The Hanging City (5)

Qequan frowns and studies me. I focus on the fur rug, for I know I will unabashedly stare at him otherwise. Sounding amused, he says, “She made the oath. Will you not honor it?”

The bass doesn’t reply.

Louder, Qequan adds, “Ichlad makes a most excellent point. You sit before the council of Cagmar unharmed. We have fulfilled the words of our ancestors. You will now be escorted out.”

“No, please.” I prostrate myself. “I’ve come a long way to find shelter within your city. I can work. Anything you need.” Silently I pray to the South Star. I need to know I chose correctly. I need the brightness that the Cosmodian promised me eight years ago, and I don’t know where else to search for it.

One of the other trolls scoffs.

The woman says, “We do not make a point of housing refugees.”

I lift my head. “Have so many come?”

She exchanges a glance with Qequan.

“Some come.” She doesn’t look at me. “Few have even the worth to clean our commodes.”

I believe her. Very few humans would be as daring as I, coming to a place rumored to be riddled with war. The home of our ancestors’ mortal enemies. The monsters of the canyon.

But monsters lurk among humans, too.

“Please,” I press.

Qequan sets his elbow on his armrest and leans into his palm. The room is lit by austere sconces that cast his skin a dark olive. “What is your name.” It’s an order, not a question.

Calia Thellele slips through my mind like overused oil. But I have not uttered that name for seven years. “Lark, Master Qequan.” Lark is the nickname my nursemaid gave me when I was small, claiming I sounded like the bird when I wailed. I have never heard one myself. Larks live by large bodies of water, and none of those exist around here.

His lip quirks. “I do not think I’ve ever been called Master.”

At his side, Ichlad murmurs, “Do not let yourself be charmed by one of them.”

The others seem to echo the displeasure, and I wonder what sort of stories have been told about my people at their bedsides. Are we painted as terrible and vicious, or weak and unseemly?

“Your skills?” Ichlad asks me.

I straighten but remain on my knees. “I can read.”

The troll rolls his eyes, which stuns me. In every human township I’ve been to, I have been admired for my ability to read. It declares my usefulness more than anything else.

Are so many trolls literate as to demean the skill?

“I-I can read missives, books, maps, anything.” I see my father’s study around me and blink it away. “I’m familiar with political strategy. I can clean and cook—”

“Everyone can clean and cook,” the woman snaps. “If you cannot prove yourself useful, you will be taken above.”

I hear what she doesn’t say. Your oath will not work on us twice.

The cool touch of panic crawls over me like lice. “I can also read music. Play the harp”—though I haven’t touched one since before my womanhood—“and I can sing.” A little.

Qequan glances to the others. “We have no need for musicians and librarians, little bird. Do not visit us again. And if you’ve any respect for sacred things, you will never utter that oath to another creature, do you understand me?”

They are casting me out.

They are casting me out.

A hand touches my shoulder, ready to drag me away. I start and turn, noticing four armored trolls behind me, by the large door I must have come through. One still holds the head sack.

No, no, no. If I leave Cagmar . . . there is nowhere else to go. Nowhere else to hide.

Your path will not be straight, but broken and looping, the Cosmodian’s voice whispers in my ear. The prediction I’ve clung to since childhood.

“Please. I’ll do even your filthiest jobs.”

The troll grasps my arm and hauls me to my feet. Qequan’s countenance is hard as stone. He looks away from me. The woman shakes her head. The troll drags me toward the door.

“I’m a fast learner!” I shout. “And I’ve good eyesight! I could scout for you!”

The troll on the far right chuckles. Another troll takes my other arm.

I don’t know how to read this, Calia, her voice whispers.

My father will find me. He will punish me. And then he will use me, as he always did.

Use me.

Use me.

“Wait!” My voice echoes between stone walls. Ichlad startles. Even the guards hesitate.

Qequan’s gaze slides back to me.

“I have one other skill. One you’ve never seen.” My words rush and slide together until they’re almost nonsensical. I can hardly believe I’m uttering them. Never in my life, never, have I willingly shared my secret. Never have I told a soul about my darkness. A few have seen it, felt it for themselves, but fear can always be explained away.

“You try my patience.” Qequan’s voice is a threat.

The guards release me. Rubbing my arm, I say, “It’s a talent unique among my people.” Stars bless that it’s also unique among the trolls. “But it’s a guarded one.”

Qequan raises an eyebrow.

I step away from the guards. “I . . . I ask for as few witnesses as possible.”

The trolls frown at me.