“Barely.”
“How?”
He glares at me.
I hold up both hands in surrender. “You don’t need to tell me.”
“Are you a spy?”
Lowering my hands, I say, “No. I came to Cagmar as a refugee. There are dozens of us.”
He glances behind me. “Liar.”
“I’m a refugee,” I insist, also glancing behind me. The darkening forest appears empty. “My friend, who was with me before, is back there, but he promised to stay put.”
Tayler hisses through his teeth and steps back. “You said you’d come alone.”
“I did. He’s at least a quarter mile off. I can’t leave Cagmar without an escort.”
Tayler shakes his head. “I don’t believe you.”
Rubbing my hands together, I try to think of a way to persuade him. Remembering my satchel, I pull from it a floral disk and press it into his hand. “This is all I have right now. If you look carefully, there are small seeds inside. They come from one of the vines the trollis harvest for food.”
Tayler’s brows knit together as he examines the pink disk.
“I . . . am different from most of our people,” I try. “I’ve struggled for acceptance in many of the townships. So I sought out Cagmar for my shelter. The trollis are a hardened people, yes, but they’re not terrible.”
The floral disk vanishes beneath Tayler’s cloak. “They kidnap humans and make them slaves.”
I consider this. “I . . . heard that they used to, yes. But not anymore. We’re . . . not respected there as a general rule. But I have friends who are trollis. Just like you do.”
Something about that strikes him, for he instantly sobers. “I suppose.”
Taking a deep breath and treading carefully, I say, “You said you have a trollis in your township.”
“Half trollis.”
I nod. “Baten.”
He studies me in the dark. “What about him?”
“He’s accepted? Among the humans? And he’s the only one?”
Adjusting his cloak, Tayler asks, “Why do you care?”
“I told you about Perg. He’s also half-human, and a friend of mine. But he isn’t treated well in Cagmar. Not by most. They have a strict caste system there, and it’s . . . difficult to raise his status.”
“Not surprised.”
I push onward. “But your people accept Baten?”
Tayler shrugs. “We’re not cruel to him. So . . . yeah. His mother is from—” He stops abruptly. “His mother is from our township.”
He must have almost slipped and said the township’s name, not that a name would tell me where it was. My father had extensive maps of this area, but Tayler’s township was not included on them. If it had been, I would have sought out its shelter before turning to Cagmar.
“If you would . . . sate my curiosity,” I try carefully, “how was it that Baten came to be?”
Tayler hunches and shrugs again. “Don’t know. His mother never talks about it. Or talked about it, so everyone says. She ran off, once upon a time, before I was born. Came back a couple years later bursting at the seams.” He clears his throat. “Pregnant, I mean. We all just assumed she got caught up in a raid and taken advantage of.”
I wince at the bleak theory, so much like Perg’s. “Is she happy?” I whisper.
His head snaps up. “What?”
“Is she happy? With her son?”
Tayler looks confused. “I mean . . . yeah. They live in the same place and all.”
A long, slow breath passes my lips. “Good.”
“Why do you care?”
A tickle like floating dandelion seeds erupts beneath my breastbone. “Because you seem so accepting of him. Of Baten.” Accepting of someone like me, maybe. “And Perg . . . once he heals, maybe he could be accepted, too.”
Tayler goes wide eyed. “Heals from what?”
I think he fears disease, so I clarify. “Perg was in a caste tournament to better his status and was badly beaten by another trollis.”
Tayler frowns. “I see.”
“Tayler, where is—”
“Don’t ask,” he interrupts. “I won’t tell you where we live. Don’t try to follow me back.”
His harshness hurts, but I accept it. “Of course. You don’t know me. Not yet.”
He regards me again. “Not yet?”
I offer a smile, though I don’t know if he can see it. “Meet me again. In a week? I’ll bring you food, whatever I can carry out.”