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I swallow. “I ... I am. I know what Unach said, and I understand the basics of trollis law, but—”
“I can wait outside the door,” Azmar gently interrupts, “but if Grodd does mean you harm, it would be better to let him in.”
I choke. “Pardon?”
“A guard will scare him off. But if he’s caught in the act, he’ll be dealt with officially. With so many marks against him, it will not go well.”
I consider this.
Misreading my silence, Azmar says, “He will not get past me.”
“I have no doubt of that.” Grodd is a large trollis, but so is Azmar. His family line is Montra, after all. I meet his eyes. They look gold in the lamplight. “Azmar, thank you.”
He pointedly raises an eyebrow. “Don’t tell Unach.”
The way that sounds, my ears warm as well. I grab the blankets from the table and arrange them on the cot. “Here,” I offer.
“I’ll take the floor.”
“You won’t fit on the floor.” There’s barely enough space for the two of us standing.
His lip twitches. “I don’t plan to lie down.” He settles against the wall, knees up, elbows atop them. Tilted just slightly toward the door. “You should sleep, Lark.”
If he thinks I’ll just fall asleep with him sitting there, he’s mistaken. But then I realize the anxiety has fled me entirely. I am utterly calm, save forothernerves. And I am dreadfully tired.
Taking the thicker of my blankets, I unfurl it over him.
“Lark,” he says.
But I let the fur settle over him, as he’d done for me when I was shivering in the hallway. I even tuck it behind his shoulders. In doing so, my face gets very close to his. I meet his eyes. A sort of smoky warmth flickers in them. And I can smell him—white cedarwood and ginger.
I pull away. “Thank you.”
He nods, still watching me.
I turn down the lamp, not wanting to waste fuel, though truly I want the darkness to hide my flush, my expression, for I fear it reveals more than I want it to. I lay on my cot, guilty knowing that Azmar will lose sleep over me, and curl into the other blanket. Despite my weariness, sleep feels a long way off.
After a while, Azmar murmurs, “Lark.”
I roll over to face him, though in the impenetrable darkness, I can’t even make out his silhouette. “Hmm?”
He waits so long that I think he won’t speak after all, but finally he asks, “Why did you come here?”
He asked me before, on the bridge. He hasn’t forgotten. But now he wants to know more. And how can I deny him, after all he’s done for me?
Biting my lip, I mull over my life, my reasons, my secrets. I try to line them up in a row, inspect them one by one.
Azmar shifts against the stone.
“I’m the oldest of four,” I begin, “though my brothers and sisters are half siblings. My mother—my father’s wife—never wanted me. In truth, I don’t know why my father did, at first. He’s a terrible person. The worst I’ve ever known. Even when he doesn’t notice you, he is terrible. But it’s worse when he does. He ... knew there was something special about me. Figured out what it was and decided I’d be useful to him.
“Grodd fights with his fists, with his strength. My father fights with his mind. That is, he used his fists as well.” I shift to stare at the faint indigo glow at the window. “But he was clever. He liked power. He knew how to manipulate people around him, whether to bargain an unfair trade or to intimidate someone into giving him what he wanted. He made me help him.
“I’m from a township called Lucarpo, near the last river. My father was mayor of the place when I left. Mayor in name, lord in action.” Though human lords had died out with Eterellis. “He got it through fear. Through owning more land than anyone else. Through intimidation. He was creating a nation unto himself, and I was meant to be part of it, whether I wanted it or not. And I didn’t. I met a woman ... a woman who didn’t know me, but she believed in me when no one else did. She gave me the courage to seek a better life. So I left. I did what my mother couldn’t. I was twelve years old. I went as far as I could on what I’d stolen from the house. Then I found a township and a family who would take me in. But ...”
Secrets dance around my teeth and tickle my tongue.
Very quietly, I repeat, “But ...”
