Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Khorrek’s hands were steady as he stood before Lasseran’s door. It was the result of his training, of the discipline beaten into him through years of brutal conditioning.
The memory of Thea standing before Lasseran—small and defiant and so clearly frightened—made his chest ache with an almost physical pain.
He was a weapon, and weapons didn’t question their wielders.
Except he’d been questioning everything since the moment those clear grey eyes had met his at the stone circle.
Even before that, he admitted to himself. His encounters with the orcs of Norhaven had changed him—had made him begin to question what he’d been told all his life about their wildness and savagery. But he’d done his best to bury those doubts. He might even have succeeded if he hadn’t met her.
The door in front of him opened before he could knock.
“Come.”
Lasseran’s voice held an edge Khorrek recognized—the dangerous quiet that preceded violence. Fuck. But he had no choice. He entered and closed the door behind him.
The High King’s private chambers were exactly as they’d always been. Elegant. Expensive. Cold.
Lasseran stood in his favorite position by the window, his back to the room. His silver hair caught the light like molten metal.
“You’re late.”
“I came as soon as I received your summons.” He kept his voice neutral.
“I sent for you an hour ago.”
An hour. Had it really been that long since he’d left the library? Since he’d fled like a coward instead of staying with Thea?
Because touching her is dangerous. Because wanting her is weakness.
“My apologies, High King.”
Lasseran finally turned, his pale eyes chips of ice.
“Tell me about the girl’s progress.”
“She works diligently. Master Vorlag believes she’s making good headway with the translation.”
“Headway is not completion. I gave her a deadline, Khorrek. Three days. Half of which is now gone.”
“The text is complex—”
“I don’t care about complexity. I care about results.” Lasseran moved closer, each step measured and predatory. “Do you understand what’s at stake here?”
“Yes, High King.”
“Do you?” Those empty eyes studied him. “Because I’m beginning to wonder if you’ve forgotten where your loyalties lie.”
His blood turned to ice.
He knows. Somehow he knows.
“My loyalty has always been to you.”
“Has it?” Lasseran circled him slowly. “You spend an inordinate amount of time with this translator. You stand guard outside her rooms at night. You carry her to bed when she falls asleep working.”
Only his training enabled him to keep his face composed.
“You ordered me to protect her. To ensure she completes her task.”
“I ordered you to guard her. Not coddle her like a favored pet.”
He forced himself to remain still. To keep breathing normally.
“I ensure she remains healthy and focused. A tired, frightened translator is less effective.”
“How pragmatic.” Lasseran’s tone suggested he didn’t believe a word. “And the fact that she’s attractive has nothing to do with your… attentiveness?”
“She’s a human.”
“Yes. A soft, weak, inferior human.” Lasseran stopped directly in front of him. “Surely you haven’t forgotten what you are, Khorrek. What I made you.”
What I made you. Not who. What.
He was only a tool, a thing to be used and discarded. His Beast snarled.
“I am what you trained me to be.”
“Are you?” Lasseran’s smile terrified him. “Because the Khorrek I trained wouldn’t hesitate to hurt someone if I commanded it. He wouldn’t question it. He certainly wouldn’t have feelings about it.”
“I don’t have feelings.”
“Liar.”
The word hung between them.
“I saw your face when I threatened her,” Lasseran continued softly. “That flash of rage before you remembered yourself. You care about this human, don’t you?”
Deny it. That was the only option.
“I care about completing my mission successfully.”
“Such discipline. Such control.” Lasseran’s smile widened. “But we both know the truth. The Beast inside you wants her, and you’re too weak to resist.”
“I would never—”
“Never what? Touch her? Too late for that, I suspect.” Lasseran waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t actually care what you do with the girl, Khorrek. Use her. Don’t use her. It’s irrelevant to me, as long as she translates the text.”
The casual cruelty was worse than anger. Thea wasn’t a person to Lasseran. She wasn’t even a tool. She was simply a step on the path to power.
And that’s all you are too, a voice whispered. All any of you are.
“I’ll ensure she completes the translation on schedule.”
“See that you do. Because if she fails…” Lasseran turned back to the window. “It would delay matters but there are always more translators.”
And more orcs to train if I prove defective.
The unspoken threat was quite clear, but he didn’t bother to respond. Instead he waited. Years of training told him the conversation wasn’t over. Lasseran had summoned him for a reason beyond issuing threats.
“The ritual failed,” Lasseran said abruptly.
His mind raced. “The ritual, High King?”
“Don’t play stupid. You know I’ve been working to perfect the Beast Curse.”
“I know you seek to protect the Five Kingdoms.”
“Protect. Control. It’s the same thing.” Lasseran’s reflection in the window was cold and remote. “The attempt to use Jessamin’s blood could have worked if those interfering bastards hadn’t intervened.”
Once again he managed to keep his face composed.
King Ulric and a small group of warriors had managed to rescue his queen from Lasseran’s clutches but at her bequest, they had also saved him.
He had repaid that debt by not pursuing them.
If Lasseran ever found out, Khorrek would die a slow, painful death.
“It is most unfortunate,” he said calmly. “Then the ritual—”
“Will proceed without her. I’ve planned for too many years to let one disappointing female ruin everything.”
A chill ran down his spine.
“What do you need?”
Lasseran turned to face him fully. “Blood magic requires sacrifice, Khorrek. Life force channeled and transformed. With Jessamin’s royal bloodline, one sacrifice would have been enough, but without it…”
His voice trailed off, and Khorrek’s chest tightened.
“How many?”
“Depends on the quality. Common humans would require dozens. But orcs…” Lasseran’s smile returned, razor sharp. “Orcs carry the curse already. Their life force is steeped in the very magic I’m trying to control. Using them as sacrifices will be far more efficient.”
It took a moment for the words to register.
Orcs. He’s going to sacrifice orcs.
“The wild ones of Norhaven are too far away,” Lasseran continued. “And too likely to trigger unwanted attention from King Ulric. But I have orcs here in the palace. Trained. Obedient. Perfect for this purpose.”
No. No!
“You mean—”
“Some of the Beast Warriors, yes. They were raised alongside you and taught the same lessons. They should be willing enough.” Lasseran spoke with breathtaking casualness. “I’ll need about four for the ritual, perhaps six. More if we want to be certain of success.”
He couldn’t breathe.
The training halls. The brutal years of conditioning. Any bond between them had been ruthlessly discouraged, but the other Beast Warriors were his brothers, not by blood but by shared trauma. They were the only other ones who understood what it meant to be raised as a weapon.
“They’ve served you faithfully.”
“Yes. And now they’ll serve me in a different way.” Lasseran moved to his desk. Picked up a glass of wine. “Really, it’s an honor. To be part of something greater than themselves. To help usher in a new era of power and control.”
“An honor to die?”
The words came out before he could stop them, and Lasseran’s eyes narrowed. “Are you questioning my judgment?”
“No, High King. I only—”
“You only what? Think you have a say in how I use my resources?” Lasseran set the wine down with exact precision. “Those orcs belong to me, Khorrek. Just as you belong to me. I created you. I fed you and trained you. Everything you are exists because I allowed it.”
The truth of it threatened to suffocate him.
“I understand.”
“Do you? Because you seem upset.” Lasseran studied him with clinical interest. “Tell me. Do you care about these orcs? These brothers of yours?”
It was a trap. Admit he cared, and Lasseran would use it as a weakness, another lever to control him. Deny it, and he’d be admitting he was exactly the empty thing they’d tried to make him.
“They’re loyal soldiers.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Khorrek met those pale, empty eyes.
“I recognize their value to your forces.”
“Their value is whatever I decide it is. Right now, I’ve decided they’re worth more as sacrifices than as soldiers.
” Lasseran picked up his wine again, and sipped delicately.
“The ritual will take place at the next full moon—the Blood Moon two weeks from now. I’ll need you to select the ones to be used. ”
The room spun.
“Select them?”
“You know them best. You know their strengths and weaknesses. Choose the ones whose loss will be least disruptive to my remaining forces.”
Choose which of my brothers die.
His Beast roared, demanding blood. He wanted to tear Lasseran apart, but the conditioning held. Thirty-five years of obedience wrapped around his throat like an iron chain.
“I…” His voice failed.
“Is there a problem?”
Yes. You’re a monster. You’re asking me to participate in murder.
“No, High King.”
“Excellent. I knew I could count on you.” Lasseran returned to his desk and waved a dismissive hand. “Report back to me in three days with your selections. Include detailed reasoning for each choice. I want to ensure we’re using the most… appropriate candidates.”
“As you command.”
“Oh, and Khorrek? This conversation doesn’t leave this room. If I hear whispers among the orc soldiers about the ritual, I’ll know who to blame.”
“I won’t speak of it.”
“Good. Because I’d hate to add you to the sacrifice list. You’re far too useful alive.” Lasseran waved his hand again. “Dismissed.”
He turned and walked to the door. He opened it automatically, but inside, something was breaking—the chains that had bound him for so long. The loyalty beaten into him through pain and fear and endless repetition.
What I made you.
Not a person. A thing.
A weapon to be used.
Choose which of my brothers to die.
He walked. He didn’t know where he was going and he didn’t care. His vision had narrowed to a tunnel, his breathing harsh and ragged.
His Beast clawed at his control, demanding release. It wanted to return to Lasseran’s chambers and paint the walls red. Rip him apart, his Beast snarled. Make him pay for every cruelty. Every betrayal.
But the conditioning held.
I can’t kill him. He’s the High King. My master. My creator.
But he’s going to murder my brothers.
Throkar. Grazzik. Durn. Vorgath. All of the orcs of his age who’d survived the training halls. Who’d earned their scars alongside him. They weren’t friends. Lasseran had made sure of that. He pitted them against each other, rewarding brutality and punishing compassion.
But they were his. The only others who understood.
And Lasseran was going to use them as sacrifices. It wouldn’t even be an honorable death in battle. They would just fuel his dark magic.
His hands shook, and his vision blurred. His Beast surged forward and he let it. For just a moment, he let the rage consume him. Let the Curse take hold.
His tusks ached. His muscles burned. Power flooded through him—ancient and terrible and free—but then he crushed it back down. Not here. Not now. He couldn’t lose control where someone might see.
He found himself in an empty courtyard with stone walls on all sides and no witnesses, and he drove his fist into the wall. The stone cracked, but his skin split and blood welled on his knuckles.
He hit the wall again.
And again.
And again.
He hit the wall until his knuckles were ruined and pain screamed through his hand, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing would ever be enough to purge his rage and grief.
Because that’s what it was.
Grief for the illusion he’d clung to. The desperate, pathetic hope that Lasseran cared. That the orcs he’d raised were somehow different. Special. Not tools he would discard without a thought despite his assurances about how they are different from the orcs of Norhaven.
They’d never been different. Lasseran had lied about everything. The protection. The training. The promise that loyalty would be rewarded.
All lies.
They were weapons. And when a weapon became less useful than its raw materials, you melted it down and forged something new.
I believed him.
That was the worst part. He had believed. He had trusted. He’d given everything—his childhood, his identity, his soul—because Lasseran had promised it meant something.
But it didn’t, and it never had.
He slumped against the wall, his ruined hand throbbing. His Beast had retreated, satisfied by the violence even if it was directed at stone instead of the real enemy. His mind was unnervingly clear.
He couldn’t kill Lasseran. Even if he stood a chance against Lasseran’s magic, thirty-five years of conditioning made it impossible. Even thinking about it too directly made his thoughts skitter away.
He couldn’t refuse the order to select sacrifices. It would only mean his death, probably after punishments designed to break him completely, and it wouldn’t change anything.
He couldn’t warn his brothers. Lasseran had been explicit about that. He couldn’t do anything.
I’m completely helpless.
Just like he’d been as a child—beaten and starved and broken until he forgot there was ever anything else.
What I made you.
He rose slowly to his feet, his hand dripping blood onto the courtyard stones. He should bandage it and return to his post, maintaining the discipline that had kept him alive this long.
Instead, he found himself walking through corridors and past guards who averted their eyes until he came to a familiar door. He stopped outside Thea’s chambers.
Why am I here?
He shouldn’t be. He should be standing guard in the hallway like a proper warrior, and protecting himself from the dangerous softness she inspired.
But he was already knocking.