And in this truth there is an opportunity.
The world spins around me, the angles and the intrigue connecting and evaporating in my mind. There is a human game, adopted all over the systems that have contact, called chess. I’m a good player. It’s quite ingenious, and Zethki is bad at it as he’s often bad at anything but smashing things and violence. I must play this game now, on this very real chessboard, with very real pieces. Anya is my queen.
I opt for a gambit, and the cold fingers of fear—a feeling I haven’t felt since I was child and it was beaten and terrorized out of me—sprout within my chest. I clutch the weapon, I make myself ready to change course at any moment, playing out all the possibilities before I speak, prepared for them all.
I narrow my eyes. “Zethki, cousin. Speak the truth to me now. You believe that this weak human steals yourkryth? That she will weaken yourza’kryuk?”
I look in the direction of Anya, and my blood boils.
Zethki’s hand shoots to my throat and he grips me fiercely enough to choke me. She has certainly not stolen hiskryth; if anything she has made it stronger, like she has mine. But I expected this, this is the gambit.
Zethki squeezes, and I stare back at him. If he keeps going, I will kill him. He knows that I’m capable, because Zethki is mad and arrogant, but he’s no fool. Perhaps he feels his own power has grown, perhaps because he feels jealousy and love, he believes that he can now overpower me. But he doesn’t know that I’m empowered by the same thing—the same woman—as he is.
“Listen to me, cousin,” he seethes. “I’m Krezat of the Kirigok. You will tell those worthless, filthy beasts that they will not have my Za’aka, and you will make them believe what I have said here.” He squeezes harder, my eyes water and pain surfaces in my chest. The desire to slit his throat is burning inside of me, but I suppress it with all my might. This may go the way I want it to; I must play the long game.
No matter how I feel in this moment.
Zethki puts his face close to mine, and the madness he’s so infamous for returns to his voice. “You will tell those remorseless shit-eating fucks that I’m saving them from thiskay’rak, thiskryth-stealing bitch, that onlyIam strong enough to withstand infection by her poisonous weakness. You will tell them that I do this for them, because they are weak and pathetic, and I’m Krezat.” He breathes into my ear viciously. “And you willmake them believe it. Or I will find within myself the strength to snap your neck and suck yourkrythdry.”
He almost loses control here, and I feel the twist of his hand as he begins to twist my neck. I don’t know if he intends to actually do it, if he has lost himself, but instinct reacts in me before I can control it myself, and my hand flies to his forearm and I plunge my thumb into his tendons and flesh, springing his fingers open enough that he releases my neck.
We are both bright yellow and glowing, ourkrythas alive as if we are on a real battlefield in a real war. My blood is filled with the most potentkrythI have ever had, and for a moment I’m sure we are going to shred each other, that I will be adding hiskrythto what I already possess in moments. I can almost taste it.
I wrench his arm and bare my teeth, a growl coming from deep inside me, my vision bright and intense as my instinct to kill seizes me. Zethki’s claws scrape my skin and the pain only energizes me.
We growl at each other, Zethki glowing brightly, his face wild.
“Do not threaten me, cousin,” I hiss. “I will deliver your message to yourza’kryuk.” I slash his forearm. “But don’t bury your blade in your own gut, you fucking shit-for-brains.”
“I’m Krezat and I will do what I like—”
It’s my turn to grab him by the throat. “You are Krezat, Zethki. But you are Krezat because yourza’kryukbelieve you are strong. And now they will think you are weak, unless your Kapsuk, who is the strongest Kerz in yourza’kryuk, tells them you are not. So don’t shit in your own mouth.”
I could never have played this gambit with Zethki of old. He would have lost control, and murdered me. Or tried.
But this Zethki values something above his own power now. I almost feel sorry for him, for I know this debilitating weakness all too well. He cannot bring himself to share his bride; he cannot fight against her power.
He drops his hands, turns to the table, knocks all of the glasses and bottles from it, and, still not satisfied, he overturns the table. He roars.
The noise awakens Anya, who I see rise in the corner of my eye. She sits, the red satin clutched to her breast, her eyes wild with fear. I glance at her, let relief that she is indeed unharmed fill my veins. I try to convey something to her—to not be afraid, that I will protect her—but it’s dangerous and if I have been successful, I have erased her memory of us, of the many times I have lost myself and given mykrythto her, of the secret that I know to be true: that she will bear my child, not Zethki’s.
“Iwill breed her when the comet passes,” Zethki hisses, after looking over at her. He points a clawed finger at me. “She will not be touched by theza’kryuk. She will bearmyseed. And you will make them understand. Or I will slash your throat and burn down this entire world.”
He isn’t feigning it, this desire. It’s not an empty threat, nor does Zethki understand that he can’t succeed. For once, he’s not exaggerating his power, his murderous rage, his intentions. He believes what he’s saying.
But I have to hide the sheer joy that his words brought me—when the comet passes.I bury it deep, struggling. It is like a buoy, refusing to sink.
He hasn’t actually mated with her yet.
“She hasn’t made you weak,” I spit at him. It’s meant to bring out Zethki’s vanity, to iron his ego out.
He glares at me. “No,” he hisses back. “She has made me strong. And you would do well to remember that.” He looks into the room, where Anya is still sitting, her face frozen in terror. I follow his gaze, keeping my face set like stone.
Anya’s lips part. She is far away, so Zethki would not notice, but I know that her eyes are on me. There is something still inside her mind, some memory, and she’s sending it to me, pleading with me.
At least, I believe this. I want to believe it.
“Now go, Kapsuk. Do your duty.” Zethki is walking toward her, hiskrythwild and yellow-gold, more vibrant than I have ever seen it. I fight my urge to slaughter him.
