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“Yes, but not in the way you think. There must always be a balance.”

“Then how do we find that balance?”

Amara beamed at him.

“Now that is the right question.”

They both waited expectantly but all Amara did was to sip her drink.

“Well?” Egon finally asked impatiently.

“Oh, I don’t know the answer, dear,” she said cheerfully. “I just know that’s the question.”

“Then what should we do?” Lyric asked.

“Another excellent question, but I suspect that in your case, Freja may have decided to… help things along.”

“So there’s nothing you can do?” Egon asked, his voice resigned.

“For Norhaven? No. But Lasseran is a different matter. He must be stopped.” Amara’s voice dropped to almost a whisper. “The curse has three anchors—blood, bone, and breath. Lasseran bound the first of his Beast warriors at a sacred site, corrupting an ancient stone circle. The power flows from that place still.”

“And if that connection were broken?” she asked hopefully.

Amara’s eyes glittered. “Then those who wish to be free of the Beast might find release.”

“Might?” Egon’s voice rumbled with skepticism.

“Magic this old offers no certainties,” Amara replied. “But I believe it is possible.” She reached across the table, her fingers brushing Egon’s scarred forearm. “Especially for one whose heart remains his own.”

She squeezed Egon’s hand under the table, hoping that Amara was referring to him.

“The balance was never meant to be this way,” the wise woman sighed, her gnarled fingers tracing ancient symbols on the wooden table. “The Beasts were guardians, not weapons. Lasseran corrupted what was sacred.”

Before Amara could add anything else, Egon’s head snapped up, his nostril flaring.

“Someone’s here,” he growled, rising to his feet.

Amara sighed. “They’ve found us sooner than I hoped.”

“What do we do?” she whispered, but before Egon could answer, an arrow whistled through the open window, embedding itself in the wooden beam inches from the wise woman’s head.

“Stay down!” Egon ordered, pulling her behind him as he moved to the doorway. ‘Five of them.”

“How did they find us?” she asked, and Amara gave a bitter laugh.

“The old Gods stir and Lasseran feels it.”

Another arrow struck the doorframe, showering them with splinters.

“There’s a tunnel,” Amara added urgently, moving to a woven rug on the floor. “Behind my hut, beneath the great oak. It will lead you to the sacred pool. You should be safe there.”

“What about you?” she asked.

The old woman smiled grimly. “I’ve played my part for centuries. Now it’s yours.”

“We need to move. Now.” Egon grabbed her hand as the wise woman pulled back the rug, revealing a narrow opening in the earthen floor.

A voice called from outside, deep and mocking. “Come out, brother. We know you’re in there.”