Azmar steps closer to me, watching them like a hawk. “You believe him?”
“I do. I don’t think he’d have a reason to lie to me.”
Azmar’s gaze penetrates, as though he’s trying to unravel me, seeking my sincerity. Or perhaps he senses I performed as I did with Grodd at the caste tournament, and the humans were not simply afraid of him—though not long ago, I would have feared Azmar myself. I meet the gaze head on. Azmar looks away first.
A sizable stone protrudes from the ground nearby. He gestures to it. “Sit.”
“Why—”
“Your leg.”
I glance down. Blood shows starkly against the light beige of my skirt. It’s not a bad wound—the knife didn’t reach the muscle—and it’s on my outer thigh, away from the spot where a blade could have ended my life. Azmar takes me by the arm and helps me sit. Then he grabs my skirt and tears a long piece off the bottom.
“Hey!” I protest.
He doesn’t look up from his work. “We’ll mend it.”
I bite my lip as he tears another piece. “Thank you,” I murmur. He puts a warm hand behind my knee and lifts it to bend my leg at an angle. His hands are very human, save for their color. He hesitates for a second before pushing the skirt up to see my wound, which starts about six inches below my hip.
My face heats, and I dare not speak. Azmar takes a canteen from his belt and cleans the cut, and I’m grateful he can’t see my face scrunch when he does. I know how trollis feel about strength and weakness, though Azmar is not like most trollis. I’m silent as he works, but I can’t help but notice . . . his usually fluid hands move artlessly. His cloddish touch sends prickles of heat through my skin, and yet it’s as though he’s trying not to touch me. Certainly not the way a soldier trained in field wounds would touch a patient.
I’ve never seen Azmar so . . . awkward. And my silly, spinning mind can’t help but speculate as to why. I wonder what his hands would feel like running down my leg, touching the skin just to touch it, and I look away, berating myself. He is trollis.
But there is Perg. And there is Baten. And there is apparently no limit to how foolish a woman like me can be.
Azmar finishes his work and pulls my skirt back down. I meet his gaze again, and yet this time it’s different. I feel clumsy without moving and hot despite the half-set sun. And Azmar . . . Damn him, I can’t read him, but there’s something so stiff in his expression, like he doesn’t want me to read him.
And maybe it’s better that I don’t.
He stands and offers me a hand. I take it, the bandage on my leg pulling tight. I waver, and Azmar doesn’t release me until I’m steady. In the distance, I think I see Homper returning, thankfully empty-handed.
Clearing my throat, I search for something to say. “You’re always so serious, Azmar.”
Stepping back, he folds his arms. Considers. “Cagmar offers little opportunity for merriment.”
That much is true.
The air cools, and I rub my arms when the skin starts to pebble, though I’m eager to see the stars again. “Do you think the others got away?”
“I don’t know.”
Homper gets closer and closer. He looks mad. Good. As for the rest of the human band . . . I’ll have to find out after we return.
“I hope they did,” Azmar says. “Get away.”
I offer a small smile.
Azmar turns back for Cagmar. “Let’s go.” He puts a hand against the top of my back to guide me toward the Empyrean Bridge. “We don’t have to wait for him.” He drops his hand.
I can still walk, though my thigh smarts with every other step.
Azmar notices. “Do you need me to carry you?”
“No, thank you. Though I admit I’m growing tired of being injured all the time.”
“You’re a fragile human in a trollis city.”
“I’m not fragile.”
We walk for several steps. “No, you’re not,” he says.
The comment pleases me. We walk slowly, for my sake. Homper catches up with us and looks to Azmar, who shrugs, the easiest way to say that the humans got away without explaining how. And he doesn’t have to explain, thanks to his caste. Homper grumbles something foul and stomps past us.
“The stars will be out soon,” I say.
Azmar glances up. “I haven’t seen them in a while.”
“At this pace, we both will. Would you . . . Could I have a piece of paper? To map them?”
He eyes me for a beat. “Yes.”
I’m so pleased that I fail to watch where I’m going and trip on a root. Azmar grasps my upper arm to keep me upright. I want to lean into him, and not just to help me walk, but I don’t, and he releases me.
We’re just past the dead trees when he says, “Why doesn’t the sun shine in Cagmar?”
I glance at him, confused at the question. “I don’t know. Why?”
His lip twinges ever so slightly. “Because it’s already full of beams.”
It’s a terrible joke that makes me gawk. It’s out of character and it’s awkward, but I love it anyway.
Or maybe I just love that Azmar wanted to show me that he isn’t always so serious.
Chapter 14
Night falls sleepily as we approach the Empyrean Bridge. I stare up at the wide expanse of sky. It feels like looking at a childhood portrait—nostalgic and mine. I trace the hundreds of budding stars, seeking out the South Star first and offering it a silent thanks. I search for the queen and the oak, but neither has risen above the horizon yet. After pulling my gaze away, I spy Homper’s shadow far ahead. I would not have seen it if it hadn’t been against the whiteness of the bridge itself, which leads me to wonder how well trollis see in the dark.
Azmar walks about five feet to my right, ensuring I don’t get lost while in a world of my own. I smile at him, but it might be too dark for him to see.
When dust gives way to wood under my feet, I hesitate, again peering up at the night sky. Moments later something brushes my arm. I think it must be moth wings at first, but it’s a curled half sheet of paper.
“Thank you, Azmar,” I whisper, accepting it and a charcoal pencil. I draw a circle on the paper and section it into four equal parts, marking the axis with the South Star. I utilize a lot of guesswork as I try to make my chart look like the almanac. All the while, Azmar waits patiently, a presence as still and calm as the barren trees. He is marked by Ura, through and through.
“Why do you copy them down?” Azmar asks as I work.
I place a careful dot on the paper. “To learn.”
He hesitates. “Their movements?”
“That’s part of it.” Another delicate dot marks the tip of the constellation Ceris, the mother. The rest of her hides behind the horizon. “We’re all part of the cosmos, and understanding the cosmos can help us understand ourselves. Or, I like to think so.”