I’m not sure what to do, what to say, but I can’t do nothing. Inching closer, I offer, “I’m so sorry, Unach. Did you know any of them?”
She barks a sour laugh. “Hardly. Kesta told me. The whole city will be alive with it soon enough.” She drops her hands, fingers curling into fists.
A coil of fear wraps itself within my belly, a snake made of iron and thorns. Surely Dorys doesn’t have so many armed men. Surely the township hasn’t changed so much in the few years since I left it. Terysos is the next closest, but still . . . something feels off about the tale, like the first stench of rot on a cut of meat. After the drought, my people were left so scattered, with so few resources. I can think of only one place where such an army might be tacked together. Or rather, one person who’d be able to form and lead it.
Ottius Thellele, my father.
In a world of drought and desperation, he had more power than any I had met, and I’d met them all, as far as the east side of the canyon stretched. My father had a way with people. He didn’t need me to intimidate them, to coerce them, to control them. I just made the job swifter.
And if it wasn’t my father . . . could it be Tayler and his band? Could they have set a trap for the trollis, or sought revenge for being chased off? But Tayler sounded so genuine, even if he was scared. Surely it wasn’t him.
I dread either answer.
I come back to myself and glance at Unach, then Azmar, who meets my gaze. Apology limns his countenance, and he tips his head toward the door. I should leave, though I’ve not finished dinner yet.
I look at the pot in the tiny fireplace, and Azmar subtly waves for me to forget it. His jaw tenses, like he’s about to set a bone.
Oh stars, he’s not going to tell Unach about his new apartment now, is he?
Suddenly motivated, I step quietly to the door and slip into the cool hallway, pulling it shut behind me. I wait a minute, then another, before Unach’s voice booms, “You did what?”
Azmar knows his sister well. Perhaps it’s better to get all her rage out in one burst than to drag it out over days. Because if this attack wasn’t a single skirmish, if it’s something larger, it will be days, weeks, even months. And every trollis in Cagmar will be involved. All are trained soldiers.
Vile words erupt from Unach’s mouth, each a nail to my chest, knowing Azmar bears them alone. Rubbing my sternum, I make my way to my quarters, wondering at the revelations of the last quarter hour. They’re too big to fit in so small a space. I don’t know what either will bring—the death of the trollis adolescents, nor the kiss Azmar and I shared.
The strain between Azmar and Unach hangs in the air like steam, and no attempts at conversation or bad jokes can lift it. Unach has always been the bold one, Azmar the quiet one, but in his presence, Unach simmers like hot oil, waiting for the first taste of raw meat to explode and burn.
She’s concerned she won’t be able to keep her apartment to herself, even though she claims to prefer living alone. Space is as valuable in Cagmar as water is in the townships, and none can go to waste. Meaning that either Unach also has to get a smaller apartment, or she has to find a new roommate. She asked Kesta during our shared shift. Given that Kesta’s attempt to room with Azmar was turned down, I think she’ll take Unach’s offer.
“Otherwise, I might as well pick a mate,” Unach snaps a few days later, as we man the highest of the slayers’ scouting points. She scoffs. “Maybe I’ll participate in the next caste tournament and win the stone of an Alpine.”
It reminds me that Unach had once been interested in Grodd—at least genetically. Thankfully, he has not crossed my path again. For how much he hates humans, I can’t imagine how he’d react if he learned about me and Azmar. Though in truth, I’m more worried about what Unach would think. Or say. Or do. But she’s so wrapped up in Azmar’s leaving she hasn’t thought hard on why her brother wants his own space. At least, not out loud, and not in my presence.
Everyone in Cagmar is talking about the attacks. The trollis adolescents were savagely murdered in the middle of unclaimed, barren land. It had to be an act of war, with such a gruesome message left. The trollis mobilize, their movements a little quicker, their conversations a little lower as I pass them on the streets. More and more occupy the training grounds, including Perg. His injuries haven’t fully healed, but he’s so bent on regaining his strength, on proving himself to those around him, that he pushes himself beyond what I think wise. But he won’t hear otherwise from me. In fact, it’s hard to find him now that he’s left his bedrest. Were I not so occupied in my own matters, I might be hurt by the neglect.