a hand on his friend’s arm. ‘Pack with haste and meet back here in five minutes.’

Costumed as Lord Terryl and keen to find Cahra, Thierre messengered a scribbled note to Sylvie, who would be furious, both at him and the second-hand blast she was sure to receive from their father once he learned of his son’s defiance. But as time ticked by without Raiden appearing, a creeping fear gnawed at Thierre. Something was wrong.

With a glance to Cahra’s longsword, Thierre buckled it to his belt, hoisted his pack and set off for Raiden’s rooms.

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