My feet freeze midstep. Chills run through me as though the stone itself has opened and swallowed me whole.
Azmar.
Azmar is here.
He stands across the room from me, back rigid, hair coiled at the nape of his neck, arms folded. But when I meet his eyes, his arms drop, and the rigid expression on his face slackens. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.
I wonder what I must look like. If it matches how I feel, it must be horrendous. For a split second, my heart leaps at the sight of him, but it crashes down again so quickly I stumble. If Perg knew of my arrest, surely Azmar and Unach knew as well. But Unach isn’t here. As a Montra, her word carries more weight—
“Lark.” Agga speaks, her voice sharp as a slayer’s sword. “Are you or are you not in possession of this trollis’s bloodstone?”
My lungs forget how to breathe.
No. No, no, no. How could she know? We’d been so careful. Did they root through my things while I was imprisoned, to find more evidence against me? Did Grodd? Did Unach’s suspicions return?
My mouth works, but my voice stalls. My tongue tries to form the word no—
“Lark.” The acoustics of the room carry Azmar’s soft voice. “It’s all right. They know.”
My knees tremble. Shame, slick and bitter, swirls in my belly.
I wondered why Perg came for me instead of Azmar. I doubted, worried, feared. But Azmar had come. To the council. To clear my name when I would not.
The water hasn’t worked its way through my body to allow me tears. Yet I feel them anyway, ghosts of sorrow and gratitude and shame trailing invisible rivers down my cheeks.
“Yes,” I whisper, dragging my gaze from Azmar to Agga. “Y-Yes. I have it.”
Ichlad’s lip curls. He leans over to Yog, one of the Supras, and whispers something. I don’t need to make out the words to know it’s vile.
Qequan’s wide lips pull into an even wider frown. “Pitiful. Disgraceful. I can hardly stand to look at the two of you.”
A hard lump swells in my throat. I want to cross the room. Run to Azmar, find solace in his arms. But the glares of the council pin me where I stand. Sour fear bubbles between my breasts, tempting me to push it away, to share it, but I swallow hard.
I wish Azmar hadn’t confessed. I wish he’d protected himself. And yet I’m so relieved to see him. Stars, how did he say it? How did the council react? How long has he been here?
I finally manage a sliver of courage. “I-It isn’t illegal—”
Agga snaps, “Do not cite trollis law to me, human.”
“Illegal!” Qequan barks, slapping his hand on his armrest. “It shouldn’t have to be illegal. Here I foolishly thought Posta was an anomaly, but it seems her disease festers in the city still!”
I bite the inside of my cheek at the harsh words. Posta must be Perg’s mother.
Qequan swipes his hand as though he could erase me and Azmar from his sight. “Your filth will be dealt with after the war. I don’t need our troops distracted by scandal.” He focuses on Azmar. “Mayhap we’ll streamline things and put you on the front lines.”
I step forward. “No, please—”
Qequan stands from his chair and bellows, “Speak out of turn again and I will see your blood on the floor!”
I recoil at the power of his voice. Fear presses into my skin. Let me have him, it croons. Let me remind Qequan what we’re capable of.
The temptation is wild and enticing. Gritting my teeth, I drop to my knees and bow. “May I please address the council in regard to the war?”
Agga snorts. “She presses too far.”
“I think I know who leads the human army.” I squeeze my eyes shut, euphoric with fear, waiting for Qequan’s consequences.
He’s silent for several heartbeats. “And here this worm has defamed himself to prove your loyalty.”
“I am.” I dare to raise my head. Glance at Azmar. “I am loyal. But I’ve traveled to every human township east of the canyon. I know only one man who could muster the forces. Who would dare to attack a city as great as Cagmar. His name is Ottius Thellele.”
Qequan glances to Ichlad and Yog, his brow so low I can barely see his eyes. “And what good does this do us? You know his strategies?”
“I . . . don’t. But I know his allies, and his temperaments.” Though my father’s allies easily could have changed in the last seven years. Nearly eight, now.
An idea strikes me. If Azmar can sacrifice, so can I.
I dare rising to a kneel. “My lord, Ottius is aware of my abilities and has coveted them for himself.” My tongue feels like a sock in my mouth. “I-I believe I could earn his trust and wheedle information from him.”