Page 18 of The Orc's Bonded Bride (The Five Kingdoms #3)

CHAPTER 18

L yric’s muscles ached—both from the day’s journey and the long night of love-making—but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it as she followed Egon up a narrow mountain path. A smile kept curving her lips and every time he looked back at her, he returned it.

The forest had grown denser, the trees more ancient, as they climbed, their branches weaving together to form a canopy that filtered the afternoon sunlight into dappled patterns on the forest floor.

He suddenly came to a halt, his head tilting. “Do you smell that?”

She took a deep breath and nodded. A faint sweetness hung in the air—herbs and smoke and something else she couldn’t name. “Yes.”

They rounded a bend in the path and the trees opened to reveal a small clearing. At its center stood a stone cottage, its walls covered in climbing vines dotted with tiny blue flowers. Smoke curled from a chimney of stacked river stones.

Before they could approach, the wooden door swung open. An elderly woman emerged, her silver hair braided with colorful threads and small bells that chimed softly as she moved. Despite her age, she stood straight, her eyes clear and piercing.

“The orc and the beekeeper,” she said, her voice surprisingly strong. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

She gave the woman a startled look. “You knew we were coming?”

“The Old Gods whisper many things to those who listen.”

As she came to join them, Lyric recognized the pendant hung round her neck—a spiral carved from bone.

“You’re a Sister of Freja,” she whispered.

The woman inclined her head. “Yes, although few remember us now. I am Amara, keeper of the old ways.”

Egon stepped forward, placing himself slightly in front of her. “We were told you might help us.”

“With the Beast curse,” Amara nodded. “Come inside. The forest has too many ears.” She turned, her long skirts sweeping the ground as she retreated into the cottage.

She glanced over at Egon. His face was carefully neutral, but his eyes betrayed his wariness. She reached for his hand, squeezing it gently.

“Together,” she murmured.

His fingers tightened around hers. “Together.”

They crossed the threshold into a room filled with hanging bundles of dried herbs and shelves lined with clay jars. A fire burned in a stone hearth, casting warm light over a table already set with three wooden cups.

“Sit,” Amara commanded, gesturing to the bench. “We have much to discuss.”

She perched on the edge of the wooden bench, acutely aware of Egon’s warmth beside her. The cottage felt both welcoming and unsettling—the familiar scents of herbs and honey mingled with stranger, earthier odors she couldn’t identify.

Amara poured a steaming amber liquid into their cups. “Drink,” she said. “It will clear your minds.”

Lyric sniffed the brew cautiously. It smelled of chamomile and something she couldn’t identify. She took a small sip, surprised by its pleasant taste—sweet with a hint of spice that warmed her throat.

“The Beast Curse,” Amara said, settling across from them with her own cup. “An ancient magic twisted to serve greed.” Her weathered fingers traced the spiral pendant at her throat. “Lasseran thinks he’s discovered something new, but he merely corrupted what was sacred.”

“You know about Lasseran?” she asked.

“Of course. His shadow grows longer each day. Villages that once honored the Old Gods now bow to his false promises.” Amara’s eyes narrowed. “He offers power through pain, strength through separation from one’s humanity.”

Egon’s hand tightened around his cup. “Is there a way to break it?”

The old woman studied him, her gaze penetrating. “I don’t believe that is the question you should be asking.”

“What is the question?” he demanded.

“Is it the Curse itself you wish to break, or simply the ability to produce children?”

She could feel the tension in his body as he frowned at Amara.

“Aren’t they related?”

“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.”

“Khorrek,” Egon growled, and dropped her hand.