The lamp swings between us. We walk in silence for about twenty paces, thirty. The sun has set, but the quiet burns hot and sticky. My tongue seems to swell in my mouth, forbidding me speech.
I draw in a long, slow breath. I trust Azmar. Truly, I do. And he trusts me. He’s shown me as much tonight. I rub the clammy skin of my palms together. My breath shakes. My pulse sputters. Strange how my own true fear discomforts me so much more than the fear I project. I can’t control or temper it, can’t turn it off. I must simply push through.
So I suck in another breath and push it out all at once, forcing my voice. “I have an ability to project fear into others.”
His gait slows. “What?”
“What I did with Grodd, and what I do with the monsters.” I look up ahead, though in the darkness, I can’t see anything beyond the light of the lamp. “I’ve had it since I was a child. Since I was born. Ritha thinks it transferred from my mother. That’s why my father found me valuable. I helped him intimidate those who had what he wanted, or who complained about his power. It’s why I haven’t been accepted in other townships. Somehow I always end up using it, in self-defense or otherwise, and everyone thinks I’m a witch. We’re very superstitious, we humans.”
I try to make the confession light, but inside my organs coalesce into a tight iron ball. I can scarcely breathe as I wait for Azmar’s response. Will he take this in stride, as the council did? Will he say I knew it! and strike me down? Will he distance himself from me once we return, leaving me to my servitude and nothing more?
“The monster that broke through the wall,” he says.
I swallow. “Yes. I’m still a poor shot with the sling.”
He considers, and I allow him time to think, but each passing second kills me, making that iron ball a little bigger, a little harder. My feet drag in the dust.
“I’ve never told anyone,” I whisper. “Except . . . the council. I had to, to stay.”
Azmar shifts the lamp to his other hand so that it no longer sways between us. “I’ve heard of a similar thing, with a trollis who lived seventy years ago,” he murmurs. “He was renowned for leading troops because he could effortlessly inspire bloodlust in them.”
“Bloodlust,” I repeat, croaking. “Fear. But there are more pleasant things one could be cursed with.”
“It’s not a curse,” Azmar says, and the iron ball stops rolling. “You saved us that day. And you saved Perg when no one else would take a stance, myself included.”
Tears blur my vision, and I blink them away. “Thank you for saying that.”
He nods.
“Please don’t tell Unach. Or anyone else. I don’t know how the council will react. They’ve been very clear that I’m not supposed to use it, outside of the dock. Grodd already suspects—”
“You have my word.”
I stop, and after a pace, he notices and stops as well. Turns toward me.
“Just like that?” I ask, my voice shaking. “I tell you I’m a creature who terrifies even monsters, and you accept it, just like that?”
He regards me, lamplight glinting his eyes the shade of honey. “It is not a curse, Lark. It’s a gift.”
“But do you mean it?” I whisper. “Or will you despise me once we crawl back under that bridge?”
His shoulders loosen. The lamp swings as he closes the gap between us. He smooths back hair that has escaped from my braid, and cups the side of my head in his hand. “I would never despise you.”
I want to kiss him. I want to grab him by his corded hair and pull him toward me. Taste his lips. Touch him. Be close to him. But instead I just cover his hand with my own. “Thank you, Azmar.”
He runs his thumb over my cheekbone. “Thank you, Lark. For telling me. And for staying.”
Butterflies spring to life in my stomach. He lowers his hand to my back and guides me toward the bridge. I practically lean on him as we walk, but when the great bridge’s struts come into sight, I pull away. Homper is still on duty. We descend into Cagmar, and Azmar puts out his light.
We reach the lift. Azmar pulls the ropes. I wait a few heartbeats before saying, “Thank you for the lock.”
“You already thanked me.”
“But will you stay with me again tonight?”
The rope stops. Azmar looks over his shoulder at me. “Yes, after I put my things away.”
Pressure builds in my chest. It’s both unpleasant and . . . not.
He stops the lift at my level, and I hurry to my room, searching the shadows. No one lurking, not yet. I close my door behind me and slide the new latch into place, letting out a long breath. Fumbling with my flint, I light a candle. I’m not allotted many, so I light only one. Then I pull off my dress and change into a lighter one for sleeping. Sit on the edge of my cot.
I can still feel the weight of Azmar’s hand on the side of my face. I would never despise you.
My heart races, making me feel too warm. Hugging myself, I hunch until my forehead touches my knees. I had hoped Azmar would react well. He’s so calm, so open-minded. But to have it go so smoothly . . .
I lift my head and stare into the dark. Wholly unexpected, the Cosmodian said.
Couldn’t I . . . Couldn’t I still find a family in Cagmar?
The humans here haven’t rejected me. Wiln and Ritha are kind. But . . . could I not have Perg as my brother, and Unach as my sister? And Azmar . . .
Unach’s voice echoes in my head. Are you in love with my brother?
I close my eyes. Yes, I am.
My heart still thuds when I hear a soft knock at my door. It’s Azmar’s knock. Leaving the candle on my table, I hurry over, pull the latch, and let him in. He has a spare blanket with him. I lock the door behind him, relishing the security of the bolt. The security of him.
Azmar drops the blanket on the floor. “I don’t think he’ll try again so soon,” he says, looking at the lock. “But I don’t know Grodd well.”
“You are amazing, Azmar.” I don’t think I meant to speak it out loud. It was just a whisper, but in the silence of the room, it carries. Azmar turns toward me, solid and mesmerizing in the candlelight. Embarrassment heats my neck. “You are. Everything about you is amazing.”
He regards me a long time, making me self-conscious. “You’re different, Lark.” He matches my tone. “Not because you’re human. The way you speak, act, move—it’s everything Cagmar isn’t.”
I smile. “Hard and purposeful and full of joists?”
His lip quirks. “Purposeful, yes. But graceful, compassionate.” His gaze shifts to the candle. “Like that flame.”
“Easily extinguished.” I touch my neck, remembering the press of Grodd’s fingertips.
Azmar moves toward me. Touching the other side of my neck, he grazes my jaw with a knuckle. “No one will extinguish you, Lark. Not so long as I draw breath.”