Page 72 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

She bit her cheek. The last thing she wanted was to talk, but what was the alternative? Sit and bear the icy tiles as they bit into her palms, staring into the endless dark, and let the cold numb the pain threatening to dash her against her insides, her blood and guts and bones? Looking into the ever-burning eyes of the only one who knew what it was like to feel this alone, she took a shallow breath.

‘I know, about my family. About Kolyath.’ She swallowed. ‘Who I am.’

Hael’s flames guttered, the blackness receding ever so slightly to a wine-red, and in their softened glow, she saw the quiet compassion etched across his face. The sorrow.

Suddenly, the dam Cahra had been pushing so hard to uphold burst irreparably free. Not because of her bloodline, or even Kolyath’s varied cruelties. It was that she’d had a life. Parents, people who loved her. Something she’d never had the courage to imagine for herself, the scrawny girl skulking in filthy alleyways, weeks-old dirt staining her face as she watched for Kolyath’s guards so bigger, older kids could brawl over mould-mottled bread.

She’d had a mother and a father, and someone had killed them, all because of the prophecy’s burden Cahra now bore. Because of her.

Hot tears stormed her face and she cried, big wracking sobs that left her wretched. Hael froze, unsure of what to do. Finally, he set her down, and Cahra gripped him, the only anchor she had now. The only person she could trust.

Tentatively, he held her. Then slowly, he seemed to remember human comforts, embracing her gently, his flames reduced to embers.

As Cahra wept for a life she never knew.

‘Did you know?’ Cahra asked him, closing her eyes. She’d finally stopped crying and they were sitting on the floor against the altar, Cahra atop Hael’s robe, her knees hugged to her chest as she leaned into his strength. His shoulder felt so natural against her cheek.

‘Of your kin?’ He looked at her, palms resting on the knees of his crossed legs.

‘My parents,’ she said, wiping her face, the darkness of the tomb welcome for once. ‘My line.’

His gaze was soft, unflinching. ‘Of your bloodline, yes. The Scion is always born of a sister kingdom line. Kolyath is an opportunity,’ he told her, if gruffly. Then Hael paused. ‘However, I did not know of your kin’s fate. I am sorry, Cahra.’

She nodded, then sighed. ‘I think you mean Cahraelia,’ she muttered.

‘Your true moniker,’ he mused. ‘You do not approve?’

Cahra made a face. ‘It sounds like the name of a dainty flower.’

Hael’s lips curled as he rumbled a laugh. The sound was mellifluent, like deep, warm chimes.

‘It is your truth,’ Hael said. ‘Just as you, Scion, are my own. We should address why you were sent to me today.’ Cahra nodded, then straightened. ‘The second omen is significant, as much for you as I. The first omen – the Sigil of the Seers – awoke me from my slumber. Before you, er, arrived,’ he gestured to her fall from the sky, ‘I sensed the Key’s beacon flare upon your touch. The second omen has now come to pass.’

Her anxiety caught her by surprise. ‘What happens next?’

Hael frowned. ‘The Oracle did not impart this knowledge?’

Cahra shook her head. ‘There was no time. I touched the Key and it transported me. Well, “transported” is maybe not the best word.’ She scowled. ‘But no, the Oracle did not.’ Cahra had a feeling Thelaema was the kind of person to not impart a lot of things.

‘I see. Well, I must now impart something to you. After which, the second omen requires a rite that we must perform, together.’ Hael’s expression hardened, the lightness of his laughter moments ago gone. He stood, but he was fidgeting.

‘It can’t be that bad,’ Cahra said. Could it?

Hael was silent, his lips pursed.

Well, that wasn’t an answer. Cahra got up, twisting her body to sit on top of Hael’s black altar. If he was going to tell her something bad, she wasn’t waiting on the ground for it. She leaned forward, legs hanging over the edge, and resisted the urge to hurry him up.

They were eye level, and for all his poise, he seemed taken aback by her direct gaze.

‘The Scion, and in this case, the prophecy’s omen-bringer, is always of Kolyath, Luminaux or Ozumbre’s royal bloodlines,’ Hael said, ‘as Hael’stromia is sovereign to all. The Key…’ Pausing in his stalking, he faced her. ‘Do you know its function?’

Cahra rolled her head from side to side and grimaced, bones cricking as she tried to loosen her taut muscles.

‘Thelaema said all that was left of the omens was for me to come to Hael’stromia and free you. She didn’t say what the Key opened.’ Cahra looked around them, rubbing her neck. ‘I’m guessing this room’s door?’

Hael’s smile was tense. ‘That is not all. The Key unlocks this chamber – my shrine – yet it is also used to access the palatial temple, as well as each of the capital’s gates.’

‘Oh.’ Cahra frowned. ‘Right. So if the Scion, the omen-bringer, is a royal, and that Scion is me, and I have the Key, and that frees you here…’ She looked up at him, frowning. ‘I still don’t understand.’

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