“Grodd.”
The unexpected voice hits me like a fist to the gut. It isn’t loud, but in the stillness of the space, it carries. Grodd shifts and looks behind him, and though I can’t see for myself, I know who’s there. When he speaks again, tears trace my cheekbones.
“Put her down.” Calmness and precision limn Azmar’s every word. Stars, how did he find me? How did he know?
Grodd’s grip tightens. I struggle for air, claw at him, but no relief comes.
“This is no business of yours, Centra.”
Lights bloom in the corners of my vision.
“But it is, Pleb,” he replies, and I can barely hear it over the ringing in my ears. “She is my sister’s colleague and my assistant. You’ll be punished if you kill her. But if you set her down and walk away, I won’t report you.”
Grodd shifts closer. I spy Azmar’s face over Grodd’s shoulder. I try to cough, but can’t. My feet go numb.
“I’m a witness,” Azmar adds. “Given your new status, I don’t think this is what you want.”
Cold calculation weighs down his tone. Grodd lowers me, but not enough for me to touch the floor. I focus on that trickle of air. In, out. In, out.
“You’ll witness, huh?” Grodd’s words are husky and raw. “You want to fight for her? You’ll lose.”
“Perhaps,” Azmar concedes, “but then again, I’ve never had the opportunity to challenge you.”
Grodd hesitates. I pull back his thumb just a little as he looks Azmar up and down. Grodd is everything a trollis warrior should be, but Azmar is not weak. Even if he did lose in combat, Grodd would not come out of it unscathed like he did with Perg.
“You can fall lower.” Azmar folds his arms across his chest. “Neither of you came down here unseen.”
A growl sounds low in Grodd’s throat. He stiffens, livid, the heat of his anger burning from his fingers into my neck.
And then he hauls me inside and drops me.
My lead feet can’t hold me up. I fall hard to my knees and palms, gasping for air, coughing nearly hard enough to empty my stomach. The dark room spins around me. My ears whistle. In, out. In, out.
“You are nothing,” Grodd spits at Azmar, and he stalks away, making sure to strike Azmar’s shoulder with his own as he goes. His footsteps fade, each a hair quieter than the last. My hand moves to my throat, to the bruises forming there. I look through mussed hair, watching Grodd’s shadow leave, watching him pass window after window until I can’t see him anymore. All the while Azmar stands there, head turned as though he listens as well, unmoving as the canyon wall so near to us.
And then the footsteps cease altogether, and I know Grodd is gone. Only then does Azmar approach me. As if he didn’t want Grodd to see.
I swallow against my raw throat and stare at Azmar. He must have seen me in the market, or in Engineering. Maybe another trollis warned him of Grodd’s pursuit. I don’t know, and I don’t care. He came. He saved me.
Never, never in all my life has anyone protected me from anything. My father, my siblings, neighbors, servants, friends, strangers. None of them ever stood up for me. None of them ever cared to put themselves in jeopardy for my sake.
The purplish light from the window washes away the earlier coldness from Azmar’s features. “Lark.” He touches my shoulder and kneels. My name sounds like the wind.
I cry, hot tears streaming over my cold cheeks. The sob that follows hurts. Throwing my arms around his thick waist, I weep into his shirt. Hold on as if the canyon’s maw still gapes beneath me. I want to speak, to thank him, praise him, bless him, but I can’t. The fear trickles out of me in the form of salty water, and I shake with the realization that I am safe.
Gradually, Azmar’s arms encircle me as well, and the maw beneath me closes and recedes. We stay like that for a long time, until my body no longer shakes, my tears stop, and my skin starts to itch beneath my wet dress. And in that moment, right before we pull apart, I realize I might be in more trouble than I thought.
And it has absolutely nothing to do with Grodd.
Chapter 12
No one knows what to make of me when I arrive. I’m sixteen, barely a woman but already taller than the others in the township. Andru’s mother takes pity on me, feeds me, puts me to use. I work hard. I want to repay her kindness, to carve a place into their family the way I carved lines into the water-starved earth with prayers that something, this year, would grow there.
Andru is older than me. Midtwenties. But he’s kind. Bandages my blisters, listens to me prattle on about stars. His demeanor is so calm, his expressions lively, his smile contagious. It’s easy to fall in love with him.