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I nod.

“Think of him, of how badly he’s treated. Grodd is at least that now.” She spits on the floor. “I can hardly believe it myself. That self-serving oaf is a thorn in my side, but he’s a damn fine soldier. I’d even considered trading bloodstones with him once, just for the fine stock he’d put in me.”

I flush. “But he’s horrible.”

Unach shrugs. “It is what it is. I could always take the stone back with a witness.”

I glance at Azmar, surprised to see his gaze more intent than before. My pulse quickens, and I self-consciously tuck some hair behind my ear.

Rubbing my hands together, I say, “I want to see Perg.”

“He’s fine.” Unach scratches her nose.

“Aliveandfineare not interchangeable.”

“Lark.” The softness in Azmar’s voice startles me. “Even if Unach and I went with you, you’ll be barraged by trollis. They might not be as understanding that you won’t answer their questions as we are.”

I clench my hands into fists. “I already answered your questions. I don’t know what happened. I just ... I just had to defend Perg.”

Both Azmar and his sister look unsure.

A knock sounds at the door.

Unach wheels around. “I’ll break that damn door down on your wretched face!”

A beat passes. “The human has been summoned by the council.”

My heart lodges in my throat. Standing, I look between them. Familiar fear dribbles down my legs and freezes in my toes. “Please don’t make me go alone.”

Azmar moves to stand beside me, and the ensuing relief sweeps through me cold as canyon wind.

Unach answers the door. “She’s coming.”

The messenger waits.

Before Unach turns away, she adds, “And the human’s name is Lark.”

The messenger is a short trollis—which still makes him notably taller than I am—with a round gut, the least warrior-looking trollis I’ve seen since my arrival. He leads the way through Cagmar, down the tunnels, through the market, up a special set of stairs I’d never noticed before. The council chamber rests at the very heart of the city, making it the last place a monster—or a human—would ever reach.

It’s rather clever. My father would have agreed.

No one bothers us on our journey. The messenger holds a short red flag in front of him, which somehow signals the importance of our travel. Everyone gives us deference, regardless of caste. But their eyes ... They stare unabashedly, making me feel naked beneath my trollis-spun dress. Even my hair can’t hide the intensity of the glares. Most do not appear malicious, but I’ve never been gawked at so thoroughly in my life. Even enraged mobs never stared me down with such unrestraint.

I curl in on myself, even when we reach the council doors, my head nearly touching Unach’s back. To my surprise, Azmar’s hand settles gently on my shoulder. I don’t look at him, but I relish the comfort of its weight.

Who would have ever thought I would find comfort at the hands of a trollis?

“You will have to wait in the antechamber,” the messenger tells Unach and Azmar.

Unach’s brow furrows. “We’re her employers.” Not quite the truth. “We have every right.”

Unfazed, the messenger replies, “Do you care to bring up the complaint with Qequan?”

Her lips press into a thin line.

Azmar answers, “No.”

Appeased, the messenger opens the door to a narrow, unadorned antechamber. It doesn’t even have chairs, only one window that looks out to the distant marketplace. Unach moves toward it, rippling with displeasure. Azmar begins to follow her, but he glances my way and nods.