I keep alert as I leave the infirmary. In truth, I haven’t hid solely from prying trollis, but from Grodd. That look, so full of loathing, that he gave me. I see it behind my eyelids when I turn in for the night, and I don’t want to risk crossing paths with him. Surely he’ll convince someone to battle him at the next caste tournament, and all will be well again, but until then, it’s best we stay away from one another.
Then again, I could be overthinking things. It’s been a habit I’ve struggled to break since I was a child, analyzing every movement my father made, every sound, every word, determining how he would use me next or what I’d get in trouble for. I’m likely being overly sensitive to Grodd. I had been wrong about Colson, after all. Perhaps I was also wrong about Grodd.
Remembering the way he strutted about on the bridge, and the way he beat Perg . . . I have my doubts.
When I get to the market, I startle to see Colson loading up a small cart with foodstuff, as though my thoughts had summoned him. Near the head of the cart stands Ritha. I hesitate, unsure if I should approach, but Colson dusts off his hands, turns, and sees me.
The exuberance on his face shocks me to my bones.
“Lark!” He waves like he wants me to approach. Ritha notices me, and waves me forward.
I approach hesitantly, clutching the strap of my bag with both hands. When I arrive, young Etewen comes from around the cart, surprised to see me.
“Lark. Lark.” Colson reaches forward and grabs my elbows. I turn stiff as a brick. “Thank you, Lark. I—we—owe you so much.”
Confusion twists its way through me as I pull from his grasp. “What . . . do you mean?” Has he realized what his fate would have been had I and Azmar not interceded on his behalf?
Colson’s grin lights up his face in an almost handsome way. He looks like an entirely new person. “Don’t you see? A Pleb can’t lead the task force.”
A sudden buoyancy fills my chest and raises me to my toes. “Grodd?”
He chuckles and scratches the back of his head. “He’s been replaced with someone else, of course, but . . .”
“No one hates humans more than Grodd does,” Ritha whispers. “Why do you think he beat the half troll so badly? He detests us.”
“From what we’ve heard,” Colson adds, “Tartuk isn’t cruel. We’ll be treated with more leniency.”
“That’s wonderful.” As wonderful as it can be, anyway.
“W-We’re sorry,” Etewen says, his voice barely audible. He shies behind the cart. “About what happened. Didn’t . . . think it through.”
Colson dips his head at the remark, a streak of pink climbing up his neck. “I don’t know how you did it, but we’re grateful, Lark.”
“But be careful,” Ritha adds. “Don’t get uppity about the win. Keep your head down until the amusement passes.”
I hug myself. “I only want everyone to forget about it.” I’m glad the other humans aren’t here, or they’d be asking me questions I can’t answer as well.
Ritha considers this, appearing satisfied. A heartbeat later, her countenance slackens. “Step out of the way, Colson.”
I turn to see what’s alarmed her, only to spy Azmar headed our way. “Don’t worry,” I assure them. “Azmar is kind.”
If only Colson knew how kind.
Etewen glances between me and Azmar, as though uncertain if he should stay or go. When Azmar reaches us, pausing beside me, Etewen stops breathing. And honestly, I can’t blame him. Being around trollis so much, I forget how intimidating they are. I forget that Azmar’s height, the breadth of his shoulders, and the thickness of his arms easily ignites fear in our smaller species. Compared to the rest of us, he’s imposing.
“Have you been to see Perg?” His casual manner contradicts his hulking presence.
I nod. “He’s doing as well as can be expected. Do you have any spare carrots?”
He raises his brow in a remarkably human expression. “Carrots?”
“For a meal for him.”
He considers this, his lips almost frowning. “I’ll see what I can manage.”
“Oh no, if there aren’t any, you don’t—” I start, but Azmar dismisses my objection with a wave of his hand.
Colson, Ritha, and Etewen all stare.
Unsure of the decorum here, I fall back on my human instincts. “Azmar, you remember Ritha. And this is Etewen and Colson.” The weight of Azmar’s stare grows heavy at the last name, and I wonder if I should have skipped introductions. I also wonder at the weight of the glare, given that we are but humans who had a human struggle, so easily dismissed by most trollis. Oddly, that glare warms me in the strangest way.
He glances at the bags still outside the cart. “Do you need help?”
Colson blanches. I wonder if he sees the inquiry as a threat, which it isn’t. “N-No, it’s fine.” He grabs the last two bags and heaves them into the cart. “Th-Thank you, though.”
Azmar nods. I notice a ledger—a new one—beneath his arm. “Off to work?”
“Always.” He tips his head to me before heading down the street toward Engineering.
“Never seen comradery between human and troll before,” Ritha mutters.
For some reason, I find myself flushing again. “Not all trollis dismiss us.”
The expression on her face cautions that she doesn’t believe me.
“We should go,” Colson interjects, moving to the front of the cart to pull it. Etewen gets behind to push. “Thank you again, Lark. And . . . sorry.”
It’s an uncomplicated apology, but it gives me hope.
They take off toward the enclave. As I watch them go, I spy a large wagon pulled by a familiar shape, Grodd, and the hope Colson planted immediately shrivels.
As though he senses me, Grodd’s hard glare finds me. I feel it like knife points against my skin, pressing just to the point of breaking through. His wagon is loaded with iron ore, and Unach’s earlier words ring in my mind. How easily the iron bar bends.
Grodd’s nose wrinkles, like he’s smelled something bad. His wagon veers toward me. Does he need to come this way, or does he mean to confront me?
Unsure of myself, I hurry in the direction of the others and catch them near the middle of the tunnel, near a lift. I didn’t think I’d moved very quickly, but I’m out of breath when I arrive.
“Lark?” Colson asks.
Smoothing back my hair, I ask, “Do the trollis believe in witchcraft?”
Ritha’s eyes narrow. “No, why?”
I shake my head. There will be no accusations of witchery against me here, at least.
And yet that does little to reassure me.
My shift overlaps with Unach’s the next day, and I get to take a rope bridge farther down the canyon to another station. Monsters called cretons have been spotted recently, so the slayers stay on alert. After a couple of hours, we see one a ways off, and I learn exactly where the council got its floor rug. Hanging back, I let Unach load a large crossbow and take a shot at it. She doesn’t hit it, but the creature scurries away, out of sight. If we monitor them for a few days, they’ll lose interest and move on. Most monsters do, or so I’ve heard.
When we climb back inside the dock and start sloughing off our harnesses, Kub remarks, “A lecker is one thing. I’d like to see how she fares against a creton.”
I drop my harness wordlessly into the chest.