The history of the curse is older than I imagined.
Thalira speaks for an hour, her voice weaving through centuries of death and want. The gold wasn’t cursed from the beginning—it was treasure once, tribute paid to something that lived in the deep. A hunger that predated humans, predated orcs, predated perhaps the land itself.
The curse came later, when someone tried to steal what the hunger had claimed. Their desire mixed with the ancient appetite, creating something new. Something that spread through every coin they touched.
“The first carriers didn’t understand what they’d created.” Thalira refills our cups with tea that tastes of salt and something bitter. “They just knew they couldn’t stop wanting. Couldn’t stop taking. The curse fed on them until there was nothing left, then moved to the next set of hands.”
“And Oreth?”
“You and Oreth found the hoard when it was already old. Centuries of accumulated want, waiting for someone ambitious enough to claim it.” She glances at Zoric. “Your first mate had plenty of ambition. The curse recognized a kindred spirit.”
Zoric says nothing. His hands are wrapped around his cup, knuckles pale.
“The binding was fast with him. Too fast.” Thalira continues. “By the time your captain realized what was happening, Oreth was already lost. Sealing the caves was the only option—but it wasn’t a solution. Just a delay.”
“And now the delay is over.”
“Now, Oreth has spent years preparing. Building his army. But remember, Oreth isn’t the source,” Thalira says, tracing the edge of the table with one finger. “He’s a jailer. A mouth. The hunger in the deep is older than any captain who ever sailed these waters.” Her gaze sharpens. “What speaks in dreams. What wears familiar faces. That isn’t Oreth. That’s the hunger itself, learning how to bargain.”
She looks at me. “You weren’t random, girl. The person who sold you those coins was already infected. The curse guided him to you specifically. The coins you carry aren’t ordinary tribute,” Thalira continues. “They are part of the binding itself. Marked. Set into the outer ring of the hoard to hold the deeper thing in place. When they were taken, it wasn’t just stealing gold—it was loosening the seal.”
The witch’s eyes narrow. “The hunger noticed.”
“Why me?”
“Because you were already drowning.” Thalira’s voice is matter-of-fact. Brutal. “Guilt is a kind of want—the want for things to be different, for choices to be unmade. The curse recognized your hunger and thought it could use you.” Her eyes narrow. “It still thinks it can use you. That’s why you’re still alive.”
The words sink into me. All those months of running, of survival, of thinking I was beating the curse through sheer stubbornness. I wasn’t beating anything. I was being led, herded, shaped into exactly what Oreth needed.
“But you have something Oreth didn’t.”
“What?”
“Someone to anchor you.” Her eyes find Zoric. “The curse works on isolation. It makes you feel alone, makes you believe that hunger is all you have left. But you’re not alone, girl. You have a stubborn orc who’d rather die than see you taken.” A smile. “That’s worth more than you know.”
I don’t look at Zoric. Can’t. Because if I do, I might acknowledge what I’ve been trying to ignore since he declared me under his protection. The way his presence steadies me. The way his voice cuts through the curse’s whispers. The way I caught myself watching him during Thalira’s lecture, tracking details I shouldn’t—the set of his jaw, the scars on his hands, the way his attention kept drifting to me when he thought I wasn’t looking.
“The route.” I make myself focus. “How long to reach the hoard?”
“An hour, if the currents cooperate. The passage enters from the eastern cliffs, below Dreadhaven’s foundations. You’ll need to dive for the first section—maybe a hundred yards underwater before you reach the air pockets.”
“I can hold my breath for a hundred yards.”
“In cold water? While fighting currents designed to drown you?” Thalira raises an eyebrow. “We’ll see.”
“She won’t be alone.” Zoric speaks for the first time since the lecture began. “I’m going with her.”
“The caves will try to take you, Captain. The curse?—”
“I know what the curse will try. I’ve been resisting it for years.” He stands, and suddenly the cave feels smaller. Full of his presence in ways I can’t ignore. “I won’t let her face the hoard alone.”
“Won’t let me?” I finally turn to look at him. “I don’t remember asking for permission.”
“You didn’t. I’m telling you what’s going to happen.” His gaze meets mine. Holds. And beneath the determination, I see something else—fear. Not of the curse or the caves or the drowned. Fear of letting me go where he can’t follow.
“Fine.” I break the stare first. Have to, before I do something stupid. “But if the curse starts pulling you under, I’m not dragging your massive carcass back to the surface.”
“Fair enough.”
