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I scan the shadows as I enter the market, the faces of the night workers now familiar to me. For a terrifying instant, I think I see Grodd, but the trollis turns toward a lamp, and it’s the blacksmith. Sucking in air to calm my heart, I hurry down the corridors toward military training, where no humans are supposed to be.
As before, with Perg, I meet little resistance. At the first chamber, I crack the door open to peek inside. Two very tired, very sweaty trollis linger in the far corner with wooden staffs, comparing stances. A female trollis walks on the bridge overhead. In the opposite corner, I spy Azmar at a great punching bag, his knuckles blue with abuse. Sweat dampens his shirt, trailing from his chest to his waist. Though he’s a modestone—the other trollis are shirtless—the sight of him lights something deep in my core, and the desire to touch him inundates me.
Feeling daring, I slip inside and hug the wall, moving toward him. He throws another fist into the column, then wipes his forehead with his forearm. He spies me as I near him. His guard is down, leaving the surprise clear on his face.
“Lark,” he says between breaths.
One of the other trollis turns our way. “No humans in training!”
“Crave off!” Azmar barks, and the trollis frowns and turns away. I don’t understand the idiom, but I can imagine what it means. Those trollis must be lower caste, for Azmar to speak to them so. And he must be angry; I’ve never heard him yell.
Taking the defense as permission, I draw closer and lean against the padded pillar. “Are you all right?”
He lifts the hem of his shirt and wipes his face, and I chide myself for admiring his torso as he does so. Not enough shows to reveal his scar, but I note the dark hair flowing down from his navel, and that space deep within me ignites anew.
I avert my eyes as he says, “I’m well.”
“Unach can be fierce.”
He chuckles and drops his shirt. “You say it like it’s something she ever stops doing.”
I hug myself against the chill. “I didn’t know you knew Kesta.”
He must be too tired to school himself, for his features open in what looks like ... guilt? “She is close to Unach.” He runs the pad of his thumb over the bony nubs of his jaw. I want to ask about the bloodstone, but I don’t want to reveal just how long I’d been eavesdropping. Watching the other trollis, who seem to have forgotten about us, I push off the pillar and step closer to him. He looks down at me, so close yet so distant, his eyes warm as honey.
“I need to go to the surface tomorrow,” I whisper.
His brow lowers. “Why?”
“To rendezvous with the human boy we caught. From the spying band.” His expression hardens, and I rush to add, “Just for information. He’s very secretive about his township. Azmar, there’s a half trollis like Perg there.”
His brow releases, and he looks away in thought.
“I can’t go alone.” My pulse races as I gather courage, and I reach for Azmar’s hand, clasping it in mine. His gaze immediately falls to our entwined fingers.
“If you take me ...” I’m so quiet I can barely hear myself. “I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
His eyes widen. He studies me, and I try not to flush under the scrutiny. One breath, two, and his hand tightens around mine.
“I’ll take you.”
Chapter 17
We set our rendezvous for evening, when it’s harder to be seen, so between the south dock and my shift with Unach, I work relentlessly, dispelling any possibility of her suspicion. After dinner, I make my way up toward the farming walls, where Azmar said he would meet me. I find him easily, and he takes me up to the bridge, tipping his head once to Homper as we go.
No one questions him. They are Deccor, and he is Centra.
I breathe deeply as we step out into the fresh air, the sun nearly set. It paints the sky with swaths of orange and pink, casting long blue shadows across the dry ground, coloring the bridge pastel and deepening the blackness of the canyon.
I walk behind Azmar, the picture of the obedient servant. He even has his toolbelt and pack with him, making him look every bit the engineer on duty. When we reach the skeletal forest, I walk beside him for a few minutes, then I step in front, blocking his path.
“You need to wait here,” I say.
He doesn’t even hesitate. “No.”
“I promised I would go alone.” I look up at him, pleading. “They might have a half trollis in their township, but they’re afraid of you, and I have to keep my word. I don’t think he’ll hurt me.”
He frowns. “They have before, Lark.”
