“Interesting. The curse has bound to you more deeply than I expected.” She pours the coins onto a stone table, examining them with an intensity that makes me uncomfortable. “Fifteen pieces. All from the original hoard. And all carrying your... signature.”
“My signature?”
“Every person who carries cursed gold leaves an imprint. Fear. Greed. Guilt.” She picks up a single coin, holding it to the light. “Yours is guilt. Deep and old and completely unrelated to the gold itself.” Her eyes find mine. “You were guilty long before you touched these coins, girl. The curse just gave it a shape.”
I don’t respond. Can’t. Because she’s right, and hearing it spoken aloud—by this ancient creature in her cave full of horrors—makes it more real than all the nightmares I’ve endured.
“The route.” Zoric steps forward, breaking the silence. “You said you knew passages to the hoard that the dead don’t guard.”
“I said I knew passages. I didn’t say they were unguarded.” Thalira returns her attention to the coins. “The oldest routes are protected by wards—the same wards that mark Dreadhaven’s foundations. They’ll slow the drowned, give you time. But they won’t stop Oreth himself.”
“Nothing stops Oreth.”
“Nothing halts want, Captain. Not forever.” She arranges the coins in a pattern. “But want can be redirected. Satisfied, temporarily, by giving it something to focus on.”
“Like what?”
“Like her.” Thalira’s finger points at me. “The curse knows her now. Recognizes her. If she enters the sea caves carrying these coins, every piece of gold in the hoard will feel the pull. They’ll want to be near her. To join her.”
“You want to use me as bait.”
“I want to give you a weapon.” The witch stands, leaving the coins in their strange pattern. “The curse has been trying to claim you for months. Let it think it’s succeeding. Draw the hoard to you, then scatter it before the binding completes.”
“And if the binding completes before I can scatter anything?”
Thalira’s smile shows those gray teeth again. “Then you join Oreth in his prison of cold and hunger, and the rest of us mourn your useless sacrifice.”
Silence. The phosphorescent light pulses. Somewhere in the depths of the cave, water drips with the rhythm of a dying heart.
“There has to be another way.” Zoric’s voice is grated. Strained in ways I haven’t heard. “She’s not a tool to be used and discarded.”
“She’s the only tool that fits this lock.” Thalira’s attention returns to him. Something passes between them—old history, old debts, things I’m not part of. “Unless you’d prefer to offer yourself? Your blood is bound to the curse, too, Captain. Has been since you found the hoard. Since you left your first mate to drown in its embrace.”
“I would.”
Two words. Quiet. Certain. And they hit me harder than the witch’s revelation about my guilt.
“I know you would.” Thalira’s voice softens. Almost gentle. “But your binding is different. Older. Deeper. The curse would take you too fast, before you could scatter anything. She has resistance. Time. A chance, however slim.” She looks at me. “He doesn’t.”
I stare at Zoric. At the orc who declared me under his protection, who faced down a dead man rather than hand me over, who just offered to die in my place without a moment’s hesitation.
Why?
But I know. I’ve seen the guilt in his face. Heard it in his voice when he talked about Oreth, about the villages he’s trying to protect. He thinks dying for me would be redemption. Thinks sacrifice is the only thing he has left to offer.
“Enough.” I step between them, breaking whatever silent communication they’re sharing. “I’ll do it. I’ll carry the coins into the caves, let the hoard come to me, scatter it before it can bind me to it. But I want information first.”
“What information?”
“Everything. The curse’s history. Its weaknesses. Whatever you’ve learned in your centuries of study.” I hold Thalira’s gaze. “If I’m going to risk becoming a permanent resident of your local horror, I want to know exactly what I’m dealing with.”
The witch studies me for a long stretch. Then she laughs—genuine this time, almost warm.
“I begin to see why the curse chose you, girl. You have teeth.” She gestures at the chairs near her coral throne. “Sit. Both of you. This will take time, and the tide waits for no one.”
SIX
AVIORA
