She hasn’t answered me, so I look at her in the reflection of a mirror that she made appear above a dressing table that she also made appear, by touching something on the wall. It’s littered with jewelry that could buy a small planet somewhere. I haven’t commented on this, and I hate that I’m even thinking it, but I have my eye on a particularly gorgeous bracelet inlaid with what looks like turquoise, and what is definitely gold, held together in a web of intricate interlocking swirls.
She meets my gaze and begins to brush my hair. It’s heavenly. Not like Rysethk Kirigok touching my hair heavenly, but heavenly nonetheless.
Stop it, I warn myself. I have to stop having all of these stupid, silly, frivolous, Fiona-like thoughts.
“Did Rysethk Kirigok give you this… underwear?” she asks.
I stare back at her with my lips pursed.
“Then, no.” She combs patiently, looking at my hair. “You are not Kerz,” she says. “Not even a little bit Kerz?”
“No,” I say, and I hear a tremble in my own voice.
Her eyes go wide, but she dissimulates quickly. “This is fine,” she says, falsely resolute. “My mother was human as well.” She continues to comb. I watch her in the mirror. She frowns. “Of course…”
But she stops herself.
“Of course what?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “It’s fine. It’s nothing.”
I reach for her hand and close my fingers around her wrist. “Of course what?” I repeat. I turn to face her. “Trasmea,” I ask her. I don’t know why, but I feel like I can trust her. Maybe because she’s mostly human, maybe because I have nothing else to cling to, maybe because she’s the only female I have seen since arriving here. But she really does seem… nice, as well. “Tell me. Of coursewhat?”
She presses her lips together and gently wrests her hand from my grip. She turns my head back to the mirror and begins to comb. “My father was only half Kerz,” she says quietly. “But this is not important. The Kapsuk knows what he’s doing. It’s fine.”
A very, very bad feeling is growing in my gut. She smiles at me in the mirror, but I see that something troubles her. I can only imagine what that might be.
“The Kap… suk?” I ask.
“The Kapsuk, Rysethk Kirigok,” she says. She nods confidently. “He is wise. He would not… choose you. If it was not… fine.”
“Trasmea, you’re kind of freaking me out here,” I tell her. “Whatis fine?”
She presses her lips together. “It’s not my place…”
I glare at her.
She sighs and continues combing. “Your hair is very beautiful,” she comments, trying, quite obviously, to change the subject.
I glare some more. “You said when you came in that you were my ‘hand,’” I tell her. “And that you are responsible for guiding me. And making me comfortable.”
“I am,” she answers warily.
“And so I would really be a lot more comfortable if you would please tell me what you are talking about.Whatwill be fine?”
She inhales and moves around to stand in front of me. Her eyes scan the room, and she lowers her voice. “Za’akaAnya,” she whispers. “It’s fine that you will breed for General Kirigok.”
This girl speaks English with no accent and no discernible problem coming up with words, so her choice of prepositions—breedfor—is ominous.
“Breedforhim,” I say slowly.
She nods and returns to the back of my head.
“Notwithhim,” I prompt.
She looks up from my hair and meets my gaze. She shakes her head very rapidly, a little shake. The kind of little shake that someone gives to a child when they don’t want to give bad news.
“What does thatmean,Trasmea?”
