I rise from bed, feeling like a toddler just learning to walk. I am not entirely hopeless. Tayler mentioned crag snakes, and I have a general idea of where they nest. If I can find the crag snakes, I can find Tayler’s township, and I’ll be able to make a new home. Perhaps meet the Cosmodian and apprentice to her. I still have Ritha’s seeds as an offering. And if they turn me away, or I’m mistaken in Tayler’s location . . . I could strike out on my own, now that I know how the trollis eat. Stay near the canyon and garden, as they do. Or wander into the cooler parts of the mountains. Try to find water.
I’ll need to be careful. I don’t dare use my abilities should a creature of any sort decide to harm me. Not yet. My body has recuperated well, but I can feel in my bones that it isn’t yet prepared to channel the fear my mother gave me. I cannot leave Cagmar with a blade, but I could fashion a sling. I’ve grown decent at using one, and I’ll have plenty of time to practice.
Maybe I can coax double rations from the market, for the time I was away. Two weeks’ food would be adequate. I know my father’s map. I know how far I need to go. I only have to follow the canyon north.
I mournfully pack my few belongings, placing them into the bag the council gave me when they sent me into the desert. The one I had when I arrived is in Azmar’s apartment, and I cannot bear to visit. If Azmar has returned home, he will not want me there. I cannot see fear on his beautiful face again. My last few fibers will snap if I do, and I must preserve what little, pathetic strength I have left.
I will survive this, somehow. I always survive, one way or another.
I stand in my room, surveying its stone walls, hugging warmth into myself. It’s as though I never lived here, slept here. Yet I am very much like this chamber, empty, waiting to be filled.
I touch the lock on my door and blink back tears. I listen to my breathing and hum songs to myself. I leave my bag and slip into the corridor. I have a few goodbyes to attend to before I depart.
I go first to the human enclave. Ritha is unsurprised to hear that I’ll be leaving. I invite her to join me, but she declines. “I have a place here. An important place here,” she explains with an air of sadness. “Sasha is pregnant. Who will help her if I leave?”
I understand, of course. Colson is at work in the mines, but I’m able to greet Wiln and Etewen. We never were very close, so my leaving is easy, for them.
I’m on my way to Nethens housing when I catch Perg in the hallway outside military training. I call out to him, relieved to see him well, and wait for half a dozen trollis to pass before crossing to him.
“Lark! You’re alive!” He grins.
I hug him, which startles him, but he embraces me back, releasing me quickly when a Centra swoops by. “I was going to say the same to you.” I study him. “You seem well.”
He shrugs, then winces. “A few injuries still. Old and new.”
I gesture for him to follow me and guide him into a narrower, less crowded passageway. “Perg, I’m leaving.”
His face falls. “You just got back.”
A draining sensation tugs at my chest. Knitting my hands together, I ignore it. “I . . . I have to. I can’t really explain, but there’s a township I want to find. A human township. The one with the half trollis I told you about.”
His features round. “What?”
“Baten, remember?” I place a hand on his. “He’s accepted there, Perg. He’s only a few years younger than you.” I squeeze his fingers. “Perg, come with me.”
His mouth opens, closes. His shoulders sag. “Oh, Lark . . . if you’d asked me two weeks ago . . . I think I would have.”
I release him. “But?”
He offers me a half smile. “I’m a Deccor now.”
“What? How?” The next caste tournament is nearly two months away.
“The war.” He plants his heavy hands on my shoulders. “You should have been there, Lark. It was intense. Madness. Carnage.”
My gut squeezes. The memory of Azmar’s blood spilling onto the dust pushes to the front of my brain. I shove it down. Blink rapidly. That was the last time he loved me.
“I killed one of their generals,” Perg explains. “The council promoted me.”
I stiffen. “You . . . what?”
“Guess that fortune-telling thing you did for me was right.” He misreads my shock. “I . . . I’m sorry, Lark. I know they’re human but . . . it’s war.”
I shake my head. “N-No, it’s just that . . .” My thoughts knot around each other. “Wh-What did he look like?” Was it Lythanis or . . . ?
Perg drops his hands. “Look like? Uh . . .” He shrugs. “He looked human. Um.” He taps his foot. “He . . . oh, actually . . . he had pale hair, kind of like yours.”
My heartbeat skips.
Lythanis had dark hair.
Perg killed my father.
It’s so much to process. Stepping around Perg, I lean against the wall. Ottius Thellele is dead. The man who has haunted me all my life, who pursued me across half of Mavaea, who gave me the nearly healed bruises on my skin. My tormentor, my abuser, my cage.
He’s gone. He is . . . gone.
“Lark?” Concern paints Perg’s face. “Did you . . . know him?”
I meet his eyes. They look so human.
Perg has already loved me more than my father ever did.
“No,” I lie. “No, I didn’t.”
Relief relaxes his features. “Good. But . . . already things are turning around for me.” He grins, a touch of mischievousness in the expression. “I mean, now two castes can’t mock me without a beating. And in a year, I’ll be ready to compete for Intra.” His grin fades. “So I can’t—”
I pat his arm. “I’m happy for you. Truly. You’ve earned it twice over, Perg.” My eyes moisten for so many reasons, and I don’t want to examine any of them. I embrace him again, propping my chin on his shoulder. “I’m going to miss you, Perg.”
He throws an arm around my shoulders and pulls tight. “I’ll miss you, too, Lark.”
I release him regretfully. I manage to wait until I’m around a bend in the corridor to wipe my tears. It really is goodbye, because we won’t be able to write; no messenger service exists between the humans and Cagmar. And I don’t even know where I’ll end up. I don’t know if I’ll ever see Perg—my brother—again.
I’m so focused on keeping my face calm and dry that I run into another trollis when I enter the market. Backstepping, I offer an apology.
Turning, Grodd looks down on me and sneers. Fear pumps into my heart so quickly it stings. I retreat another step, then another.
“That’s what I hate about rats,” he growls, following me. “They never leave their nests, even to preserve their worthless lives.”
A hand cups around my shoulder from behind. Perg. He must have followed me out.
“Is there a problem, Pleb?” he asks, his voice lower and bolder than I’ve ever heard it.
Grodd tenses. His tight fists make the veins in his arms pop out. His teeth will chip any second for how hard he grinds them. “No,” he pushes between his lips. “None.” He turns around like every movement pains him, and stalks back into the market as though on rusted joints.
I squeeze Perg’s hand. If I allow myself to speak, I’ll break into a blubbery mess.
He squeezes back. Nothing is certain but hope . . . and I hope dearly that somehow, someday, I will see him again.