“I’ll do it to you, too, if you say that again,” she snaps. She leans against the door frame to her bedroom and runs both hands down her face. Azmar, sitting nearby, looks thoughtful, leaning over a ledger, pencil in hand. He hasn’t written anything in an hour.
It’s been nearly a full day since the caste tournament. Since I broke my one rule and blatantly used my ability in front of the entire city of Cagmar. It was a fight to get Perg taken to the infirmary, but it was a bigger fight to get myself away from the questions, the stares, the grabbing hands. Unach came down from the stands and guarded me from the front, while Azmar stood at my back. They marched me immediately up here, and I haven’t stepped outside their apartment since. A blessing, given that Unach assailed me with her own barrage of inquiries and theories. She’s considered everything from me whispering blackmail and threats that only Grodd could hear, to using human hypnotism or wielding the urine of a spreener—a canyon monster.
I refuse to confirm or deny anything. And it hurts.
I’m surprised I’m not in that cell again, and that Qequan hasn’t called upon me. He saw. They all saw.
Curious trollis come by, wanting to know. Wanting to ask. Wanting to stare at me like I’m an animal caged for their entertainment.
They’re not the only ones.
“Just tell me, Lark,” Unach presses.
I peel the sweet potato.
Unach growls. “You’re killing me. You’re honestly killing me.”
After taking a deep breath, I say, “I suppose Grodd just saw something he didn’t like.” I have no idea if my victims see anything when I inflict fear upon them. I’m fairly certain they just feel inexplicably afraid, just like I do. “Maybe he’s never fought a human.”
Unach dismisses the explanation with a snort. “All trollis have fought humans.”
I glance up at her, but my attention shifts to Azmar, who looks notably uncomfortable. He drops his pencil and rubs his temples in circular motions.
I think of the scars on his torso and wonder.
“Raids, mostly,” Unach goes on. “Though those have become less and less common. Your kind keeps scattering, moving farther and farther away. For a species that can pop out a child in less than a year, your numbers sure aren’t improving.”
“Unach.” Azmar sounds tired.
My knife stills. “How long is gestation for a trollis?”
“Twenty-three months.”
No wonder they’re so huge.
“Some try to cross the bridge,” she continues, “to . . . I don’t know, pick at the old city? Not many anymore. And then sometimes the scout parties intermix.” She shrugs. “Regardless, Grodd has fought and kill—fought many humans. And no offense, Lark, but you’re hardly terrifying.”
I could laugh, but instead I peel.
Unach walks over and stares at me headlong, perhaps trying to see what it was Grodd saw. I vow to myself never to show her. I won’t risk losing the few allies I have. I won’t risk being sent away. Please don’t send me away.
“Maybe you should ask Grodd,” I try.
“Grodd is likely hiding as much as you are.” Azmar retains a low and level tone. He hasn’t left the apartment, either. Unach did, but only once, and she fought off curious trollis even as she came home again. “He put on a show and failed in the most dishonorable way possible.”
I set down the sweet potato. “Is it so horrible?”
Azmar regards me. There’s something deep and interesting in his gaze that I can’t define. “Humans rally in their numbers; trollis rally in their strength. No human could best a trollis in hand-to-hand combat. That’s why Perg has struggled so. It’s biology.”
“It’s like you losing to a rat,” Unach suggests.
I frown, and again Azmar pleads, “Unach.”
She glowers at her brother. “It’s not an unfair comparison.”
Despite the difficult subject, I’m comforted by their conversation. By their fraternity. I almost feel a part of it. For whatever reason, that almost-feeling makes me sad.
Turning to me, Unach asks, “You’re friends with Perg?”
I nod.
“Think of him, of how badly he’s treated. Grodd is at least that now.” She spits on the floor. “I can hardly believe it myself. That self-serving oaf is a thorn in my side, but he’s a damn fine soldier. I’d even considered trading bloodstones with him once, just for the fine stock he’d put in me.”
I flush. “But he’s horrible.”
Unach shrugs. “It is what it is. I could always take the stone back with a witness.”
I glance at Azmar, surprised to see his gaze more intent than before. My pulse quickens, and I self-consciously tuck some hair behind my ear.
Rubbing my hands together, I say, “I want to see Perg.”
“He’s fine.” Unach scratches her nose.
“Alive and fine are not interchangeable.”
“Lark.” The softness in Azmar’s voice startles me. “Even if Unach and I went with you, you’ll be barraged by trollis. They might not be as understanding that you won’t answer their questions as we are.”
I clench my hands into fists. “I already answered your questions. I don’t know what happened. I just . . . I just had to defend Perg.”
Both Azmar and his sister look unsure.
A knock sounds at the door.
Unach wheels around. “I’ll break that damn door down on your wretched face!”
A beat passes. “The human has been summoned by the council.”
My heart lodges in my throat. Standing, I look between them. Familiar fear dribbles down my legs and freezes in my toes. “Please don’t make me go alone.”
Azmar moves to stand beside me, and the ensuing relief sweeps through me cold as canyon wind.
Unach answers the door. “She’s coming.”
The messenger waits.
Before Unach turns away, she adds, “And the human’s name is Lark.”
The messenger is a short trollis—which still makes him notably taller than I am—with a round gut, the least warrior-looking trollis I’ve seen since my arrival. He leads the way through Cagmar, down the tunnels, through the market, up a special set of stairs I’d never noticed before. The council chamber rests at the very heart of the city, making it the last place a monster—or a human—would ever reach.
It’s rather clever. My father would have agreed.
No one bothers us on our journey. The messenger holds a short red flag in front of him, which somehow signals the importance of our travel. Everyone gives us deference, regardless of caste. But their eyes . . . They stare unabashedly, making me feel naked beneath my trollis-spun dress. Even my hair can’t hide the intensity of the glares. Most do not appear malicious, but I’ve never been gawked at so thoroughly in my life. Even enraged mobs never stared me down with such unrestraint.
I curl in on myself, even when we reach the council doors, my head nearly touching Unach’s back. To my surprise, Azmar’s hand settles gently on my shoulder. I don’t look at him, but I relish the comfort of its weight.
Who would have ever thought I would find comfort at the hands of a trollis?
“You will have to wait in the antechamber,” the messenger tells Unach and Azmar.
Unach’s brow furrows. “We’re her employers.” Not quite the truth. “We have every right.”
Unfazed, the messenger replies, “Do you care to bring up the complaint with Qequan?”
Her lips press into a thin line.