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I shiver. I don’t understand his meaning ofregret, but his words are not untrue. Yet it seems wise not to respond.

Qequan frowns and studies me. I focus on the fur rug, for I know I will unabashedly stare at him otherwise. Sounding amused, he says, “She made the oath. Will you not honor it?”

The bass doesn’t reply.

Louder, Qequan adds, “Ichlad makes a most excellent point. You sit before the council of Cagmar unharmed. We have fulfilled the words of our ancestors. You will now be escorted out.”

“No, please.” I prostrate myself. “I’ve come a long way to find shelter within your city. I can work. Anything you need.” Silently I pray to the South Star. I need to know I chose correctly. I need the brightness that the Cosmodian promised me eight years ago, and I don’t know where else to search for it.

One of the other trolls scoffs.

The woman says, “We do not make a point of housing refugees.”

I lift my head. “Have so many come?”

She exchanges a glance with Qequan.

“Some come.” She doesn’t look at me. “Few have even the worth to clean our commodes.”

I believe her. Very few humans would be as daring as I, coming to a place rumored to be riddled with war. The home of our ancestors’ mortal enemies. The monsters of the canyon.

But monsters lurk among humans, too.

“Please,” I press.

Qequan sets his elbow on his armrest and leans into his palm. The room is lit by austere sconces that cast his skin a dark olive. “What is your name.” It’s an order, not a question.

Calia Thelleleslips through my mind like overused oil. But I have not uttered that name for seven years. “Lark, Master Qequan.” Lark is the nickname my nursemaid gave me when I was small, claiming I sounded like the bird when I wailed. I have never heard one myself. Larks live by large bodies of water, and none of those exist around here.

His lip quirks. “I do not think I’ve ever been calledMaster.”

At his side, Ichlad murmurs, “Do not let yourself be charmed by one ofthem.”

The others seem to echo the displeasure, and I wonder what sort of stories have been told about my people at their bedsides. Are we painted as terrible and vicious, or weak and unseemly?

“Your skills?” Ichlad asks me.

I straighten but remain on my knees. “I can read.”

The troll rolls his eyes, which stuns me. In every human township I’ve been to, I have been admired for my ability to read. It declares my usefulness more than anything else.

Are so many trolls literate as to demean the skill?

“I-I can read missives, books, maps, anything.” I see my father’s study around me and blink it away. “I’m familiar with political strategy. I can clean and cook—”

“Everyone can clean and cook,” the woman snaps. “If you cannot prove yourself useful, you will be taken above.”

I hear what she doesn’t say.Your oath will not work on us twice.

The cool touch of panic crawls over me like lice. “I can also read music. Play the harp”—though I haven’t touched one since before my womanhood—“and I can sing.”A little.

Qequan glances to the others. “We have no need for musicians and librarians, little bird. Do not visit us again. And if you’veanyrespect for sacred things, you will never utter that oath to another creature, do you understand me?”

They are casting me out.

They arecasting me out.

A hand touches my shoulder, ready to drag me away. I start and turn, noticing four armored trolls behind me, by the large door I must have come through. One still holds the head sack.