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“I’ll do it to you, too, if you say that again,” she snaps. She leans against the door frame to her bedroom and runs both hands down her face. Azmar, sitting nearby, looks thoughtful, leaning over a ledger, pencil in hand. He hasn’t written anything in an hour.

It’s been nearly a full day since the caste tournament. Since I broke my one rule and blatantly used my ability in front of the entire city of Cagmar. It was a fight to get Perg taken to the infirmary, but it was a bigger fight to get myself away from the questions, the stares, the grabbing hands. Unach came down from the stands and guarded me from the front, while Azmar stood at my back. They marched me immediately up here, and I haven’t stepped outside their apartment since. A blessing, given that Unach assailed me with her own barrage of inquiries and theories. She’s considered everything from me whispering blackmailand threats that only Grodd could hear, to using human hypnotism or wielding the urine of a spreener—a canyon monster.

I refuse to confirm or deny anything. And it hurts.

I’m surprised I’m not in that cell again, and that Qequan hasn’t called upon me. He saw. They allsaw.

Curious trollis come by, wanting to know. Wanting to ask. Wanting to stare at me like I’m an animal caged for their entertainment.

They’re not the only ones.

“Justtellme, Lark,” Unach presses.

I peel the sweet potato.

Unach growls. “You’re killing me. You’re honestly killing me.”

After taking a deep breath, I say, “I suppose Grodd just saw something he didn’t like.” I have no idea if my victims see anything when I inflict fear upon them. I’m fairly certain they just feel inexplicably afraid, just like I do. “Maybe he’s never fought a human.”

Unach dismisses the explanation with a snort. “All trollis have fought humans.”

I glance up at her, but my attention shifts to Azmar, who looks notably uncomfortable. He drops his pencil and rubs his temples in circular motions.

I think of the scars on his torso and wonder.

“Raids, mostly,” Unach goes on. “Though those have become less and less common. Your kind keeps scattering, moving farther and farther away. For a species that can pop out a child in less than a year, your numbers sure aren’t improving.”

“Unach.” Azmar sounds tired.

My knife stills. “How long is gestation for a trollis?”

“Twenty-three months.”

No wonder they’re so huge.

“Some try to cross the bridge,” she continues, “to ... I don’t know, pick at the old city? Not many anymore. And then sometimes the scout parties intermix.” She shrugs. “Regardless, Grodd has fought andkill—fought many humans. And no offense, Lark, but you’re hardly terrifying.”

I could laugh, but instead I peel.

Unach walks over and stares at me headlong, perhaps trying to see what it was Grodd saw. I vow to myself never to show her. I won’t risk losing the few allies I have. I won’t risk being sent away.Please don’t send me away.

“Maybe you should ask Grodd,” I try.

“Grodd is likely hiding as much as you are.” Azmar retains a low and level tone. He hasn’t left the apartment, either. Unach did, but only once, and she fought off curious trollis even as she came home again. “He put on a show and failed in the most dishonorable way possible.”

I set down the sweet potato. “Is it so horrible?”

Azmar regards me. There’s something deep and interesting in his gaze that I can’t define. “Humans rally in their numbers; trollis rally in their strength. No human could best a trollis in hand-to-hand combat. That’s why Perg has struggled so. It’s biology.”

“It’s like you losing to a rat,” Unach suggests.

I frown, and again Azmar pleads, “Unach.”

She glowers at her brother. “It’s not an unfair comparison.”

Despite the difficult subject, I’m comforted by their conversation. By their fraternity. I almost feel a part of it. For whatever reason, that almost-feeling makes me sad.

Turning to me, Unach asks, “You’re friends with Perg?”