Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The distant glint of the sea surrounding Kel’Vara appeared first—a dark expanse beneath a blood-orange sunset. Then the city itself materialized from the gathering dusk, stone towers clawing at the darkening sky.
Khorrek reined in his mount, the others stopping behind him.
Four days of hard riding had brought them to their destination.
Four days of pushing themselves and their horses to the limit.
Four days of Thea nestled against him, growing more distant with each passing mile—not from him, but from herself.
Something was happening to her, something that filled him with both awe and terror.
“We’ve made it,” he said, unnecessarily.
Baralt moved up beside them, his expression grim. “Just in time. Look.”
He pointed to the horizon where the first edge of the moon was visible—larger than normal, with a reddish tint that would deepen as it rose.
The Blood Moon. Tonight.
“I can feel it,” Thea whispered, her voice holding that strange, resonant quality that had been growing stronger since they left the Stone Circle. “We need to hurry.”
He nodded, guiding his horse down the path that led to the base of the cliff. The others followed silently, a small but determined force against the might of Lasseran’s empire.
This is madness, his practical mind whispered. Eight warriors against an army. A handful of rebels against the most powerful ruler the Five Kingdoms has ever known.
But his Beast disagreed, growling with savage confidence. Lasseran was just a man. A powerful man with dark magic, yes, but still mortal. Still killable.
And they had something Lasseran didn’t: His mate, the vessel of the goddess.
The goddess who nearly took her from me, he thought, hands tightening on the reins. The power that almost cost her life.
He still dreamed about it—the endless white mist, the pain of walking through his worst memories, the voice demanding his sacrifice.
He would make the same choice again without hesitation.
They reached the base of the cliff where the city perched. No gates here, just a sheer rock face that most would find impossible to scale. But he wasn’t most people.
He dismounted, helping Thea down. “There’s a tunnel,” he explained to the group. “Used by the orc warriors when Lasseran wants us to come and go unseen.”
“Convenient,” Baralt remarked, one eyebrow raised.
“He never imagined we’d use it against him.” Khorrek’s smile held no humor. “This way.”
He led them along the cliff base, counting his steps carefully. One hundred and seventeen from the lightning-struck tree. Then up twenty-three feet. There—a narrow crack almost invisible unless you knew exactly where to look.
“Single file,” he instructed. “Watch your heads.”
He went first, ducking into the tight passage. It widened after a few steps, opening into a rough-hewn tunnel that sloped gradually upwards. Thea followed close behind him, then Egon and Lyric, with Baralt and his three warriors taking up the rear.
They moved in silence, guided by the faint blue luminescence of the fungus that grew along the tunnel walls—another secret Lasseran thought safely kept.
After several minutes of steady climbing, the tunnel branched, and he paused, orienting himself.
“Left,” he decided. “Leads more directly to the temple district.”
“Left,” she agreed, but there was an odd certainty in her voice that made him look back at her.
Her eyes caught the blue glow, reflecting it back like twin stars.
She knows. Somehow, she knows.
The realization sent a shiver down his spine. He turned the corner—and froze.
A massive orc warrior stood blocking their path. Morak. One of Lasseran’s most loyal. One of the most brutal.
Khorrek’s Beast surged forward, claws and fangs ready. He had no sword—they’d left the horses and most of their gear hidden—but he’d tear Morak apart with his bare hands if necessary.
To his shock, Morak dropped to one knee, his head bowed.
“Khorrek.”
“Morak.” His voice was wary, his muscles tensed for an attack that might still come. “Stand aside.”
“I will not impede you.” Morak’s eyes flicked up, caught sight of Thea, and widened. “So it’s true.”
“What’s true?”
“The rumors. That you found your mate. That she carries the blessing of the Old Gods.” He hesitated. “That you come to end Lasseran’s rule.”
Khorrek’s Beast retreated slightly, confusion replacing battle-readiness. “How do you know this?”
“Word spreads. Declar told Veren. Veren told me.” Morak’s expression hardened. “Lasseran plans to sacrifice six of us tonight. Six of our brothers who were raised beside you and me. To fuel his dark magic.”
The raw anger in his voice was unmistakable.
“You no longer serve him,” Khorrek realized.
“None of us do. Not those with orc blood.” Morak stood, towering even over Khorrek. “The path ahead is clear to the temple district, but I cannot speak for the human soldiers. They still believe in him. Still fear him.”
“As they should,” Baralt murmured from behind.
Morak’s eyes shifted, taking in the Plains People warriors for the first time. His expression registered surprise, then respect.
“You have strange allies, Khorrek.”
“The best kind.”
Morak nodded slowly. “Go then. With my blessing.” His gaze returned to Thea. “With all our blessings.”
“Thank you.” Her voice resonated strangely in the confined space.
Morak took a step back, pressing himself against the wall to let them pass. Khorrek moved forward, alert for any sign of betrayal, but Morak remained motionless, head inclined in respect as they filed past him.
Once they were safely beyond, he allowed himself to exhale. “That was unexpected.”
“Not to me,” she said quietly.
She stepped in front of him suddenly, taking the lead. “We need to go to the Veilborn temple. Now.”
It wasn’t her voice, not entirely. There was something layered beneath it—something ancient and powerful. And as she moved ahead of him, he saw it clearly for the first time—the faint golden aura that surrounded her, visible even in the blue-lit darkness of the tunnel.
The goddess. She’s here. Inside Thea. Using her.
Terror gripped him. Not for himself, but for her. What would happen when it was over? Would she still be herself? Would she still be his?
But they were committed now. Had been since the moment she stepped into that Stone Circle days ago.
“Lead the way,” he managed, voice rough with suppressed emotion.
She moved with absolute confidence through the twisting tunnels, never hesitating at junctions, never slowing to consider her path. As if she’d walked these passages a thousand times before.
Or as if something inside her knew the way.
The others followed in tense silence, clearly sensing the change in her.
Twice she stopped abruptly, raising her hand for stillness.
Each time, moments later, they heard the heavy tread of soldiers passing in adjoining tunnels.
How she knew before any sound reached their ears, Khorrek couldn’t guess.
The goddess. Always the goddess.
His Beast paced anxiously within him, disturbed by the divine presence so close to their mate.
The tunnels gradually widened, the rough walls giving way to smoother stone. They were nearing the upper levels of the city.
“Almost there,” Thea whispered, her voice once again a strange blend of herself and something older.
Around one final turn, and suddenly they emerged into a small, circular chamber. Seven doorways led from it—all identical, all closed.
Thea walked directly to the third from the left, placed her palm against it, and pushed.
It swung open silently, revealing a dimly lit corridor lined with tapestries.
They were inside the Veilborn temple.
“This way,” she murmured, leading them down the corridor.
Khorrek moved close behind her, protective despite knowing that whatever guarded her now was far more powerful than he could ever be.
The corridor opened into a larger chamber. Circular, like the one below, but vastly more elaborate. Massive columns supported a domed ceiling painted with constellations. Braziers burned with sweet-smelling incense. And in the center…
Vorlag waited, surrounded by a dozen Veilborn priests in hooded black robes.
As one, they sank to their knees as Thea entered.
“The Vessel comes,” Vorlag intoned, his voice carrying in the hushed chamber. “As foretold.”
Thea stepped forward, the golden aura around her brightening.
“It is time,” she said—yet not her. Not entirely.
“Yes.” Vorlag rose, motioning for the other priests to stand as well. “The altar is prepared. Lasseran believes it serves his purpose. He does not know it will be his undoing.”
He moved to Thea’s side, fighting the urge to snatch her away, to run, to protect her from whatever was about to happen.
“What exactly is going to happen?” he demanded.
Vorlag’s ancient eyes settled on him with unexpected compassion.
“Balance will be restored. The curse that became a blessing will be cleansed. Lasseran’s power will be broken.”
“At what cost?” His voice came out harsh and desperate. “What will happen to her?”
For a moment, Vorlag didn’t answer. Then, softly: “I do not know. The prophecy does not say.”
Doesn’t say, or you won’t tell me? he wanted to roar, but before he could demand an answer, Thea turned to him. Her eyes—her beautiful, intelligent eyes—were the same clear grey, but now flecked with gold.
“I’ll be all right,” she said, and it was her voice now. Just her voice. “I promise.”
He searched her face, looking for fear, for doubt, for any sign that she wanted him to stop this madness.
He found only calm certainty.
“I don’t like this,” he growled.
“I know.” She reached up, touched his face. Her hand was warm—warmer than it should be, as if she burned with inner fire. “But it’s necessary. Trust me.”
Always. With everything I am. Even if it destroys me.
He nodded once, sharply.
“The moon rises,” Vorlag announced. “We must go.”
The priests formed a solemn procession, filing out through a grand doorway opposite from where they’d entered.
Thea followed, and he stayed at her side, acutely aware of Egon, Lyric, and the others behind them.
They emerged onto a wide stone balcony overlooking the harbor. Below, the dark waters of the bay reflected the rising moon—huge now, and deep crimson, like freshly spilled blood.
And directly ahead…
The altar.
It stood at the center of the balcony—a massive block of pure white stone, carved with runes that glowed faintly blue in the moonlight. Four tall silver pillars surrounded it, connected by chains of what looked like liquid darkness.
Lasseran’s work, Khorrek thought with sudden certainty. His corruption of something that should be sacred.
And beyond the altar, at the very edge of the balcony…
Lasseran himself.
The High King stood with his back to them, arms raised to the Blood Moon, chanting words in a language Khorrek didn’t recognize. Six orc warriors knelt before him, heads bowed—awaiting sacrifice.
He recognized all of them. Had trained with them. Fought beside them.
Brothers. My brothers.
Rage flared hot and bright within him.
But as they approached, as the priests spread out around the balcony, as Thea stepped forward with that golden light shining from within her…
Lasseran turned.
And smiled.
“Ah,” he said, his silken voice carrying easily across the space between them. “You’ve arrived just in time for the ceremony.”