The Hanging City (56)

For a bath, she means. I oblige, eager to be out of the main room where they’re eating. I feel like I’m being watched, but I don’t dare turn around to see if I am. I carry the iron pot from the fire to the little back room and fill the basin there, then carry in cold water from the pump until it’s half-full. When I return, Azmar glances up from his reading, and I think of the bath, of him half-dressed, and how human and trollis physiques really aren’t very different, and how his is rather spectacular.

I grab my pitcher and leave without excusing myself, closing the door behind me, harder than I should.



Perg can sit up now. The swelling in his face has gone down, though he’s still in the infirmary until he has the strength to walk unaided. He cups a bowl of carrot soup in his hand and happily brings an oversized spoon to his lips.

“I’m going mad,” he admits. “I’m so bored, Lark. I’d rather be a slave than an invalid. At least I’d be doing something. At least I wouldn’t be . . . weak.”

I look up from studying the book Wiln gave me. “You’re not weak.”

He sighs.

I turn a page. I don’t want to be seen with the book, in case someone recognizes it as something I’m not meant to have, but I thought it might be handy with Perg. “Do the trollis keep slaves?”

“Not anymore. Used to.” Perg taps his leg, thinking. “There’s a few books, but I can’t read any of them.”

That startles me. “You can’t read? But the school—”

“Education is based on caste. And I am what I am.” He takes another sip of soup.

I slouch. “Then to use education to advance in your caste—”

“You have to have access to it already.” He shrugs.

Chewing on my lip, I look over the open page of the astronomy book, then hold it up for Perg to see. “Merces—your planet—is moving into the northern sky.”

Perg glances at it. “That map looks a century old.”

“I thought you couldn’t read.”

“I can read numbers.” He gestures to the date in the corner.

Withdrawing, I say, “North is good. Think of it as being . . . on top of things.” That is, at least, my understanding of it. If only I had a teacher to help me unlock the skies! “I think it means you’ll have success soon.”

Perg snorts. “Does any of this look successful to you?” He gestures at his bandaged body. Winces.

Distantly, a horn bellows.

My spine stiffens, and I sit upright on the stool beside Perg’s bed. I finished my shift at the south dock two hours ago. It was uneventful.

Perg lowers the bowl. “Don’t worry. Last time was a fluke. They usually don’t attack the city directly, and they never breach it. Could be just a sighting, even.”

I frown at him. I know how the horn works. “If the horn blows, they’re close.” The others will attempt to scare the monsters off, but still, I listen for the horn to blow again. If it does, I’ll have to leave for the dock.

Perg shrugs. “Usually it’s the new hatchlings you have to worry about. They haven’t learned.”

I think about Unach, who’s on shift now, and say a small prayer of protection on her behalf. What would happen, were she to die in the line of duty? Certainly she’d be honored in her passing. As for me . . . I suppose I would keep trekking on as I was. Unach was only required to see me fitted to the position. She doesn’t need me. Neither does Azmar.

“Perg,” I speak carefully, “do you know . . . did your parents love each other, at all?”

A dribble of soup spills from Perg’s lips. He wipes it with the heel of his hand. “Are you serious?”

I swallow and move my hair over one shoulder to keep my neck cool. “Did they?”

His thick brows draw together, like he’s trying to discern what sick joke I’m playing on him, but the expression gradually relaxes. “I don’t think so. I mean . . . ugh, maybe they found each other attractive? Ugh, Lark, I don’t think about this stuff. I don’t know.”

“They’re not around anymore?”

“No. My father escaped to the settlements, and my mother jumped into the canyon when I was little.”

My mouth dries. “I-I’m so sorry—”

He stirs the spoon around. “It’s fine, Lark. I don’t remember them. It’s just what I’m told. Might not even be true.”

My stomach twists. Still, I push a little more. “Have you . . . ever met another like you?”

He swallows a spoonful of soup. “No.”

“What if you could?”

He glances sidelong at me. “What are you getting at?”

I rub my hands together above my lap. Lower my voice. “Did you hear about the band of humans caught trespassing near Cagmar yesterday?”

His features slacken. He shakes his head.

“I talked to one. Just a little, before he escaped.” I trust Perg to keep my secrets, but I also want to tread carefully. “He mentioned someone named Baten from his township. A half trollis.”

Perg snorts. “Yeah, right.”

I touch his wrist, stopping the spoon over the nearly empty bowl. “I mean it, Perg. I believe him.”

Perg looks down to the soup. He sets the bowl and spoon on the small table beside him, wipes a hand down his face, and winces. “I don’t know, Lark. I don’t know why humans would keep any trollis around, even a half one.”