The Hanging City (84)

After easing under the lip of the canyon, I allow myself a couple of minutes to rest and stretch my muscles before climbing back down the city. My shoulders feel rusted by the time I slip back inside, careful to ensure that I’m unseen, and my thighs shake with every step I take. I walk slowly to regain my strength, brushing against stone and metal walls to stay out of the way of trollis. I’m only just arriving at the Mid-divide when one of them blocks my path. I hug the wall closer, but he doesn’t step around me. Confused, I lift my gaze.

My insides turn to water as I meet Grodd’s sneering face.

“I saw you, little bird,” he growls, and his meaty hand whips out, fingers enclosing my arm. He drags me down the corridor. I dig in my heels and try to twist free, but Grodd’s grip won’t relent. I fear he has more strength in his hand than I have in my entire body.

Horror melts through me as he yanks me across the market, drawing the attention of dozens of bystanders, toward the council’s room. I saw you, he said. Not at the window in Deccor housing; he came from the other way. Then I realize he’s wearing the garb of a scout.

He was on the surface, patrolling. He saw me pop up, must have watched me descend, then rushed through the city to intercept me.

I want to scream at him, to defend myself, to bite his hand, but that will see me punished. I cannot act out against anyone of higher caste than myself, which includes every trollis in Cagmar. I am utterly at Grodd’s mercy.

Surely the council will see reason. Qequan is a brute, but he’s reasonable. I merely have to wait.

I hold my breath when we reach the council’s doors. Try to invite calm into my veins. The guards look confused when Grodd demands entrance.

“I’ve got an escapee,” he says with an authority he no longer really has. “The council will want to know about this one.”

The guards exchange looks, then whisper to one another. One surveys me and nods. He must recognize me. Were I any other human, they may have made Grodd wait. But they know Qequan has taken interest in me before. They know what I did during the last caste tournament. And so they open the doors to the long foyer and signal to the next set of guards to let Grodd through. When he finally jerks me into the council room and throws me onto the great fur carpet, my bruised arm starts to swell.

“We have a runaway,” he announces with bold smugness.

The council isn’t here in its entirety. Two of the Supra are absent, leaving only Qequan, Ichlad, and Agga. We’ve interrupted a meal or a meeting. A table set with food has been placed by the chairs. Qequan’s heavy brow takes in the scene. His lips purse together. He’s silent for several seconds.

I feel fear emanate from Grodd. But Qequan waves toward some servants in the shadows, and they collect the table and pull it aside. Qequan, Agga, and Ichlad take their seats.

“Runaway?” Qequan repeats, folding his fingers beneath his chin.

I stand, taking two large steps away from Grodd, and bow. “The Pleb is mistaken, sir. I was merely climbing the city.”

“I’ve been scouting all week,” Grodd says lowly. “I saw her climb out of the canyon and try to run. She scared when she saw me.”

I gape at him. “That is a lie!”

Grodd’s face brightens with a surge of blue blood. “You will watch your tongue with me, human!”

He seizes me again, by the same arm, and throws me back to the carpet. I gasp as pain explodes from my new bruises.

“That is enough,” Agga says.

But Grodd puts a foot on my back, preventing me from getting up. “What’s this?” he asks. I’m not sure what he means until he adds, “There’s a bulge on her thigh.”

My heart stops beating. No. Perg’s knife.

One of the council members gestures, and a guard from the side of the room marches forward and indelicately yanks down the waist of my slacks, revealing my undergarments, the majority of my thigh, and the knife tied there. With a quick yank, the guard pulls it free. Grodd removes his foot. I scramble to dress myself and find my feet. My heart kicks into gear again, blistering within my chest.

I have no defense. It’s illegal for humans to carry weapons. I might have been able to talk myself out of Grodd’s initial claim, but I cannot save myself from this.

Qequan stands and crosses the room. Taking the knife from the guard, he examines it. “This isn’t a slayer’s blade. Where did you get it?”

I bite my tongue.

“I asked you where you got it.” His sharp demand carries all the power of a Supra. But Perg has suffered so much already. I will not give his name.

“I found it.”

Qequan pats the flat of the blade against his palm and walks around the rug, studying me. “I don’t believe you.”

I stare at the fur beneath my feet.

“And where did you find it?”

“On the way to the south dock.” I name the first place that pops into my mind. “Night shift. In the street leading past the food stores.” I dare to lift my gaze. “I know it’s illegal, but I’ve never used it. I was afraid for my life after—”

“Silence.” Qequan doesn’t yell, but the force of his voice echoes between the walls. “I did not ask for your excuses, human. This”—he holds up the knife—“is against the law, and you know that, do you not?”