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Unach holds her brother’s gaze for a second too long to be comfortable.
“I’m not anyone’s servant yet,” I murmur.
Unach huffs and drops the slate. “Fine. Go.” She pushes off the chair and strides for the door, closing it a little too hard.
Azmar waits a minute before grabbing his pack. “Come.”
Drying my hands, I hurry after him. Fortunately, I don’t have to prod for the information I want; Azmar offers it freely. “Someone came to your door last night.”
I trip. “Wh-What?”
“I heard him approach and turn the knob.” Azmar’s set jaw emphasizes its bony nubs. “I stood to intercept him, but I hit your table. Scared him off. I didn’t move swiftly enough to identify him. Or her. It may not have been Grodd.”
My heart flitters. Who else would it have been? I didn’t hear a noise ... or if I did, my mind must have encompassed it into a dream that I’ve already forgotten.
The table was my fault; I never moved it back. Were it not for that blunder, Azmar might have caught him.
“I didn’t hear anything,” I whisper.
We reach the lift. Azmar grabs the rope and begins hauling it upward. “It happened less than three hours after I arrived.” He slows, holding the rope with one arm, and turns to me. “Could you do it again? What you did in the caste tournament?”
Lightning pops up my spine. “I ... I don’t ...”
“Could you do it again?” His question is firm, unrelenting.
I swallow. Tense. Nod.
To my astonishment, relief relaxes his features. He’s not wary of me, not afraid. Does he comprehend, even distantly, what I can do? He’s a smart trollis; of course he must. And yet if he does, he would surely hate it, as others have.
I break his relief with three words. “But I can’t. I promised Qequan that I wouldn’t, and his punishments will be swifter than anything Grodd can do if I don’t keep that promise.”
Azmar’s eyes widen. I don’t know what shocks him more, the fact that Qequan knows, the law restraining me from protecting myself, or the punishment that awaits me if I do. We stand there, staring at each other, neither of us able to speak, until the rope starts to jerk. Someone on another level is trying to use the lift.
Azmar turns his attention to the ropes and continues to lower us.
So he has the daggers for my safety. He must have been confused, knowing I’d made Grodd wet himself on the bridge, and yet I nearly lost my life to him in the waterworks. But Azmar was there when the council summoned me. And now he knows why.
I think of Grodd, holding me out that window, the dark canyon gaping beneath me, and touch my neck, remembering the prints of his thick fingers.
We’re nearly to the market floor when Azmar pulls the ropes tight a second time. “I want to know, Lark. But I will not pry it from you.”
The utter respect with which he makes the request nearly makes me weep. A sore lump builds in my throat, and I nod my thanks.
Azmar escorts me to Engineering, which isn’t busy in the slightest, now that the damage caused by the recent monster attack has been passed to the construction team. He lied to Unach to keep me close.
Surely she would be furious if she knew just how close I wanted to be.
In the afternoon, Azmar walks me to my shift at the south dock. I climb and stand guard on outposts until the low sun starts coloring the sky. I take some time after my shift ends to watch the sky and read the stars. When I climb back down, my arms feeling like noodles, Azmar waits for me in the corridor. I know his shift ended hours ago, and I could kiss him for his kindness. But that thought skirts too close to the edge. I banish it, and instead whisper my thanks as we head back toward Montra housing. We stop at the market for polishing oil for Unach and the materials to construct a lock. Azmar gets them easily; higher-caste trollis have priority everywhere in Cagmar.
Using tools borrowed from Engineering, Azmar leans in my doorway and drills a hole into the hard mortar between stones, then carefully twists screws into the wooden door to secure a latch. A long iron bolt slides into the new hole. An elementary but expertly crafted lock.
He closes the door so I can test it. He shakes the handle, trying to get in. He makes a few adjustments before he’s satisfied.
I run my fingers over the device. “Thank you, Azmar. For everything. I’m in your debt.”
His lip quirks. Our eyes meet. Lifting a hand, he brushes a few strands of my hair behind my ear. My skin heats beneath his touch.
One of the other servants down the hall exits her room, and Azmar’s arm jerks away. Stepping back, he says, “We should go, before Unach wonders.”
