Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Thea finished choking down the piece of bread, then sighed and opened the door. Khorrek stood exactly where he’d been the first time she opened the door, every inch the disciplined guard.
“Ready?” he asked, not looking at her.
“Ready.”
They walked in silence through corridors that were already starting to feel familiar. Servants pressed themselves against the walls as they passed. Guards nodded to Khorrek with wary respect.
No one met her eyes.
What am I in this world? Besides Lasseran’s pawn?
The question had no good answers.
He opened the library doors and she stepped into the beautiful, terrible repository of stolen knowledge. The morning light streaming through high windows transformed the space. What had been shadowy and mysterious last night was now revealed in stunning detail.
Books. Scrolls. Manuscripts. Codices. More knowledge than she could ever study in one lifetime. It stole her breath.
“It’s incredible,” she breathed, unable to help herself.
He made a noncommittal sound, but she ignored him, heading towards the table where the ancient text waited. Her text now. Her impossible puzzle.
She reached for it—
“Dr. Monroe.”
The voice made her spin around. A figure cloaked in a dark robe that obscured every detail stood in the doorway.
“I am Master Vorlag,” he said, his voice dry and cultured. “High King Lasseran has assigned me as your… advisor. For the duration of your work.”
Her stomach sank.
Advisor. Right. More like a spy. Lasseran’s eyes and ears to ensure she stayed focused and compliant.
“How generous of His Majesty,” she said, keeping her tone carefully neutral.
“Quite.”
He walked into the library with the confidence of someone who’d spent considerable time here. When he joined her, she could make out more of his face beneath the obscuring hood. Intelligent eyes behind lined features studied her.
“I understand you’re a linguistic specialist,” Vorlag continued. “From… elsewhere.”
The pause was deliberate. He knew—or suspected.
“I specialize in dead languages,” she said. “Ancient texts and translation.”
“Fascinating.” He regarded the manuscript. “This is said to concern the Beast Curse—or so the king believes.”
“You sound unconvinced.”
“I’m old, Dr. Monroe. Skepticism is survival.”
Despite herself, she almost smiled. His tone reminded her of her favorite professors—the ones who taught her to question everything.
“May I ask your role? Besides advisor.”
“I’m a Veilborn priest. We believe in balance. Including the balance between worlds—the places where reality bleeds thin.” His eyes met hers. “We study the spaces between what is and what might be.”
A shiver ran through her. “You study portals.”
“Amongst other things.”
“Did you…” She swallowed hard. “Did you help bring me here?”
“No,” he said firmly. “And neither did Lasseran.”
That brought her head up. “He didn’t?”
“No. Although he may have been… encouraged to believe he did.”
‘I don’t understand.”
“Only the gods can open a portal.”
“The gods?” She gave him a dazed look. “Why would they bring me here?”
He gave a half shrug. “There is always a reason.”
“Does that mean you don’t know or that you aren’t saying?”
Amusement flickered across his face.
“Does it matter?”
“Will whoever brought me here send me home again?”
He studied her face for a moment.
“Is that truly what you want?”
Of course it was. Wasn’t it? She couldn’t help glancing towards the door where Khorrek stood guard, silent and watchful.
“Could you help me to do so?” she asked, avoiding the question.
“I cannot. The king’s will is absolute in Kel’Vara.”
“But?”
Because there was a ‘but.’ She could hear it in his voice.
Vorlag also glanced towards the door where Khorrek stood.
“But,” the old priest said carefully, “I can help you with this translation. Ensure you have the resources you need. The knowledge.” He paused. “And perhaps, in doing so, we might discover things the High King does not expect.”
It wasn’t a promise. Wasn’t even really hope.
But it was something.
“Then let’s get started.”
The work quickly consumed her. Within an hour, she had filled pages with notes, sketches, and theories about phonetic values and grammatical structures.
Vorlag proved to be exactly what he’d claimed—an advisor. He brought reference materials, answered questions about the cultural context of the Five Kingdoms, and provided insight into magical theory that made her head spin.
But he never directed her work. Never told her what to find.
He just… helped.
“This symbol here.” She pointed to the recurring character she’d noticed the previous evening. “It appears at the start of most sections. I thought it might be a header marker, but the placement is inconsistent.”
He leaned closer, squinting at the page. “May I?”
She nodded, and he touched the symbol with one gnarled finger, then frowned.
“What is it?”
“It’s older than I expected,” he murmured. “It’s a protection ward.”
“Protection from what?”
“From misuse. From corruption. It indicates that the knowledge it contains could be dangerous in the wrong hands.”
Lasseran’s hands.
“Can you read it?”
“To an extent.” He smiled ruefully. “I suspect your knowledge will soon exceed mine, if the rumors of your linguistic gift are accurate.”
“Rumors?”
“The servants talk. They say you learned the common tongue in a matter of days. Is that true?”
She hesitated. She’d chosen not to think about how quickly she’d picked up the language. How easily the words came to her now. It wasn’t possible, even for someone with her background.
“Yes,” she admitted. “I don’t understand it. Usually language acquisition takes months. Years. But this…” She gestured helplessly. “It feels like remembering.”
“Fascinating.”
“Terrifying, actually.”
“Why terrifying?”
“Because I don’t know the rules anymore,” she said. “Language follows patterns. This—this feels like magic.”
“Perhaps it is.”
She huffed a laugh. “I’m a scientist. I don’t believe in magic.”
“And yet you stand in a world not your own, speaking a tongue you never studied.” His smile was kind. “Perhaps it’s time to expand your definition of possible.”
“You sound like my dissertation advisor.”
“I shall take that as a compliment.”
Despite everything—the fear, the uncertainty, the impossible task—she found herself relaxing slightly. Vorlag reminded her of why she’d fallen in love with languages in the first place. The joy of finding meaning in chaos.
“Tell me about the Beast Curse,” she said. “Lasseran said it was a primitive magic gone wrong, but that doesn’t match what I’m seeing in this text.”
Vorlag settled into a chair with the air of a professor preparing for a lecture.
“The official history—as told by the Crown—is that the orcs were once human, but they practiced dark magics in an attempt to transform themselves into superior warriors. The curse was the price of their hubris.”
“But you don’t believe that.”
“I believe history is written by victors. And the High King’s line has been very victorious.
” He steepled his fingers. “The truth is more complex. The orcs were never human. They were their own people with their own culture. The Curse came much later, during the wars, but it didn’t start out as a Curse. ”
“What happened?”
“The Five Kingdoms were threatened by raiders from beyond the Southern Sea—and they were losing. The orcs volunteered to undergo a magic ritual which made them stronger, faster, and much harder to kill. It bound them to their rage and brought out what we now call their Beast side—but they have always possessed the ability to control it.”
She nodded thoughtfully, remembering the transformation that had overtaken Khorrek when he attacked the soldier who’d tried to hurt her. He’d been enraged, but he hadn’t been out of control.
“But there was a… side effect. The true Curse is that ever since the wars since then the number of orcs has been diminishing. Less and less children are being born and they are rarely female.” His eyes were sad.
“A side effect? Did whoever created the ritual know about that?”
“So the forbidden texts suggest.”
“Who?”
“That,” Vorlag said carefully, “is a question best not asked aloud in Kel’Vara.”
Lasseran. Or his ancestors. Someone who wanted to destroy an entire race.
“But the High King wants me to translate this text,” she said slowly, working through the implications. “If it contains information about the curse’s origins, about how it was created…”
“He believes he can perfect it—extend it.”
The room felt suddenly cold.
“He wants to curse more people.”
“Not exactly. He wants power, absolute power. And the Beast Curse, properly understood, would give him an army that cannot disobey. Cannot rebel. Cannot even think of freedom.”
Thea looked toward the door. Khorrek stood there, rigid and silent. Listening to every word.
Cannot think of freedom.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered. “I can’t give him that knowledge.”
“Then you will die.” Vorlag’s voice was gentle but unflinching. “And he will find someone else. Someone less ethical. Someone who will not question or hesitate.”
“So I’m damned either way.”
“No.” The old priest leaned forward. “You are clever. Creative. You see patterns others miss. Perhaps, in translating this text, you might find something unexpected. Something useful.”
“Like what?”
“Like a way to break the Curse entirely.”
A tiny flare of hope flickered.
“Is that possible?”
“I don’t know. But if anyone can discover it, I believe you can.”
She looked down at the ancient text. Whoever wrote this hadn’t wanted it to fall into the hands of Lasseran or someone like him.
Was it possible she could do both? Give Lasseran enough to satisfy him, while searching for the way to free the orcs. To free Khorrek.
“Then let’s do it properly,” she said. “Teach me everything you know—grammar, syntax, context.”
Vorlag’s smile deepened. “Now you sound like a scholar.”
“I am a scholar,” she said dryly. “Even in a world ruled by curses and kings.”