Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
The door opened, and Thea’s breath caught in her throat.
Khorrek stood in the doorway, transformed.
Gone was the travel-worn warrior who’d carried her across leagues of wilderness.
In his place stood a dark warrior, black armor polished to an obsidian gleam, and polished weapons gleaming at his hip.
He looked even more dangerous than before, but it was the man behind him who made her skin crawl.
He had to be the High King.
No one else could command that kind of presence—the kind that sucked the air from the room and replaced it with something thinner and harder to breathe.
The worst part was that he was beautiful.
Inhumanly, terrifyingly beautiful in the way that some venomous creatures were beautiful.
Tall and slender and perfect, dressed in silver and white that made him look like moonlight given form, with hair the color of spun platinum and features so aristocratic they could have been carved by a master sculptor.
And eyes like chips of winter ice that held absolutely nothing.
She had spent her career studying history. She knew the darkness humans were capable of— raiders who’d slaughtered entire villages, medieval lords who’d tortured peasants for sport, conquistadors who’d committed genocide in the name of God and gold.
She’d read about evil and reduced it to academic terminology and historical context. She’d never believed in it as a tangible force until now.
The High King smiled at her, and every instinct she possessed screamed run.
“Dr. Monroe.” His voice was silk over a razor’s edge, refined and absolutely terrifying. “How delightful to meet you in person.”
Her mouth went dry. She wanted to ask how he knew her name, not only her name but her title, but the words wouldn’t come. Her brain, usually so reliable, had frozen like a computer confronted with a logic paradox it couldn’t process.
“I…” She cleared her throat, and forced herself to meet those empty eyes. “You have me at a disadvantage.”
“Do I?” He glided into the room with movements too smooth to be natural.
Khorrek followed him, taking up position behind his right shoulder like a living shadow.
“How terribly rude of me. I am Lasseran, High King of the Five Kingdoms. And you, doctor, are the answer to a rather vexing linguistic problem.”
The door clicked shut behind them. Locked. Her hands clenched in the fabric of the elegant gown that had been left for her.
She was trapped.
“I don’t understand.” In a small victory, her voice came out sounding remarkably composed. “How do you know who I am and what I do?”
“Magic, of course.” He said it as if it were obvious, like he was explaining basic arithmetic to a slow child.
“Your world and mine exist in parallel, separated by a veil that grows thinner in certain places. You have been watched for some time now. Your work on lost languages…” That terrible smile widened.
“Quite impressive, for a human scholar.”
Watched. The word sent ice down her spine.
“What do you want?”
“Direct. How refreshing.” Lasseran moved to the window, gazing out over the city below. “I’ll be equally direct, then. You are here to perform a task. A translation, to be precise. Nothing more complicated than the work you’ve been doing your entire adult life.”
A translation. She latched onto the familiar concept, using it as an anchor against the surreal horror of the situation.
“A translation of what?”
“An ancient text written in a script that has proven… resistant to conventional decryption.” He turned back to her, and the emptiness in his eyes seemed to deepen. “It concerns the origin of what we call the Beast Curse. A rather unfortunate magical affliction that plagues the orc race.”
The Beast Curse. She suddenly remembered Khorrek’s reaction when that soldier had grabbed her by the stream. Not just the violence, but the way he had seemed to grow larger, and his eyes had turned black.
“You want me to translate a text about the Beast Curse,” she said slowly. “Why?”
“Because knowledge is power, Dr. Monroe, and I have plans that require a thorough understanding of this particular curse’s mechanics.
” The cold smile never wavered. “You will decode the text and provide me with a complete, accurate translation. And in return, you will be well cared for during your time here.”
“And if I refuse?”
Lasseran didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just looked at her with those terrible, empty eyes, but the threat was more eloquent than words.
“I see,” she managed.
“I knew you were intelligent.” He moved closer, and she had to force herself not to step back. “The fact that you understand the parameters of our arrangement will make this so much easier for both of us.”
“I don’t…” She pushed her glasses up her nose. “I don’t know if I can do what you’re asking. I have only just begun to understand your language and without context, without even knowing what language family this script belongs to—”
“Oh, but you do have context.” Lasseran’s voice took on an edge that made her skin prickle.
“The orcs, you see, are a savage race, brutal and violent. They are barely more than beasts themselves, cursed by their ancestors through magic they didn’t understand.
” He spoke casually, conversationally, as if describing the weather.
“Their written language is correspondingly crude and limited.”
Behind him, Khorrek’s expression flickered. Just for a second, a flash of something that might have been pain before his face went blank again.
Her stomach twisted.
“Present company excepted, of course,” Lasseran added, glancing back at Khorrek with a smile that held all the warmth of a snake examining a mouse.
“My orcs are different. They are… trained to be useful.” He returned his attention to Thea.
“But their wild brethren in Norhaven? Nothing but animals that walk upright.”
Another flicker across Khorrek’s face. Gone so fast she might have imagined it, but she knew she hadn’t. She’d seen the hurt. The shame.
And something inside her—the part that had always stood up to bullies, that had defended unpopular theories against academic persecution, that couldn’t stand injustice even when it was safer to stay quiet—ignited.
“I’ve spent my career studying so-called ‘savage’ cultures,” she said, her voice sharper than was probably wise.
“Vikings, Mongols, indigenous peoples dismissed as primitive by their conquerors. Without exception, I’ve found that what we call savagery is usually just a culture we don’t understand.
” She forced herself to meet Lasseran’s eyes.
“A written language is never crude or simple. It’s always a reflection of complex thought and a complex society. ”
The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped ten degrees even though Lasseran’s smile didn’t change. Something shifted in his posture—a predator recognizing unexpected resistance.
“How… academic of you,” he said softly. “I do hope that sentiment doesn’t interfere with your work. You’re here to translate, Dr. Monroe. Not to philosophize about the noble savage.”
“I’m here because I was dragged through a portal against my will.” The words were out before her better judgment could stop them. “Let’s not pretend this is a collaboration.”
Silence stretched like a blade.
Then Lasseran laughed. The sound was beautiful and horrible and completely devoid of genuine amusement.
“Oh, I am going to enjoy this.” He turned away, moving back towards the door. “Khorrek will escort you to the library where the text is kept. You’ll have access to whatever resources you require. My entire collection is at your disposal.”
“How generous.”
“Isn’t it?” He paused at the door, glancing back over his shoulder.
“One more thing, Dr. Monroe. Just so we understand each other completely.” His voice went flat, but it was far more terrifying if he’d screamed at her.
“You will succeed in this task. Failure is not an option I’m prepared to entertain. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Her voice came out as a whisper. “I understand.”
“Excellent.” The smile returned, cold and charming and utterly false. “I look forward to your findings. Khorrek?” He gestured at the orc. “She is your responsibility now. See that she has everything she needs.”
Khorrek crossed his fist over his chest. “Yes, High King.”
Lasseran swept from the room like royalty departing a stage, leaving silence and the scent of expensive perfume in his wake along with the faintest hint of decay.
The lock clicked behind him.
She stood frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs, and discovered that her hands were shaking. She pressed them against her sides, trying to stop the tremors.
Evil. The word echoed in her mind. Not an academic concept, but a living, breathing presence that wore a beautiful face and spoke in cultured tones.
And she was trapped in his palace, at his mercy, with a task she didn’t know if she could complete and consequences she didn’t want to imagine if she failed.
“Thea.”
Khorrek’s voice was a low rumble that made her jump. She’d almost forgotten he was there. She turned to look at him, really look at him, past the armor and the size that made him seem like he could crush her with one hand.
His eyes met hers, dark and ashamed.
My orcs are different. Trained to be useful.
The words must have cut like knives, but he’d just stood there silently.
“Are you all right?” The question came out before she could think better of it, and he blinked, surprise flickering across his features.
“I… yes.”
“He shouldn’t speak to you like that.”
“He is the High King.”
“That doesn’t give him the right—” She stopped herself. This wasn’t the fight to pick right now, not when she was still processing her encounter with the most terrifying person she’d ever met. “Never mind.”
But Khorrek was staring at her like she’d grown a second head.
“You defended my people,” he said slowly. “To the High King.”
“I stated an academic fact.”
“You contradicted him.”
“I…” She sighed and pushed her glasses up again. “It was stupid. I know. I just… I couldn’t…”
She trailed off, unable to articulate the rage that had flooded her when Lasseran had spoken about the orcs like they were animals. When he’d hurt Khorrek with such casual cruelty.
He took a step closer, then another, until he was standing directly in front of her, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
“That was the bravest and most foolish thing I have ever witnessed,” he said quietly.
Despite everything—the terror still coursing through her veins and the threat hanging over her head like an executioner’s blade—a laugh bubbled up.
“That’s… probably accurate.”
Something shifted in his expression.
“He will test you,” he said. “He will try to break you.”
“I got that impression.”
“Can you do what he asks? Translate the text?”
She wanted to say yes, wanted to project the academic brilliance that had earned her her first doctorate by age twenty-two, but lying to Khorrek felt wrong.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Without knowing the language family, without comparative texts or even knowing what alphabet or writing system they used…” She shook her head. “It could take months. Years. And that’s assuming it’s even possible.”
He studied her face for a long moment.
“You will succeed,” he said quietly.
It should have sounded like a threat, but instead it sounded like… faith.
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Because you must.” He held her gaze. “And because you are brilliant and stubborn and too curious to give up.”
Warmth filled her, pushing back some of the cold terror Lasseran had left behind.
“That’s possibly the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she said.
“It is the truth.”
“Truth and nice aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“In my experience, they usually are.”
That sad, bitter edge to his voice made her want to reach out and touch him, but she didn’t know if he’d welcome it. She didn’t know the rules in this strange world where magic was real and High Kings wore beautiful masks over empty souls.
Instead she straightened her shoulders and pushed her glasses up one more time.
“All right,” she said. “If I’m going to do this impossible thing, I want to get started.”
“Now?” His eyebrows rose. “It’s late. You should rest.”
“Rest while I’m imagining all the horrible ways Lasseran might kill me if I fail? No thanks.” She managed a shaky smile. “I’d rather have something productive to focus on. Unless you need to sleep?”
He shook his head. “I will accompany you to the library.”
“Then let’s go.”
She started toward the door, then paused and turned back.
He was watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. Something between admiration and concern and a deeper emotion she didn’t have the bandwidth to analyze right then.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For… being here. It helps.”
His jaw tightened. “I am your guard, by the High King’s orders.”
“Right. Orders.” She studied his face. “But you gave me your tunic when I was cold. You taught me your language. You protected me from that man. Those felt like choices, not orders.”
He didn’t respond, but something in his eyes acknowledged the truth of her words.
“Come,” he said finally, moving to unlock the door. “The library is this way.”