“You try my patience.” Qequan’s voice is a threat.
The guards release me. Rubbing my arm, I say, “It’s a talent unique among my people.” Stars bless that it’s also unique among the trolls. “But it’s a guarded one.”
Qequan raises an eyebrow.
I step away from the guards. “I . . . I ask for as few witnesses as possible.”
The trolls frown at me.
After a breath, Qequan says, “I will not deplete the council.”
I glance to the guards.
“Nor my men.”
I stand tall. Or try to. How would my father turn this to his benefit? He would play on the troll’s pride. “Do you fear a human will harm you, Master Qequan?”
He smirks again. At least he has a sense of humor. Several seconds pass before he dips his head, and the four troll guards move away from me and out the door. It shuts heavily in their wake.
“If you’re wasting our time . . . ,” Ichlad begins.
I hold up my hands in surrender. “I am not. But I do have to demonstrate on someone.”
The second troll from the right, who has been quiet, says, “And what is it you plan to demonstrate?” His tone is mocking, his accent thick.
I lower my hands. “I . . . I scare people.”
Multiple chuckles reverberate across the thrones. Ichlad says, “You are human. You are fragile as the stem of a feather. You seek to incite terror in us?”
Even the smallest among them could likely snap my neck in the crook of an elbow. The gods built these creatures well.
If for some reason my darkness is not effective on trolls . . . then my fate remains what it was.
“Would . . .” My mouth dries again. “Would one of you volunteer?”
Qequan and Ichlad exchange a look. Qequan says, “I’m amused. You may try it on me.”
He stands, and he is enormous. Over eight feet tall, surely. Taller than all the trolls in the room and on the bridge. He is broad and muscular, though his stomach is round and well fed. He is a troll who has seen battle; it’s evident in his stance.
He crosses until he stands in the center of that large monster’s pelt, then holds out his hands. “Do your worst, little bird.”
“I’ll have on your honor that I will not be harmed.” If trolls have oaths, they must have honor.
He grins, showing me his teeth, emphasizing his tusks. “Of course.”
I swallow. Men usually have two responses to fear—fight or flee. Qequan does not seem like one to flee.
Taking a deep breath, I adjust my stance, feet shoulder-width apart. I want to say I’ve never used my darkness like this, that it’s always been a last resort, self-defense, anything. But I have. I’ve used it in calm, quiet rooms against those both bigger and smaller than myself. Sometimes with my father’s hand on my shoulder, sometimes with his expectations pressed to my spine. I haven’t been so calculated about it for a long time.
I brace myself, trying not to cringe. My ability is a double-edged sword. I cannot wield fire without getting burned, so to speak, though knowing that the fire isn’t real helps me control the pain.
Qequan appears bored, so I dig down. My body is on edge, my mind bogged with worry, and so it comes up readily, a locust eager to feast. I pull it out of me, an invisible force, an unheard song that trickles through my veins and makes my heart race, my back sweat, my jaw clench. The physical manifestations hit first, then the mental ones. My own urge to flee, the tunneling of vision, the warping of time. If I push too hard, the fear goes straight to my heart and becomes my own blind panic, rampant and hungry and cold. I gauge it carefully. I need to stay myself, but I need Qequan to see me.
Steeling myself against the fright, I shove it at the troll.
His reaction is immediate.
His breath hitches. Eyes widen, whites glistening. He takes a step back as though pushed. His knees tremble.
And then he rips the hammer from his belt and rushes at me with a war cry that nearly breaks my eardrums.
I cut off the fear immediately, but he’s still charging. I stumble back and fall onto the cold stone, natural terror surmounting me. I shriek, lift my arms to protect myself—
“Qequan!” Ichlad bellows.
Silence, save for heavy breathing that isn’t mine. My heart hammers quarter seconds. Several pass. Carefully, I move my arms and peer out. Qequan is right there, nearly touching me, his hammer raised. Confusion crinkles his expression, his chest heaving like a bellows, just like mine. The faint sconce light glimmers off two rows of turquoise beads on his right sleeve.
He blinks. Heavy lines crease his brow. He lowers the hammer slowly, as though the joints of his shoulders were rusted. Steps back. Again. Looks at me as though I’ve turned into a snake. I swallow deep breaths, trying to find my calm.
Two of the other four council members, Ichlad and the woman, have risen from their seats. Several heartbeats pass before the former asks, “Are you with us?”
Qequan’s body relaxes. He drags a large hand over his face and turns to them. “I am.” He glances back at me.
I’m ready for him to call me a monster, to cast me out the way Finnie and her family did, the way Andru did. But as Qequan studies me, unabashed, the confusion melts into intrigue. That is, if I can even hope to read the expression of a troll.
“You didn’t even move,” he says.
I get my feet under me. “I-I don’t have to.”
“By will alone?”
Rolling my lips together, I nod.
He returns the hammer to his belt and strides across the room, wholly dignified, taking his place in the center throne. The woman and Ichlad follow suit. Once Qequan is comfortable, he says, “How?”
I walk forward until my toes touch the animal pelt. “I don’t know. I’ve had it since I was a child.”
The troll on the far right says, “She would prove excellent in interrogations.”
Sweat beads down the center of my back. I hadn’t considered what the trolls might use my horrid curse for. They wouldn’t . . . They wouldn’t make me torture people, would they? Because fear is a torture in and of itself. My father’s favorite method.
Stars above, what have I done?
Qequan has not taken his eyes from me. “It works on anything?”
I try not to fidget. “I . . . I know it works on humans, and wolves. And apparently trolls.”
He frowns, though I’m not sure why. “Then it would work on the creatures of the canyon.”
The woman shifts to the edge of her seat. “You think she could frighten those beasts?” She sounds incredulous.
Qequan smooths his stole. “Would you like her to demonstrate on you, Agga, so you can gauge for yourself?”
For the first time since I arrived, Agga looks out of her element. Uncomfortable. And I hate that it’s because of me. But I also need them to accept me. Help me. Hide me. And if they respect this currency . . . I will freely give it.
To Ichlad, Qequan says, “Choose one of our slayers to partner with her until she learns what she needs to know.”
Ichlad considers me. “Will you allow her to wield a sword?” As though I’m not standing right there.
“She doesn’t need to.” Qequan smiles. “She is one.”
Chapter 2