“I know about Kesta,” she spits.
Confusion bubbles up in my chest, extinguishing the fear.
Azmar says nothing. Unach marches right up to him, her hands in fists. She looks at me and says, “Out, Lark. Now.”
I obey immediately and skitter into the hallway. The door slams behind me.
I take only two steps before turning back and pressing my ear to the door. They’ve moved away from it, but I can still make out Unach’s iron words.
“She basically dropped her bloodstone at your feet, and you said no?”
I press a knuckle into my mouth and bite down. Bloodstone? Perg said trading them was the closest thing the trollis had to human marriage. And Kesta offered hers to Azmar?
My stomach twists so hard I slouch to compensate for it.
“I am not required to accept,” Azmar replies, so quietly I can barely make it out.
“She’s Montra, you fool! Why wouldn’t you? To say she’s offended is—” Unach’s words dwindle. She’s pacing again, away from the door. When she returns, I catch, “—chance again!”
Azmar says something I can’t discern.
The wall shakes, and I jump back from the door. Unach must have hit it. “You realize that if every trollis in Cagmar waited for fuzzy feelings to trade, we’d be extinct.” The words scathe.
After retreating from the door, I hurry to the ladder and start climbing down, pausing halfway to my floor. My hands tremble, palms slick on the metal rungs. I don’t want to make assumptions. I don’t want to jump to conclusions. History has proven time and time again that someone with my abilities is not meant to be loved. And yet my cheek burns where Azmar touched it. My mind flies to Tayler and his secretive township. To the half trollis Baten. To Perg.
You are human, he is trollis, I remind myself. He reminded me of that himself.
And yet I cannot believe we’re entirely impossible.
Shaking my head, I scurry down the ladder and wring my hands together. Desperate for a distraction, I climb down again, and again. I’ll visit Perg, take my mind off things.
For as long as I can.
It’s late, close to the twenty-third hour, when I return to the apartment. I stayed late with Perg, who now rests in his own chambers, which measure roughly the same size as mine, so that he also has to use public waterworks and baths, which will be hard with his injuries. Boredom and depression overwhelm him, so I stayed to play a board game that his nurse lent him. Unsurprisingly, it’s a war game, with so many pieces and strategies that it took me nearly an hour to get the hang of it. Perg won every match, but he deserves to win something.
I worry I gave him false hope, stretching myself to interpret the stars, the gods’ will for his future. Especially when I can’t even read my own.
Hoping Unach’s anger has fizzled out, I carefully knock on her apartment door.
“What?” she responds sharply.
I pull the handle and step inside. Unach sits at the tall table near her bedroom door. She rubs her temples and glances up at me.
“Oh, I forgot about you. The request got approved. You’re welcome.”
I let out a long breath. I now have a lock on my door and legal protection. “Would you like me to tidy up?” I ask not only to fill my new role, but in hopes of cheering her up as well.
Unach waves a hand. “Go to sleep. I’ll have plenty for you to do in the morning.”
I think of my dark chamber, of Grodd’s slinking shadow. But I’m safe. I’ll even run through the market screaming that I’m protected by a Montra, to make sure Grodd knows it, too. And if he comes anyway, I think I could scream loud enough for it to carry through the walls to this apartment. At least my neighbors would hear . . .
As I turn for the door, I notice Azmar’s bedroom door ajar. It’s dark within. He always sleeps with his door shut. “Where is Azmar?”
“Hell if I know,” Unach grumbles. “Probably knocking down a pillar somewhere.”
I hesitate, peering into Azmar’s room. I think of Kesta and frown.
Unach’s chair pushes back, and her tired countenance suddenly morphs into suspicion. “What were you and Azmar doing? You came here together.”
I flush. “I assisted him in Engineering.” Unach knows this.
“And got back later than usual.” She looks me up and down, and I try not to cow beneath her gaze.
“He helped me with some purchases. I’ve been . . . concerned about Grodd.”
She doesn’t hear my words, and her voice takes on a chill. “Are you in love with my brother?”