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I should be. Unach isn’t a liar. And yet the promise flits away on the air. There might be space to sleep beneath my cot. Then, if Grodd comes in the middle of the night, he’ll think I’m gone. The idea lends me a little courage.
I return the scrub brush to its bucket and wipe my hands on my skirt. “Of course.”
Feeling small, I keep my head down and slip into the corridor, closing the door softly behind me. I scan both ways, checking the shadows. Something moves to my right, but it’s only the trollis in the neighboring apartment.
My clammy hands barely grip the ladder rungs as I drop down to my level. Again I scan the darkness. Hold my breath and listen. Someone converses down the way, too distant for me to make out individual words. I sprint to my door. Open and close it.
I won’t light a candle. I won’t make a sound. I won’t do anything to reveal I’m here.
If I have to use my ability for self-defense, will Qequan still punish me?
Lowest of the low,I remind myself. Even lower than a Pleb.
In the dark, I get down on my knees and feel under the cot. There isn’t enough room to crawl under, but there might be if I lift the cot, roll under, and then lower it over me.
I’ve little space to work with, and I’m clumsy in the dark. I scoot my little table closer to the door, as out of the way as I can get it. Then I roll up my two blankets, including the fur Azmar gave me, and put them on the table, wishing I had moonlight to see by. Tugging the cot out from the wall, I wince when it scrapes across the stone loudly. Then I lift it and push it against the far wall. I stub my toe on the table when I go to retrieve the blankets. The thicker one can go on the floor, to nullify the stone’s chill. And the thinner one—
Lamplight peeks through a hair-fine crack in my door. My throat constricts.
A soft knock sounds.
Grodd wouldn’t knock.
I steel myself before croaking, “Ritha?”
“Lark.” It’s Azmar’s voice.
All my breath rushes from me. I dart to the door, stumbling once, and open it.
Azmar lifts his lamp and looks into my room. “What are you doing?”
I glance back at the mess. “I ... was rearranging.”
He eyes me.
Picking at a hangnail, I say, “I was going to sleep under the cot. So the room would look empty.”
“I see.”
We stand there, quiet and stiff, for several seconds, until my wits come to me. “Do you want to come in?”
He nods, and I step aside. He closes the door, then runs his hand along it. “You don’t have a lock.”
“I don’t think any of the servants’ quarters do.”
“Hmm.” He sets the lamp on the table, illuminating my mess. As he inspects my thin door, I set down my cot, oddly embarrassed. “I’ll need a steel-bit drill, but I can install a lock here.” He prods the mortar between stones in the door frame.
My chest balloons. “Really?”
“I’ll purchase the materials tomorrow.”
I’d offer to purchase them myself, but I don’t make any money. “Thank you, Azmar. So much.”If only I could have the lock tonight.Surely Grodd wouldn’t dare break down a door to get to me. It would make too much noise.
Azmar pulls away from the door. “I’ll stay, if it doesn’t bother you.”
Heat rushes into my cheeks. “S-Stay? Here?”Oh please yes.
“If you’re afraid.”
