I expect everything to get shredded in a fit of furious knifing, but instead, the general stabs a plum-sized fruit—it’s bright pink, with streaks of yellow in the skin, and a tropical, sweet smell rises from its punctured flesh as a thick syrup oozes from the wound. He takes it in his fist and, still looking at me, smiling, he goes to work on it with the knife.
I can see that he’s enjoying my fear—I don’t know how I know this, but I sense it. The more frightened I feel, the more his yellow streaks seem to shimmer, as if my fear is powering them up. His hands move quickly and efficiently, goring the fruit, juice running down his arm. He drops the fruit, cut into neat, symmetrical pieces—the interior of the fruit is snow-white and crisp, and smell that is very similar to the Earth-fruit apple rises up to my nose. There is one piece of fruit pinned to the dagger, and he tips the fearsome knife toward me, lining the fruit up with my lips.
Now everyone is watching.
“He wants you to—”
“I know,” I whisper to the Kapsuk.
The general is grinning. It’s the grin of a man who has a lot of power, knows it, and enjoys it, and it turns my insides to liquid as much as the ceremony preceding the feast. The knife glints menacingly; now that I see it so close, I can tell that it’s as sharp as a knife can get.
Next to my left leg, I feel tension in the Kapsuk’s thigh. And then the warmth and heaviness of the Kapsuk’s hand, laying down on my thigh, covering almost all of it, and then squeezing very gently. The pulse of the Kapsuk’s body throbs into my thigh, and I literally feel my own heart slowing to match it.
The fear subsides. It’s like being hit with a sedative. The knife looks the same, but I’ve lost my fear of it. The general is still grinning wickedly at me.
I lean forward and capture the morsel between my teeth, pulling it from the knife and into my mouth. He watches with very obviously sexual interest.
The fruit is delicious, whatever it is, and my stomach growls again as I chew the sweet, tart, crispy fruit. A very thick juice is inside it, but it has the hard, starchy texture of a crisper fruit. I swallow.
The general growls. It doesn’t take an expert in alien lifeforms to know that this is erotic to him.
Delighted, he begins using the knife like a complete madman, tossing food into the air and slicing it as it falls, only to stab at a single piece of what he’s slicing and offer it to me at the tip of the knife, watching me eat it carefully, my cheeks flushed with humiliation and fear in spite of the Kapsuk’s steadiness calming my blood.
I eat whatever he offers me, and it’s all good except for a piece of very awful-smelling, oily meat that I try, but am unable to stomach. I shake my head, and the general looks displeased.
“She can’t digest it,” the Kapsuk says. His voice comes from behind me, because I’m turned toward the general by now.
The general is silent for a moment, thinking. I can tell from the way the ambiance in the room has changed that I’m not the only one who considers these silences dangerous. The Kapsuk’s pulse is noticeably faster, and mine is rising with it.
The general laughs, though, and shrugs. Then he pops the meat into his own mouth, sliding the blade along his teeth, and chews vigorously, smiling at me while he does. Still chewing, he says, “Noringt’ak,okay.”
And then he selects another fruit, winks at me, and tosses it into the air. The fruits flies apart into tiny pieces as he eviscerates it in the air, all but the piece stabbed to the knife that he points at me. The rest falls to the piles of food amassing on the table—pieces are rolling off, onto the floor, into my lap, and I don’t dare touch them or move them.
I look at the fruit. I’m still hungry, and it looks good, so I take it gingerly from the knife and chew it.
The Kapsuk places a goblet of what looks like wine in my hand, and I drink it without consideration for what it is, glad to feel the familiar burn of alcohol on my tongue.
I continue to drink between bites of food at the end of the general’s knife, and the Kapsuk keeps my goblet full, and his thigh pressed close to mine, and somehow, I make it through the feast. My eyelids grow heavy, and I start to blink slowly, feeling very suddenly like I could sleep for a week.
“My cousin gave you too much wine,” the general growls, after I close my eyes and actually start falling asleep. I open them and try to shake my head, but the general is already barking orders in Kerz, and next to me the Kapsuk sets his food down with a loud sigh.
He stand up, bends over me, and picks me up like I weigh nothing, while the general makes what I can only assume is a lewd joke, and I am carried away by the Kapsuk while the general shouts something after us, and the room of Kerz males laughs.
“Ignore them,” he says, as we stride away from the hall and into the darkness beyond in the corridors.
I’m half asleep, thinking he may have drugged me, and I can’t do anything other than put my arms around his neck to hang on.
I wake up in my bed, barely able to open my eyes. The absence of something awoke me, and I can barely open my eyelids to see the hulking form of the Kapsuk framed in the doorway of my room, leaving.
Sleep overtakes me.
CHAPTER9
Rysethk
Zethki is invigorated, moving with light feet and hitting harder than he usually does, so today’s physical training—the art ofkria’sk, or sword-fighting—is more straining than usual. Hiskrythis aflame, probably with lust, and he has a sense of victory and success.
I, on the other hand, am fatigued. While Zethki slept away his travel-lag, and gorged himself at the Feast of Appraisal, I did not do either.
