Chapter 6
SIX
AVIORA
The history of the curse is older than I imagined.
Thalira speaks for an hour, her voice weaving through centuries of death and want. The gold wasn’t cursed from the beginning—it was treasure once, tribute paid to something that lived in the deep. A hunger that predated humans, predated orcs, predated perhaps the land itself.
The curse came later, when someone tried to steal what the hunger had claimed. Their desire mixed with the ancient appetite, creating something new. Something that spread through every coin they touched.
“The first carriers didn’t understand what they’d created.” Thalira refills our cups with tea that tastes of salt and something bitter. “They just knew they couldn’t stop wanting. Couldn’t stop taking. The curse fed on them until there was nothing left, then moved to the next set of hands.”
“And Oreth?”
“You and Oreth found the hoard when it was already old. Centuries of accumulated want, waiting for someone ambitious enough to claim it.” She glances at Zoric. “Your first mate had plenty of ambition. The curse recognized a kindred spirit.”
Zoric says nothing. His hands are wrapped around his cup, knuckles pale.
“The binding was fast with him. Too fast.” Thalira continues. “By the time your captain realized what was happening, Oreth was already lost. Sealing the caves was the only option—but it wasn’t a solution. Just a delay.”
“And now the delay is over.”
“Now, Oreth has spent years preparing. Building his army. But remember, Oreth isn’t the source,” Thalira says, tracing the edge of the table with one finger.
“He’s a jailer. A mouth. The hunger in the deep is older than any captain who ever sailed these waters.
” Her gaze sharpens. “What speaks in dreams. What wears familiar faces. That isn’t Oreth.
That’s the hunger itself, learning how to bargain. ”
She looks at me. “You weren’t random, girl.
The person who sold you those coins was already infected.
The curse guided him to you specifically.
The coins you carry aren’t ordinary tribute,” Thalira continues.
“They are part of the binding itself. Marked. Set into the outer ring of the hoard to hold the deeper thing in place. When they were taken, it wasn’t just stealing gold—it was loosening the seal. ”
The witch’s eyes narrow. “The hunger noticed.”
“Why me?”
“Because you were already drowning.” Thalira’s voice is matter-of-fact.
Brutal. “Guilt is a kind of want—the want for things to be different, for choices to be unmade. The curse recognized your hunger and thought it could use you.” Her eyes narrow.
“It still thinks it can use you. That’s why you’re still alive. ”
The words sink into me. All those months of running, of survival, of thinking I was beating the curse through sheer stubbornness. I wasn’t beating anything. I was being led, herded, shaped into exactly what Oreth needed.
“But you have something Oreth didn’t.”
“What?”
“Someone to anchor you.” Her eyes find Zoric. “The curse works on isolation. It makes you feel alone, makes you believe that hunger is all you have left. But you’re not alone, girl. You have a stubborn orc who’d rather die than see you taken.” A smile. “That’s worth more than you know.”
I don’t look at Zoric. Can’t. Because if I do, I might acknowledge what I’ve been trying to ignore since he declared me under his protection.
The way his presence steadies me. The way his voice cuts through the curse’s whispers.
The way I caught myself watching him during Thalira’s lecture, tracking details I shouldn’t—the set of his jaw, the scars on his hands, the way his attention kept drifting to me when he thought I wasn’t looking.
“The route.” I make myself focus. “How long to reach the hoard?”
“An hour, if the currents cooperate. The passage enters from the eastern cliffs, below Dreadhaven’s foundations. You’ll need to dive for the first section—maybe a hundred yards underwater before you reach the air pockets.”
“I can hold my breath for a hundred yards.”
“In cold water? While fighting currents designed to drown you?” Thalira raises an eyebrow. “We’ll see.”
“She won’t be alone.” Zoric speaks for the first time since the lecture began. “I’m going with her.”
“The caves will try to take you, Captain. The curse—”
“I know what the curse will try. I’ve been resisting it for years.” He stands, and suddenly the cave feels smaller. Full of his presence in ways I can’t ignore. “I won’t let her face the hoard alone.”
“Won’t let me?” I finally turn to look at him. “I don’t remember asking for permission.”
“You didn’t. I’m telling you what’s going to happen.” His gaze meets mine. Holds. And beneath the determination, I see something else—fear. Not of the curse or the caves or the drowned. Fear of letting me go where he can’t follow.
“Fine.” I break the stare first. Have to, before I do something stupid. “But if the curse starts pulling you under, I’m not dragging your massive carcass back to the surface.”
“Fair enough.”
Thalira watches our exchange with undisguised amusement. “You two are either going to save each other or destroy each other. I look forward to seeing which.”
“Helpful.”
“I’m not here to be helpful. I’m here to trade information for information.
” She returns to the coin pattern, adjusting pieces with careful precision.
“Speaking of which, your coins have told me interesting things. The curse that infected them is changing. Evolving. Oreth has been feeding it for years, and it’s grown stronger than any curse I’ve seen. ”
“Stronger how?”
“The drowned he commands—they’re not just animated corpses anymore. They’re extensions of his will, carrying fragments of the curse itself. Kill one, and the fragment returns to him. Makes him stronger.” She frowns at the coins. “You can’t fight his army, girl. Every victory would feed his power.”
“Then we avoid the army. Take the route you described, reach the hoard before he realizes we’re coming.”
“He’ll know the instant you enter the water. The curse tells him everything.” Thalira scoops the coins back into their pouch. “But the wards might mask your approach. Buy you time. If you’re fast enough, clever enough, lucky enough—”
“We’ll be enough.” Zoric takes the pouch from her hands, turns, offers it to me. “We have to be.”
I accept the coins. Feel them settle against my skin, their hunger familiar and unwelcome. Months of carrying this burden. A few more hours, and it ends one way or another.
The climb back to Dreadhaven is harder than the descent—muscles aching, lungs burning, every handhold a test of strength I’m not sure I have left. Zoric stays close, his body blocking the worst of the wind, his presence a steadying force I’m grateful for even as I resent needing it.
Halfway up, I slip.
My foot finds empty air instead of stone, and for a horrible instant I’m falling—wind rushing past, the distant roar of waves, the absolute certainty that this is how it ends. Not in the caves. Not fighting the curse. Just a stupid accident on a cliff face I never should have been climbing.
A hand catches my arm. Hauls me against the rock. Against him.
“I’ve got you.” His voice grumbles in my ear, his body pressed against my back, his arm a bar of muscle pinning me to the cliff. “I’ve got you.”
I can’t breathe. Not from the fall—from him. The heat of his skin through my clothes. The smell of salt and something else, something that makes my pulse kick in ways that have nothing to do with fear. His breath on my neck. His hand on my waist.
I blank it out of my mind.
But I feel it anyway. Want it anyway. The warmth of another body against mine, the certainty that someone is there to catch me when I fall. Things I haven’t let myself want since Finn died. Things I trained myself to stop needing.
“You can let go now.” My voice comes out whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know.” He doesn’t let go. “Just... give me a moment.”
A moment. The word hangs between us, heavy with things neither of us is saying. I can feel his heart beating against my back. Fast. Too fast for this to be a simple concern.
“The curse.” I manage. “The witch said it works on want.”
“This isn’t the curse.” His voice drops. Rough and low. “This is...”
He doesn’t finish. Doesn’t have to. Because I know. I’ve been feeling it too—the pull that has nothing to do with cursed gold, the awareness that started when he dragged me out of the sea and hasn’t stopped since.
“We should keep moving.” I push the words out. “Sundown isn’t waiting.”
“No.” His arm tightens briefly. Then releases. “It isn’t.”
We finish the climb in silence. But I can still feel the ghost of his touch. Can still hear the roughness in his voice.
And yet. When he reaches back to help me over the final ledge, I take his hand without hesitation.