Then he closes his hand around the vial, nodding solemnly. “Can you do this?” he asks. His emotions are running high, his English is terribly accented, almost unintelligible.
“I’m scared,” I tell him honestly, covering his fist with my hand. “But I can do it. I can do it for you.”
We stand like this for a few moments. I don’t breathe. It seems like the universe will rise up and swallow me whole, in darkness and emptiness, if I let go of him. I can’t move, or speak. Or pull away from him, even though he doesn’t hold me here. My hand is on his and it feels like the only thing between me and an abyss.
He takes my hand and moves it to his chest, slicing the buttons of his robe away with the sharp claw of his thumb. He presses my hand to hiskrythwhere it’s strongest, over his heart, the large and pulsing swath of yellow that seems to pour from his soul. I feel it—I feelsomething,the way I have felt when he has touched me and calmed me.
“Kryth’a sar slorim,”he says, in a low voice. And before I can answer him, he adds in a stern and commanding voice that I can do nothing but obey, “Go.”
I do, and he waits by the door as I open it, his hand on the edge, ready to pull it closed once he confirms that Zethki doesn’t know I have left.
Zethki sleeps on the bed, dead to the world. I could have slept like that, too, if I hadn’t been so driven to escape, so I believe his slumber is real. I look back at Rys in the shadows, and nod.
He pulls the door closed behind him, and when I cannot see him anymore, I feel like a pit has opened inside of me and I’m a black hole that will suck everything within my reach into interminable emptiness.
“Take a bath,” I say softly, repeating Rys’ instructions. “Let him see that you have taken it. Please him a few more times. And wait for me.”
CHAPTER22
Rysethk
“Theza’kryukgrow restless,” I tell Zethki solemnly, looking at him with an intensity that I fear will give away my plans, my heart, my game. Controlling the rage that burns inside of me, the liquid heat of mykryth, is no small task. And Anya is just ten paces away, lying in his bed, limp and seemingly lifeless.
Zethki’s chambers smell of sex: sweat, his seed, her sweet juices. Thehyka’argiggle in clusters everywhere they go, whispering about the nearly constant lovemaking that Zethki inflicts upon my Anya even as he waits for the comet to pass to breed her. At times I’m certain I will lose control, because jealousy is a foreign sensation and one I have never fought against before.
Zethki is drained. He chugs a vessel of water and gasps for air as he finishes. His exhaustion is one of contentment, and he’s a changed Kerz: his impish evil seems to have poured from his cock and now he’s a madman of a different type.
“The raid to Mraka must take place, Zethki, sooner rather than later,” I continue, when he says nothing. “Your enemies grow bold as you…”
I let him finish my sentence for himself. His eyes grow angry.
His delay in departing is only serving my purposes, but Zethki will suspect something amiss if I don’t pester him. It’s what I would do if the circumstances were what I want Zethki to believe that they are: he has been captured by a human woman, and now he has broken his code of conduct and the traditions of the Kerz to keep her for himself, showing weakness.
Kerz must never show weakness.
He knows this, somewhere inside. I can see that he’s as troubled by his lack of control as I am. I almost feel sorry for him, because I know what it’s like to burn for Anya Mann, to be unable to think of anything but her.
But Anya is mine. And so my pity ends with my fierce need.
“The comet remains in our sights, and it will for weeks,” I continue. “You—”
“Yes, yes, all right!” Zethki shouts, tossing the jug to the wall and shattering it. “Tell those insolent, worthless, grubbingza’kryukthat we depart before the sun hides. And leave me.” He glares at me, furious about something only I can understand. “Leave me, cousin, and don’t speak again until I command you to.”
I bow lightly, which infuriates him. If he strikes me, I fear I will kill him here, so I close my eyes and think of Anya, think of our future, think of what I want, so that it’s clear in my mind and I can channel all of the ragingkrythinside of me to that goal.
“Go!” Zethki shouts.
I leave, casting an eye in the direction of Anya’s limp figure. Her eyes are open, and I see only a glimpse of them as I leave, before she closes them slowly and deliberately. It’s her final message to me: she’s still mine, awake and listening, waiting for my plan to save her.
Gods be willing that it does.
CHAPTER23
Anya
Zethki is gone, and with him theza’kryuk. When he woke me, shaking my shoulder gently, to tell me he was leaving, he pulled me close to his chest and I cried. I wasn’t crying for him, but he did not know this. He spoke to me in Kerz, telling me hiskrythis mine and much more, but the words meant nothing to me. I could only think of Rys.
I have moved back to my own quarters. I did so brazenly, striding down the corridors and throwing open the door, prepared to tell Trasmea where to park it when she expressed her shock and horror. But Trasmea was not even fazed by this move; in fact, it seemed to be expected.
