Page 84 of A Kiss of Hammer and Flame

She felt Thelaema shrug. ‘It is likely. Who knows?’

Cahra snorted. ‘I would’ve thought you.’

Thelaema tensed behind her. ‘I did not create the All-seeing: it is born of the Nether. My role is simply to interpret it.’

Meanwhile, Cahra’s mind was whirring. ‘So you think a Seer is blocking you and your visions of Thierre. On purpose?’ Thelaema was silent. ‘Think back,’ Cahra pressed her, ‘to the times your powers failed. What is the link?’ Minutes passed as Thelaema brooded.

Cahra did too, saying aloud, ‘It doesn’t work like this with you and Wyldaern, does it? I mean, you’re not blocked from her, right?’

‘No,’ Thelaema said slowly, ‘I am not.’

‘Then maybe we’re asking the wrong questions. Maybe it’s not the “what” of this.’

Who has the power to rival an Oracle’s?

The realisation hit Cahra hard. She was no stranger to others’ cruel self-interest. But had the woman ever considered her and Cahra’s worlds colliding: a Hael’stromian Oracle, gone rogue? After all, what other being might survive Thelaema?

The woman’s voice was the rolling promise of thunder on the horizon as she marked Cahra’s words. ‘Not what,’ Thelaema repeated darkly. ‘Butwho.’

PART THREE

‘When the mark walks the path to enter the Nether in life’

CHAPTER 33

In Luminaux, Cahra watched the King and Queen rush out the palace doors onto its steps, looking like they’d been roused from fitful sleep. Day was breaking, pale light leaking from the eastern skies, the kingdom’s mountain peaks curled defensively around the castle city. Cahra and the others hadn’t rested either, her exhaustion weighing heavy as a high-born quilt as she dismounted, offering an arm to Thelaema.

But before she’d taken two steps, a shrill voice rang out across the courtyard. Delicia, skirts bunched in her hands, dashed to them.

‘Where is Raiden? What news of Thierre?’ Then Delicia spied Cahra, her lemon-jade eyes narrowing. ‘You!’ the woman cried, thrusting a decorated fingernail at her. Cahra stood, taken aback by the woman’s distress. ‘Where is Thierre? I know that you know something! What is between you and my fiancé, you bucolic little—’

Wyldaern opened her mouth, Delicia shushing her with a manic hiss.

‘Lady Delicia.’ Thelaema stepped between the women, the warning unmistakable. ‘You will not utter another syllable to the Scion, or by the All-seeing, I shall have you thrown in a dungeon cell for the next twenty-four hours. Do you heed me?’

Delicia spluttered incoherently. ‘And who, by the Oracles, are you?’

‘Iamthe Oracle, girl,’ Thelaema said, amethyst eyes positively blazing. Then she tromped off towards the King and Queen.

Wyldaern just smiled at Delicia and withdrew.

But Cahra saw in the noblewoman what she saw inside herself. The feeling she was numbing in order to keep moving forwards.Fear.

So she said nothing, holding the woman’s hateful gaze, before trailing Thelaema inside Luminaux’s palace.

Back in the den of war, Cahra’s name for the room was apt. Thelaema announced herself and recounted their story, evidently no stranger to royals. At first, Luminaux’s King, Queen, General and Commander were stunned. But as news of Thierre’s predicament sank in, King Royce’s leash on his fury and fear for his only son slipped its restraints. Then Raiden and Siarl returned from their interrogation in the caves, the warrior woman’s face smeared with blood. Somehow, Cahra didn’t think it was her own.

‘What in Hael happened?’ King Royce bellowed at the Captain.

He winced before replying, ‘I aided Thierre in disobeying your decree.’

‘And who are you, to harbour such designs?’ The King snarled, spittle flying, the blame for Thierre’s plight all over his face. As it had been on Delicia’s.

Cahra felt like screaming, not at the King or Raiden, or even at Delicia, but at herself. If only she’d stayed here, Thierre would be safe. She leapt to her feet, desperate to move.

‘Compose yourself,’ Thelaema counselled King Royce as she nursed her teacup, but Cahra suspected the sentiment was for her as the Oracle flung a charged glance her way.

Queen Avenais placed her hand upon the King’s. ‘There is no fault here, dearest. Thierre is wilful and has been since he was a boy.’

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