I shove my hands between my knees so that the council will not see them shaking. I stare at Qequan’s chair, unwilling to look at Azmar, whose presence scorches like hot coal against my skin.
When the council doesn’t respond, I continue. “You know what I am capable of, and yet I kept my word never to use it again on your people. I could have, when Grodd pulled me down here. I could have, when you dragged me away.” I rush forward, not meaning to challenge them. “But I didn’t. Between Azmar’s . . . testimony, and that, surely you must believe me loyal to Cagmar. This is my home. I answer only to the council.” I bow my head again.
I can hear Qequan’s fingers drumming on his armrest. The muffled whispers of the council members. I bow for so long my legs start to tingle.
Finally Qequan says, “I’ll play your game, little Lark. The army was last seen in the East Leagues. Say you gather this man’s stratagems and deliver them to my messenger at the Pentalpoint by, oh, the twentieth, I might find it in my heart to show some mercy.”
Agga scoffs. “A mere two days.”
“And if you don’t, I will do far worse than front lines to this creature.” He gestures to Azmar. “And since you’ve shown such dedication to our little half-breed, he’ll carry out the punishment.”
My stomach clenches. Two days. If returning to my father isn’t arduous enough, earning his trust and gleaning the information in so little time would be impossible. And yet I must make good on my offer now. For Azmar’s sake. For Perg’s.
I meet Azmar’s eyes. They’re golden and sorrowful, full moons above pained and pinched features. I’m sorry, I want to cry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
The fist around my heart pulls, ripping it out fiber by fiber, unraveling every stitch of hope. Dizzy, I rise to half-numb feet. “I will do as you ask.”
I hear a grunt from Azmar—words unspoken, frozen before he can earn more of the council’s wrath. The fist starts to break the skin.
“Excellent.” Qequan leans back in his chair. “You will leave now. We’ll give you enough to see you there. And if the drought devours you, it’s no leather off my back.” He gestures with a finger, and Yog rises and knocks on the door I came through. Both guards enter.
Now. I’m leaving Cagmar now. To see the man I’ve spent years fleeing.
I’m leaving Azmar.
I turn toward Azmar. Take a step—
“I said now.” Qequan taps his fingers.
My cracking lips part. I stare at Azmar. Of course they wouldn’t allow us a goodbye. We disgust them. They hate us. Why would they let us have one more moment together?
I’m sorry, I mouth as tears blur my vision. Each guard takes me by a forearm. I’m so sorry. I love you.
Azmar reaches for me. I think he mouths, I love you, as well, but the guards pull me back and slam the door so swiftly I don’t see him finish.
The fist rips my heart free. I am bloodless as the guards drag me away from the only family I can claim, equip me with minimal provisions, and usher me to the hot surface. Past the scouts, southeast, until I’m clear of the watch. Then they drop me onto the dry sand and leave me there to rot.
Chapter 23
I waste little time burning beneath the afternoon sun. Time will not mend me.
The horizon, an eternity away, expands to emptiness, save for some hills and rock formations. Last seen in the East Leagues. How long ago was that? Did Qequan send me to my death to make it easier on him?
I should never have climbed the city. I should never have let my curiosity and the need to sate my own desires draw me to Tayler and a township that was far, far north of me, if I guessed correctly. But that doesn’t matter now.
Opening my little sack, I survey what the trollis gave me. No weapons, of course. Hunting is slim in these parts, but even so, it appears it won’t be an option for me. Another waterskin. I drink from it carefully, knowing I’ll need to ration. A day’s worth of food, and that’s only if I stretch it. Picking out a floral disk, I chew as I walk. At least after so long in the dungeon, I’m eager for the exercise.
I walk and walk and walk, loosening my knotted mess of a braid to shade my skin and arms. I see Azmar’s pained expression every time I blink. Feel its weight on my heart.
The farther I walk, the angrier I become, the more absurd it all is, from the culture of Cagmar to my inability to claim a caste of my own, for if I could, Grodd would have no power over me. I hate him, and I hate Qequan and his insufferable council, and I am so angry I could weep anew, but I don’t, because water is precious. But apparently love is not. Life is not.