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I hear his footsteps as though they come from very far away. It’s an effort to open my eyes. Azmar moves beside me, folds from his pillow creasing one side of his cheek. He puts a hand under my chin and guides my face up.
His brow creases. “What happened to you?”
Unach’s bedroom door opens and Azmar’s hand immediately drops.
Unach comes around the corner, surprised to see me so early. Her mussed hair bounces as she wipes a forearm across her mouth. Her gaze moves between me and Azmar.
“I didn’t sleep,” I admit.
Unach massages the bridge of her nose. “I wish I still was.Myshift isn’t until noon.”
“Why?” Azmar asks me.
I blink, trying to wake myself. It helps a little. I pull my hands from the counter. “Grodd knows where I live.”
Azmar tenses.
“I saw him last night in the corridor.”
Unach frowns. “What reason does he have to visit there? His Pleb housing is on the east side.” She curses. “That bastard’s pride. I didn’t beat him thoroughly enough.”
“You’re sure?” Azmar murmurs.
I hug myself. “Ritha came to visit me. I think he followed her.”
Unach grabs a cup from the kitchen and crosses to the water I have boiling over the fire. “He won’t kill you. He wouldn’t dare.” She dips the cup. “Not with the law and his caste.”
The assurance doesn’t ease the anxiety rooted in my chest like a thorn tree. “He can do worse than kill me.”
Unach frowns.
I glance to Azmar, noting his tight jaw. He’s thinking again, but he must feel me watching him, for he meets my eyes.
Unach stirs her morning brew and takes a sip. “I’ll file with the council to make you an official servant. You’d be more or less my property. It would give you some protection. After that, he wouldn’t dare. I’ll kill him if he does. It would be my right.” She must see my discomfort, for she frowns. “He won’t, Lark. I’ll file today.”
The idea of beingpropertywhisks me back to my father’s house in Lucarpo. But Cagmar’s laws are different; this is the best we can do, and I’m grateful. I don’t love the idea of being an official servant, but I have the feeling Unach won’t abuse the new relationship. If it protects me from Grodd and keeps me close to her and Azmar, I’ll consent to just about anything.
At least the anxiety drives back the fatigue. Keeping my head down, I finish breakfast quickly so I won’t be late for my shift. Unach doesn’t complain about escorting me to the south dock. I search the shadows the entire way. She does, too. We run into no trouble, and Unach leaves me to my harnessing, not even bothering to greet Troff and Kesta.
The only monsters I see are small ones, about the size of a large dog, rooting around nearby for nesting materials. They’re called troders, fat-bodied bird things with wicked-looking talons on long, spindly legs. Not a threat to the city, but I scare them off anyway. I’m actually getting used to the sling. I can’t hit any of them, but I get close enough to dissuade them from exploring any closer.
Neither Unach nor Azmar can escort me back when my shift ends; they both have work of their own. But it’s a busy time of day, so if nothing else, I feel protected by the crowds. Still, at every corner, I search for Grodd’s broad, scrunched face and his inky shadow.
I let myself into the apartment and start cooking dinner. I suppose this will be an official task for me now, instead of a trade of services. Azmar gets home first, looking tired, but he greets me before sloughing off his heavy belt and slipping into his bedroom. Unach arrives onlyhalf an hour later. There’s a bandage wrapped around her calf. She’s in a foul mood, so I don’t ask. When Azmar returns, I serve them dinner, eating my own near the fireplace. I couldn’t eat with them even if they invited me—the high table seats only two.
As the sun pulls away from the canyon, I don the role of servant and take on every possible chore I can fathom: washing dishes, sweeping the floor, organizing the rations, anything to keep me from going down a level to my own room.
I put out the fire. I scrub out the cookpot. Dust. Tighten the nuts on the water pump. Set out grains to soak for breakfast. Rearrange the cold box.
Unach stands over me as I scrub an old stain in the floor grout, her hands on her hips. “Go to bed, Lark.”
“I don’t mind working,” I say, not meeting her eyes. “I can even oil your weapons.”
She snorts. “The council will approve my request, and I made a point of sharing it with the local gossips. He’ll kiss the canyon floor before he lays a finger on you.”
My scrubbing slows. My knuckles ache, and lack of sleep makes my muscles sore. “Do you have anything that needs mending?”
Azmar stands in the doorway to his room. He says, gently yet firmly, “Go to sleep, Lark. You’ll be safe.”
