But I allow my stare to wander, if only for a brief moment. They will see this, mistake it for a secret or a weakness, assume that something is being hidden from them. And then all I must do is slip the truth I want them to believe to oneza’kryuk, a single pollinator of their field of raw hatred and ambition.
I leave, and no one impedes me. But the murmurs of disgruntlement can be heard as the door closes behind me.
* * *
It’s Orkrak, a middlingza’kryukwho prefers to keep his head down and follow orders, who approaches me. I’m in the swimming pool, turning lap after lap, an activity I don’t ordinarily engage in, a place I’m not usually to be found in. I left a trail of bread crumbs that would lead an interestedza’kryukto me, but give him the impression that I did not actually wish to be found.
So much the better for my lies to appear real.
I see him as he approaches and stands near the wall, but I continue to swim. I’m a strong swimmer, and in truth the exercise does me good, draining my raging anger to a manageable level. When I think of Anya in the arms of Zethki, beneath his body, his seed pouring into her—however uselessly—I have an urge to kill. The exercise helps subdue this rage, if only enough to prevent me from going on a rampage.
I turn on my back and kick hard, propelling myself across the length of the pool with this single movement, staring at Orkrak as I do, frowning.
I return, gliding on my stomach, propelled by a single stroke.
I stand up and glare at him. “Who told you I was here?” I bark.
“Eyes and ears,” Orkrak says stiffly. I lift a leg and step from the water onto the side of the pool, and not without the intention of demonstrating my strength. Any Kerz could do it, but none could do it as easily as I do.
He extends a hand with my robe clutched in it, as I swim naked. I take my time putting it on, shaking water from my skin. “You want something, Orkrak,” I growl. “Tell me what it is.”
“Kapsuk,” he whispers, stepping toward me. “It’s known among theza’kryukthat you are a wise Kerz, the hand of the Krezat, yes, but a Kerz of great intelligence.”
I glare at him and put my robe on, buttoning slowly.
“There is a discontentment among theza’kryuk…” he says, shifting his eyes around. “You are reasonable, Kapsuk, you must realize that we have been promised the breeding of the Za’aka.”
“This is a fact, Orkrak, and so it requires no reason to understand it,” I growl. Then I seize his throat, my claws extended. “Reason is something required in order to understand your implications. Yes?”
Orkrak was expecting this, and I commend his bravery for coming to me anyway. It bodes well for these ostensible mutineers.
“Kapsuk. You understand my implication perfectly,” he says. He doesn’t move to take my hand from his throat. Perhaps he knows there is little point: I have killed many Kerz and consumed muchkryth, and his resistance would only serve to unite his moderatekrythwith my own.
I tip my head.
“If theza’kryukare not managed, Kapsuk, they shall rebel. This too is a fact, a known fact of all Kerz.”
I growl. If Orkrak knew me any better, he might have heard the satisfaction in it: he is doing exactly what I wanted one of them to do. I couldn’t have written this scene of intrigue myself and had better results.
“…so you must understand, Kapsuk, I come only to preserve the order of things. I know that you are loyal to Krezat Kirigok, that you wish to preserve this order, and that you follow the orders of the Krezat in your—”
I squeeze his throat and growl. “Speak your purpose, imbecile,” I tell him. I’m quite pleased, inside. As pleased as I can be when I’m filled with such jealousy and rage, such longing to protect my Anya, to rescue her from Zethki.
“You must tell me the reason for this dishonor to theza’kryuk, my Kapsuk,” Orkrak squeaks.
I hold him for a few moments, letting him stew in his fear. Then I release his throat, my fist springing open like a trap. I leave my fingers close to his neck, ready to spring closed. I attempt to appear pensive, divided.
“You know that the…” Orkrak begins, but trails off.
A perfect balance: he must believe that I’m loyal to Zethki but troubled. That I understand theza’kryuk, and the need to manage them, but believe that I’m torn between the forces of my familial loyalty and my honor as Kapsuk, and the political truth that cannot be denied.
He must report all of this to theza’kryuk. For this coup must be planned and executed without my participation, play out in such a way that I myself appear trapped at the denouement, forced to accept a newly established reality after the fact.
“The Krezat,” I say slowly, “reports that the Za’aka Anya Mann is too weak to withstand the breeding ceremony.” I glare at him. I want him to believe that I’m struggling with my loyalty and duty only. Nothing else.
I must rely now on Orkrak’s ability to carry this rumor home.
He holds up his hands, a gesture of submission, to indicate that he’s a supplicant. This is a serious gesture, one that borders on treason as he delivers it to me, his Kapsuk, and not his Krezat. He is choosing his words carefully, and his hand trembles as he speaks.
