The guards stand aside and allow me entrance. The messenger does not follow.
The main chamber is not as large as I remember. Wide swaths of fabric hang from the ceiling and connect to the walls, looking brighter than they had at first. I must have gotten used to the dim colors of Cagmar. As before, I stop at the edge of the enormous fur rug in the center of the room, still unable to identify what monster it hails from. All five council chairs are filled.
Somehow, the Supra seem more menacing than when I first arrived.
If Unach thought Grodd was a great soldier, then these trollis are gods.
Unsure of myself, I bow low. I don’t stand until the first trollis speaks.
“Lark.”
Qequan leans on one stone armrest, his hand pressed into his massive jowl, which makes him look frog-like. His widow’s peak pours over his scalp and ends in a daggerlike point.
I muster everything I ever learned from my father’s study, from every politician and landowner who ever graced his floor. I straighten, but not enough to appear haughty, ignoring the heavy thudding of my heart that threatens to echo between the brick and iron walls. “Master Qequan.”
The trollis grins. “Ah, I forgot about the title. Yet I still like it. Master.”
Agga, the only female on the council, rolls her eyes.
Qequan scrutinizes me up and down, and I lock my knees to keep from fidgeting. “I took my time with this one. Do you know why you’re here, little Lark?”
My mouth dries. “I presume you mean to speak with me about Grodd.”
“She presumes.” Qequan chuckles, and Ichlad, to his right, scowls. “You’re a very polite human. Remind me where you hail from?”
The question again discomforts me, but I would do well to be honest and humble before creatures that could tear me limb from limb, either with their own hands or by a simple order. “Lucarpo, sir.”
“I do not know it.”
“It’s far east from here. Too far for a reasonable raid.”
Qequan raises an eyebrow. “But not too far for a little bird to walk?”
“I did not come directly from Lucarpo, sir, but traveled many years.” A spot on my back itches fiercely, but I dare not scratch it.
“Hmm. And Perg 941. What is he to you?”
“Merely a friend.” I squeeze as much softness and respect into my voice as I can. “He is, a little, like me.”
Agga snorts in disgust. “Understandable.”
Qequan leans back. “Perg cannot keep his victory, but Grodd’s behavior was . . .” He waves his hand like we’re casually discussing the sale of a goat. “Unseemly. He will remain a Pleb, and your friend will retain his Nethens status.”
Oh, Perg, after all that work. But at least he will also retain his life.
A spike of fear courses through me. Is it more honorable to die in a tournament, or to lose? Especially with a human protector? Have I done him a disservice?
No, he was fighting to stand. He was ready to surrender.
“As for you.” Qequan sits upright and leans forward, sobering. “You will not take any status within Cagmar.”
I lower my eyes. “I did not intend to.”
I feel his gaze through my hair. I clasp my hands together, grateful that I left Perg’s knife in my room. I can’t imagine what would happen if I were caught with it.
“I had a feeling you were involved with the leckers’ attack.” Qequan’s words carry practiced precision. Leckers were the monsters that attacked Cagmar. “You did prove my judgment to these.” He jerks his thumb to the other council members, who take the thin scolding with silence. “I was right about you. And in truth, Grodd could stand to be taken down a few pegs. Mayhap not all of them”—he grimaces—“but a few. Give him a couple years and he’ll climb his way back up, if he’s strong enough.” He laughs. It’s a rich sound that echoes off the walls of the council room, making it sound as though there are four of him.
Something about that phrasing, strong enough, sickens me.
“But, Lark.” The stringent use of my name cuts through his joviality. “If you ever use your gift against one of my people again, I’ll throw you into the canyon myself.”
True fear bursts through the soles of my feet and roots me to the spot. It crusts over my joints and constricts my lungs. No humor glimmers in Qequan’s eyes. The council looks at me with a familiar disdain, disdain I’ve seen in countless faces, whenever my secret has come to light, all throughout my life.
“B-But you will let me stay?” Were it not for the amplification of the walls, the council might not have heard my weak voice.