Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The bundle of scrolls pressed against Thea’s chest through the layers of her cloak. Khorrek carried most of her documents, but she’d insisted on carrying the six parchments that had provided the key to the riddle.
Evidence. Truth. And possibly a death sentence.
She followed him through the narrow servants’ corridor, her soft-soled boots whispering against the stone. His broad shoulders blocked most of the dim torchlight ahead, turning him into a familiar shadow, comforting in a way that should probably terrify her more than it did.
I’m fleeing a palace with an orc warrior who spent most of his life as an assassin. But it’s fine. Totally normal academic behavior.
Her mind wouldn’t settle, still spinning through the discovery. The hidden meanings woven into those ancient texts. The elegant symmetry of the original covenant—a balance between human magic and orcish strength, power flowing in both directions like a river finding its natural course.
And then the theft. Generations of it. No wonder the orcs were dying out. Their half of the covenant had been drained dry, leaving nothing but dregs and desperation.
Khorrek raised a fist, and she froze.
Voices drifted from somewhere ahead. Male. Bored. Guards complaining about night shifts and cold drafts and someone named Marcus who never brought his share of the wine.
Khorrek gestured towards a side passage she hadn’t noticed, and she followed him silently. Grateful for once that her academic life had involved plenty of scrambling through ancient burial sites and crumbling temples in the middle of nowhere. She knew how to move quietly when it mattered.
The voices faded, but he waited another long moment before continuing forward. He’d done this before, moved through these passages in secret. The thought was both comforting and disturbing. How many missions had Lasseran sent him on that required this level of stealth? How many people had he—
No. She wasn’t going to think about that. Not now.
She needed to focus.
Except her mind kept churning. Kept turning over the pieces of the puzzle. The covenant. The balance. The theft. And something else. Something that had been nagging at her since they’d decoded the final passage.
The ritual Lasseran was planning required a focus. A conduit. Someone or something to channel the stolen power and complete the transformation of the Beast curse from symbiotic blessing to absolute control.
The texts had been vague on that part, deliberately so.
But Vorlag had mentioned balance multiple times during their research sessions. Had asked pointed questions about reciprocity and consent and the natural flow of magic through living systems.
He knows something. Something he couldn’t or wouldn’t say directly, she realized.
She needed to talk to Vorlag before they left the city and disappeared into the wilds between here and Norhaven.
“Khorrek.”
He stopped immediately. His expression was hidden by shadow but she felt him focusing on her.
“What’s wrong?”
“We need to make a detour.”
“No.”
“Just listen—”
“Thea, we don’t have time. Every minute we stay in this city increases the chance of getting caught. Lasseran probably already knows something is wrong.”
“I understand that, but I need to see Vorlag.”
“Absolutely not.” His voice was flat. Unyielding. “The Veilborn serve Lasseran. Going to their temple would be walking straight into a trap.”
“Vorlag helped me solve this puzzle. He gave me access to restricted texts, and asked questions that led me toward the truth instead of away from it.”
“That doesn’t mean he’ll help us commit treason.”
“Maybe not. But there’s something he knows. Something about the ritual that wasn’t in the texts. I can feel it.”
He was quiet for a long moment. She could practically hear him thinking, weighing risks against benefits.
“Your instinct?” he finally asked.
“Yes.”
“The same instinct that told you to kiss me?”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “That was different.”
“Was it?”
“Khorrek—”
“I’m asking seriously. Is this the same kind of certainty? The same kind of knowing that you can’t explain but can’t ignore?”
She thought about it, really thought.
Yes. It was exactly that same certainty. That same pull toward something her conscious mind couldn’t quite articulate but her deeper understanding recognized as important.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s the same.”
He sighed. “I’m going to regret this.”
“Probably.”
“You’re not making a compelling argument.”
“I don’t need to. You already decided to trust me.”
Another pause. Then a low growl that might have been frustration or amusement or both.
“This way. The temple is closer if we cut through the eastern passages.”
Relief crashed through her. “Thank you.”
“Thank me if we survive this.”
They changed direction, and the passages grew wider and better maintained. The air was less stale. They were getting closer to the public areas of the palace.
Khorrek moved with an astonishingly predatory grace.
He checked corners before rounding them and listened at doorways before passing.
He guided her with touches instead of words—a hand on her shoulder to stop, pressure on her lower back to move forward, fingers closing around her wrist to pull her into an alcove when footsteps echoed too close.
They passed servants. Guards. A pair of nobles arguing in heated whispers about some court scandal involving someone’s wife and someone else’s stables.
No one looked at them twice.
Because we look like we belong here. Like we have every right to be walking these halls.
Confidence mattered. Act like you belong and most people won’t question it.
The Temple of the Veil rose ahead. Massive doors carved with intricate symbols that probably had deep theological meaning she’d never have time to study properly.
Add it to the list of things to research. Right after “how to survive fleeing from a murderous tyrant” and “reversing ancient magical theft.”
The doors stood open despite the late hour and warm light spilled into the corridor along with low, rhythmic chanting that seemed to vibrate through the stone itself.
“They’re still active,” she whispered.
“The Veilborn don’t sleep much. Meditation and prayer cycles run through the night.”
“How do you know that?”
“Lasseran required us to understand the power structures in his court. The Veilborn are one of the oldest.”
Of course he did.
She squared her shoulders. “Let’s go.”
“Thea—”
“I know. It’s dangerous. We might get caught. But we’re doing it anyway.”
He made a sound that was definitely frustration this time. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Not if I can help it.”
They slipped through the doors into warmth and candlelight and the overwhelming scent of incense.
The main chamber was vast, the vaulted ceiling disappearing into darkness above.
Hundreds of candles burning in elaborate candelabras.
There were robed figures everywhere—some kneeling in prayer, others standing in contemplative silence, a few moving between chambers with the quiet efficiency of people who’d walked these paths a thousand times before.
She scanned the crowd, looking for anyone she recognized, and found a young acolyte she’d seen in the library several times. He’d brought her tea once, and smiled shyly when she’d thanked him.
She moved closer, Khorrek shadowed her like a dangerous ghost.
The acolyte finished whatever prayer he was murmuring and opened his eyes. As soon as he saw her, his expression shifted. Surprise. Confusion. A flicker of something that might have been fear.
She raised a finger to her lips. Please don’t raise the alarm.
He hesitated, glancing at Khorrek and then back to her. She joined him at the altar, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I need to see Master Vorlag. It’s urgent. More important than you can possibly imagine.”
The boy’s throat worked. “Dr. Monroe, it’s very early. Master Vorlag is in meditation—”
“I know. And I’m sorry, but this can’t wait. Please. If he’s ever valued my research, if the Veilborn care at all about truth…” She let the words trail off and let him see the desperation in her eyes.
It wasn’t hard. She felt desperate.
The acolyte looked between them again, then nodded.
“This way. Quickly. And stay quiet.”
He led them through a side door away from the main prayer hall and down a spiral staircase that seemed to descend forever into the bedrock beneath the temple.
The air grew cooler. Damper. The incense smell faded, replaced by something earthier. Older. They were going deep into the heart of whatever power the Veilborn actually wielded.
The thought should have been more frightening. Instead, it felt right, like coming to the correct conclusion at the end of a particularly difficult translation.
The staircase ended in a long corridor with simple wooden doors on either side. Meditation chambers where the senior priests retreat from the world.
The acolyte stopped at one of the doors and knocked softly, three taps in a rhythm that was probably significant.
“Master Vorlag? I’m sorry to disturb you, but—”
“Enter.”
The voice was muffled by the door but unmistakable. Calm. Unsurprised.
The acolyte pushed the door open and gestured them inside before melting back into the shadows of the corridor without another word.
She entered with Khorrek close enough that she could feel his body heat—and his readiness to fight if the situation turned dangerous.
The room was small and simple with a single desk and a narrow bed. A candle burning on the desk illuminated Vorlag’s weathered face as he looked up from whatever text he’d been reading and smiled.
“Dr. Monroe. Khorrek. I wondered when you would come.”
“You knew?”
“I suspected. Your discovery was too important. Too dangerous. Lasseran would never let you simply walk away with that knowledge.”
“Then you know what we found.”