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Qequan has not taken his eyes from me. “It works on anything?”
I try not to fidget. “I ... I know it works on humans, and wolves. And apparently trolls.”
He frowns, though I’m not sure why. “Then it would work on the creatures of the canyon.”
The woman shifts to the edge of her seat. “You think she could frighten those beasts?” She sounds incredulous.
Qequan smooths his stole. “Would you like her to demonstrate on you, Agga, so you can gauge for yourself?”
For the first time since I arrived, Agga looks out of her element. Uncomfortable. And I hate that it’s because of me. But I also need them to accept me. Help me. Hide me. And if they respect this currency ... I will freely give it.
To Ichlad, Qequan says, “Choose one of our slayers to partner with her until she learns what she needs to know.”
Ichlad considers me. “Will you allow her to wield a sword?” As though I’m not standing right there.
“She doesn’t need to.” Qequan smiles. “Sheisone.”
Chapter 2
I wait for several hours in what must be a prison cell. It’s small and cold, without a single light or window. I’m desperate for a window, to witness the passage of time, to see the stars and any advice they might have for me, for what little of them I understand. I’ve found strength in the night sky when I could find none in humankind, and so I seek out their light even here, locked away beneath the surface of the world.
On the well-worn floor is nothing but an old cot, where I sit, and a tin water bowl like one might give a dog, which I’ve already drained. The door is narrow and heavy, with a thin slider that can be accessed only from the outside. But the slider is open, letting in light from sconces in the hallway, so I don’t worrytoomuch.
As I lean against the cool wall, dozing, heavy footsteps approach. I start and listen. Three pairs of them, but two drop away, leaving only one pair to reach the door. She blocks the light, which makes her difficult to make out, but I do not miss that she is unhappy, for that expression is similar across all the gods’ creatures.
She’s over seven feet tall, with thick divots in her arms and shoulders marking every massive muscle and taut sinew. Her waist tapers above notably round hips. Her skin is a deep shade of green; dark-auburn hair is pulled away from her face, emphasizing a widow’s peak; and bony studs gleam on her scalp. Ivory teeth bookend her lips and nearly reach her nostrils. Her eyes remind me of uncut topaz. I notice two turquoise beads on her sleeve, similar to Qequan’s.
I stand, and she looks me over briefly, her frown deepening. “You’re Lark.”
I nod.
She grumbles something under her breath, then turns and leaves. I follow, quickening my steps to keep up with her long stride. When I’m at her heels, she says, “Don’t know what use you’ll be at the docks.”
“Docks?” I repeat, ducking to avoid a sconce. “You have ships?”
She gives me an incredulous look. “No.” She rubs the spot between her brows. “Regret knows what I did to deserve this.”
That term, again.Regret.“I’m sorry, but what was your name?”
She drops her hand. “Unach.”
It’s a hard name,oo-natch, and my tongue resists when I repeat it. “And where are we going?”
Unach seems irritated even by my voice. “We’re going to my quarters. The council has decided that you are somehowworthsomething, and I’m supposed to house you until they can find some other nook to shove you into.”
I guess by her tone and choice of words that the council respected my request to keep my abilities secret, the last thing I’d begged of them before a guard escorted me to that cell.
Worthsomething. Even children know the trolls value strength above all else. I never considered myself weak, but I’m truly nothing next to the others I’ve met in size and bulk. All the food and exercise in the world would never get me close.
We start up narrow stairs, forcing me to walk directly behind Unach. At least we’re leaving the prison.
“I’m a slayer,” she continues. “I’ll be teaching you the ropes. Literally.”
Her accent is so heavy it sounds like her words barely make it past her lips. I don’t know what she means by the “ropes,” but I hesitate to ask. She mutters something I catch only half of, but I piece together the meaning.Qequan has finally lost his mind.And then what sounds like a curse about humans.
Unach searches through a bag at her side as we reach the top of the stairs, and she hands me a hard, lopsided, bright-pink circle, roughly the size of my hand. “Here.”
I take it, the edges rough and flaky. “What is this?”
