Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Ulric listened thoughtfully and Thea and Lyric explained their plan.
“Why do you believe this will work?” he asked when they were finished, his voice neutral.
Lyric hesitated, then said quietly, “Because the Old Gods are behind this, and I can feel their guidance.”
Silence filled the tent and even Ulric looked surprised before his eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
“The Old Gods,” he repeated, his voice still carefully neutral.
“I know how it sounds.” Lyric twisted her hands together. “I’m a gardener. A beekeeper. I’m not… I don’t have visions or prophecies or whatever people expect.”
“But?” Jessamin prompted gently.
“But I dream. And I know things—things I shouldn’t know. Like knowing that Ulric needed to return to you.”
“The Old Gods chose their champions carefully,” Ulric said slowly. “The prophecies speak of vessels through whom the gods work their will.”
“I’m not a prophet,” Lyric said firmly.
“Maybe not. But you’re something.” Ulric’s gaze shifted to Thea and her throat went dry. “Both of you are.”
No. I’m a scholar. A linguist. I deal in facts and evidence and provable theories.
But even as the thought formed, that strange certainty pulsed through her. That knowledge that had nothing to do with research.
She’d been having dreams too, dreams that felt like memories, like someone else’s knowledge bleeding into her consciousness.
She’d dreamed of ancient ceremonies and magic flowing like water.
Of balance and harmony and power used for creation instead of destruction. And when she woke, she knew things.
Something is using me. Working through me.
The realization should have terrified her, but instead it felt… right.
“We’re going,” Lyric said, looking at Egon. “All four of us. To the stone circle and then to Kel’Vara.”
“I hate this plan,” Egon said flatly.
“I know.”
“It’s dangerous, and it’s likely to get us all killed.”
“Yes.”
“But you’re absolutely certain?”
“As certain as I’ve ever been about anything.”
Egon stared at her for a long moment before his scarred face shifted into something that might have been resignation. Or acceptance. Or both.
He sighed and turned to Khorrek.
“I’m glad you’ll be there.”
Khorrek went very still and she felt him tense under her hands.
“You are?”
“You know Kel’Vara and you know Lasseran’s defenses.” Egon’s voice was steady. “And you’re a better warrior than I am.”
“That’s not—”
“It is. Don’t argue.” Egon’s mouth curved slightly. “Besides, someone needs to watch your back and make sure you don’t do anything stupid trying to protect your mate.”
Khorrek made a sound. Half laugh, half growl. “That’s your job too.”
“Exactly. We’ll keep each other honest.”
She watched the exchange and saw pride and pleasure and gratitude flicker across Khorrek’s fierce features.
Brotherhood. He’s finding brotherhood.
It was something he’d been denied his entire life—something precious—and it made him stronger.
“Well,” Ulric said, speaking with a calm authority that drew everyone’s attention back to him. “If you’re planning a suicide mission, you should at least do it properly.”
He moved to the table and spread out a detailed map. The Five Kingdoms were out in precise detail. Mountains. Rivers. Cities.
And in the south, the dark smudge that was Kel’Vara.
“You’ll need to move fast and stay ahead of Lasseran’s patrols.” Ulric’s finger traced a route north from the camp and through the mountains, out onto the plains. “The stone circle is here. Three days’ hard ride once you leave the mountains.”
“Then five days from there to Kel’Vara,” Khorrek added. “It will be tight.”
She studied the map and nodded. “We’ll need to time it precisely. The lunar alignment has to be exact.”
“What do you need?” Jessamin asked.
Thea blinked and looked over at the young queen.
“For the ritual,” Jessamin added. “Are there any specific materials? Or things that can be prepared ahead of time.?”
“I—” She paused to organize her thoughts. “Specific herbs. Crystalline structures. Texts for reference. And—”
She stopped because something was happening. Something strange. Knowledge was bubbling up in her brain—not from her research or the ancient texts, but from somewhere deeper.
“We’ll need salt, as pure as possible.” The words came automatically. Certain. “Honey scented with herbs.”
Everyone was staring at her, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks as she pushed her glasses nervously up her nose.
“I don’t… I don’t know how I know that.”
“The Old Gods,” Lyric said softly. “They’re showing you. Guiding you.”
“That’s not—” She stopped and took a deep breath. “I’m a scientist. A scholar. I don’t believe in divine intervention.”
“What you believe doesn’t change what is.” Lyric’s voice was gentle. “I was the same. Practical. Logical. But then the dreams started—the knowing.”
“How do you handle it?”
“I stopped fighting it and started listening.” The other woman gave her a small understanding smile. “It’s terrifying, but also… liberating.”
She wanted to argue and demand proof, but she’d been pulled through a portal into another world. She’d encountered orcs and magic and generational curses.
Everything I thought I knew has been shattered. Why not this too?
“We can get the materials,” Jessamin said practically. “The Veilborn will help. They have access to most of what you’ll need.”
“And the rest we can find on the journey,” Lyric added. “Springs. Growing things. The land will provide.”
“You sound very certain,” Egon observed.
“I am.”
Ulric studied them all thoughtfully, then nodded once.
“You leave in two days which gives us time to prepare. To gather supplies and to coordinate the distraction.”
“Distraction?” she asked.
“Lasseran needs to be looking outwards rather than watching his own city.” Ulric’s smile was sharp. Predatory. “We’ll give him something to worry about. Raids on his supply lines. Attacks on his outposts. We’ll make him think we’re preparing for a major assault.”
“While we slip into Kel’Vara unnoticed,” Khorrek finished.
“Exactly.”
“It’s a good plan,” one of Ulric’s advisors said, a grizzled orc with grey threaded through his dark hair. “Risky. But good.”
“All the best plans are risky,” Ulric said dryly.
They bent over the map to strategize and she found herself making suggestions—pointing out weak points in Lasseran’s defenses and identifying routes that would avoid patrols.
And the knowledge kept coming, kept bubbling up from that strange deep place. She knew when the guards changed shifts and which gates were least defended.
How do I know this?
But the certainty was absolute—and terrifying. It must have shown on her face because suddenly Lyric came over and took her arm, drawing her aside.
“Walk with me?”
She nodded, grateful for the escape. They slipped out of the command tent into the cool evening air. The camp was already quiet. Warriors were settling in for the night and fires were burning low.
Lyric led her away from the tents towards the edge of camp where the mountains rose dark against the stars.
For a while they walked in companionable silence.
“It’s frightening. Isn’t it? The knowing,” Lyric said quietly.
She swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“I felt the same way when it started happening to me.” Lyric stopped and looked up at the stars. “I’d wake from dreams with knowledge I shouldn’t have. I would know where to go and what to do.”
“How did you cope?”
“I didn’t. Not at first.” Lyric gave a wry smile. “I fought it and tried to rationalize it. Told myself it was just intuition. Pattern recognition. Logical deduction.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“No. It was something more. Something…” Lyric paused. Searching for words. “Divine. I know that sounds ridiculous. But there’s no other explanation.”
She wanted to argue, wanted to find a rational explanation, but she’d been doing the same thing. Making excuses. Rationalizing the inexplicable.
“The Old Gods,” she said slowly. “You really believe they’re working through us?”
“I do,” Lyric said firmly. “The prophecies speak of it. Champions chosen. Vessels prepared. Magic flowing through mortal hands to restore balance.”
“But why us? We’re not… I’m just a linguist. You’re a beekeeper.”
“Maybe that’s exactly why. We’re not warriors. Not nobles. Not trained in magic or politics or power.” Lyric looked at her, her green eyes serious. “We’re ordinary. Which makes us perfect conduits. No agenda. No corruption. Just… service.”
She absorbed that, turning it over in her mind.
Service. Purpose. A role I was chosen to fill.
It could have felt like a violation, like her free will was being stolen, but it didn’t.
Because the knowledge that came to her was helpful.
Exactly what they needed to succeed. And the certainty that accompanied it was…
comforting. Like she wasn’t alone. Like something vast and ancient was supporting her. Guiding her.
The Old Gods.
She’d never been religious. Had always dismissed faith as superstition. But this was different. This was direct and undeniable.
“Does it get easier?” she asked. “The knowing?”
“Yes and no.” Lyric gave her an understanding smile. “You stop fighting it. Start trusting it. But it never stops being strange. Never stops feeling like something beyond yourself.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“You can. You are.” Lyric squeezed her arm. “And you’re not alone. You have Khorrek. You have Egon and me. You have all of us.”
Thea felt tears prick her eyes. Ridiculous. She never cried.
But she was so far from home. So far from everything she’d known.
And yet somehow she’d found… family.
People who understand. Who supported her. Who were willing to fight beside her.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Always.”
They stood there together, two ordinary women chosen for extraordinary purposes. Above them, the stars wheeled, beautiful and eternal. Somewhere in the tent behind them, Khorrek was planning. Strategizing. Preparing to walk back into the nightmare of his past.
For her.