No marriage, then. “Yes.”
He considers. “I suppose it’s similar. Never been to the world above. They’d hate me more than the trollis do.” He runs his hand over the less prominent nubs of his forehead, into his hair. “We get bloodstones once we finish military training, but . . .” He shrugs.
I reach out and touch his wrist, just below the bony protrusions there. He slows noticeably, and the weight of his wagon bumps him forward a step. His looks to my hand, then to my face, then back again.
Seeing his discomfort, I pull away. “They wouldn’t hate you.”
He scoffs. “You’re playing pretend, then, Lark.”
He’s right. “I don’t hate you.”
He doesn’t look at me. The ensuing silence is awkward, and I shuffle, trying not to think of the pulsing in my hip, especially when I have to step closer to Perg to let a Montra pass by.
“You don’t owe me a life debt,” Perg says, so quietly I can barely hear him over the wagon’s wheels.
“I liked you before that,” I admit.
His head snaps toward me. A weak laugh escapes him, and he points down a corridor to our right. “Down that way is Engineering. Don’t get in the way. It won’t go well for you. They might expect you’re a troublemaker, because . . .” He gestures with his chin to my bruises.
I dip my head in thanks. “How long will you be laying stones?” I need to rest after the day’s work, but I desperately want to water this seedling of friendship.
“Too long. Afterward I go to the military grounds. You wouldn’t be welcomed there, even with Unach’s blessing.”
“Military grounds? To train?” He doesn’t look young enough to be under the mandatory training Azmar mentioned.
His features grow stony. “To practice. There are few ways to improve your rank in Cagmar. One is through bloodstone trade, another through education. The last is through combat.”
I lick my lips. “To become a warrior?”
“To beat one.” He flexes his hand as though the hilt of a sword rests in it, while the other touches a small blue bead on his sleeve. “I did, once. Someday, I will again. Then they’ll see.”
My lips part. The idea perplexes me. Someone like Azmar, an engineer, is Centra, and yet if a Pleb or Nethens was born a little bigger, or trained a little smarter, and bested him in a feat of strength . . . then that troll would be Centra? Or Montra, or even Alpine or Supra? By that logic, a foolish or cruel troll could potentially rule all of Cagmar, merely because of his strength.
“And,” I feel a little awkward asking, “you’ve tried to elevate your status through trading?”
Perg’s complexion pinkens. “I don’t have a bloodstone, Lark.”
I pause. “But you completed military training—”
“They didn’t give me one.” He shrugs stiffly. “Guess they don’t want me spreading any humanness around.” He lifts his head, and his expression darkens.
I choke on a mix of condolences, wondering if any of them could possibly be of worth to him. Turning to follow his gaze, I’m surprised to see Colson coming up from the tunnel leading to Engineering. He has a bandage around his neck and up the side of his face, parallel to his hairline. As though someone had taken a knife to him. A sick feeling churns at the sight of it, but the shock is stronger.
Colson is alive.
I gawk at him. His gaze meets mine, but he turns away sharply and increases his speed, hurrying from my sight. Behind me, Perg growls.
“Better he was dead.”
I turn toward him, incredulous. “But he was supposed to be. Unach said.”
Perg shrugs and pulls the wagon forward. “His punishment was deferred to the task force. Awfully merciful, especially considering Grodd has to approve it.” He rubs his chin. “Grodd, he’s—”
“I know him.” I shake my head, relieved yet confused. “I thought they would push Colson into the canyon.”
“Usually they do.” Perg steps away from me. “From what I heard, Azmar spoke on his behalf.”
Azmar?
I look down the dark tunnel leading to Engineering. Azmar had been present when I pled to Unach. Had he agreed with me? Had my words moved him, even when his sister had been deaf to them? Or was he simply sympathetic to humans? He hadn’t seemed pleased when Unach brought me home.
I look for Perg, questions dancing across my tongue, but he’s already several paces ahead of me, heading toward his job. I’d hate to make him late.
Mulling over this revelation, I cross to the tunnel, pressing one hand against its cool stonework for support. Minutes later, the light of Engineering engulfs me.
Chapter 6
Cagmar is a precarious city. It hangs from a human-built bridge, wedged between the steep, never-ending walls of a great canyon. As a whole, it is just enough. Just enough space to sleep, just enough space to walk, just enough space to breathe. So when I enter the massive cavity that holds Engineering, I gape at its high roof and wide tables, its breadth and openness. Its shape reflects its name, for a complex network of beams and columns and brick and stone composes ceiling, floor, and walls, all fitting together in a patchwork nearly as fascinating as the night sky.
A sky, I realize, that I have not worshipped for some time. I’ve spent more nights lying out beneath that vast blanket of stars than not, and while I now have a roof over my head, I find myself missing it.
The clinking of hammers and other tools fills the air, though I cannot see where physical workmanship takes place. The cavity is notably warmer, which means fire burns nearby, possibly several fires. The trolls must smelt their own metal. Do they do it in Engineering, or somewhere close by?
I take only two steps inside before the largest troll I’ve ever seen, a stationed guard I hadn’t noticed, turns and growls at me. His gray skin has a blue tinge to it. He appears even better fed than Qequan, and his thick limbs lend tremendously to his size. His nose and lips are enormous, his tusks small. The bony protrusions on his forearms, shoulders, and shins extend long as daggers.
I step back, the ache in my thigh and hip reminding me of my own fragility.
He hefts a wicked-looking hammer and points it at me. “Out, human!”
“Down, Sleet.” Azmar’s coolness pierces through the tension like a pike through an iced-over pond. I dare look away from the massive troll to see Azmar striding toward us from the left. “She’s here to assist me.”
Sleet scowls. “A human to assist you? Ha!”
Azmar gestures for me to follow him.
But Sleet shifts and blocks my path with the shaft of his hammer. “This is your sister’s pet. No humans here.”
Unruffled, Azmar folds his arms, emphasizing his thick muscles and heavy veins. Though he has to tilt his head back to meet Sleet’s gaze, it somehow appears that he looks down on him.