Page 82 of The Orc's Captive Bride
Understanding dawned in his eyes. “The origin of the Curse.”
“Which likely contains information about how it works. How to control it. Or how to break it entirely.”
“You think the books will tell you how to destroy the Curse?”
“I think whoever wrote it wanted that knowledge preserved. Hidden from people like Lasseran but available to someone who could use it properly.” She sat up, her academic excitement overriding her self-consciousness about being naked. “The way the text is structured, the deliberate obscurity—it’s not just ancient language drift. It’s intentional encryption.”
He sat up as well, his expression thoughtful. “To protect dangerous knowledge.”
“Exactly. Someone knew this information was too important to destroy but too dangerous to make easily accessible.” She grabbed his hand. “If I can decode it, if I can find out how the Curse actually works…”
“We might be able to stop him.”
“We might be able to free everyone.”
The weight of it settled between them.
“It’s dangerous,” he said finally.
“Everything about this situation is dangerous.”
“If Lasseran suspects what you’re really looking for?—”
“He won’t. Because I’m going to find exactly what he wants.” She smiled grimly. “And then use it against him.”
“You’re sure?”
“No. I’m terrified. But I’m also the only person in this world who can read that text.” She squeezed his hand. “And I won’t let him murder your brothers. Or turn all the orcs into mindless weapons. Or hurt anyone else ever again.”
Khorrek studied her, his golden eyes unreadable, then pulled her close and pressed his forehead to hers.
“You’re insane.”
“Probably.”
“And stubborn.”
“Definitely.”
“And I…” He paused, and swallowed hard. “I don’t deserve you.”
Her chest tightened. “You deserve so much more than what you’ve been given.”
“I don’t know how to do this. How to be… anything other than what I was.”
“Then we’ll figure it out together.”
She kissed him. A promise she had no idea if she could keep, but she’d try.
God help me, I’ll try.
They lay back down, tangled together under the blankets, but her mind was already racing. Going over the patterns she’d noticed and the way certain phrases were repeated. Encryption followed patterns—all languages did—and whoever wrote this was fluent in multiple ancient dialects.
“You’re thinking,” he murmured against her hair.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I can practically hear the gears turning.”
