I managed to procure some warmer clothes, at least.
But I don’t know what to expect when they return. Trasmea has been a lot more forthcoming with information now that she seems satisfied that I will remain here no matter what she tells me. She’s not wrong about that. What else could I do?
They have gone, according to Trasmea, to “straighten out some business.”
I gather that this is much like the business that they straightened out with my father. I’m not sure I even want to know the details. All I can hope for is that Rys knows what he’s doing, and that he will have straightened outthisbusiness—our business, and Zethki—by the time he returns.
I like to go to the glass bridge over the gorge to the dungeon and sit looking out at the ocean and the swatch of planet that moves slowly across the sky of this moon, for hours at a time. I don’t dare go into the building, or down to the pool—for some reason, I feel a pang of profound sadness even thinking about it, like I have lost something.
It doesn’t matter, anyway: a stern set of Kerz guards follows me around everywhere. Trasmea says that Zethki ordered them before he left. I’m free to move about in a warren of rooms surrounding my own quarters, but when I leave by any of the passages that lead to other parts of the immense fortress, there are always two guards who silently follow me wherever I go.
I stare out at the inky blue beyond the planet. The sun is ‘setting,’ the sky getting dark as the moon turns its face away from it. Some nights are darker than others, when the moon is on the far side of the planet. It’s odd, living on a moon, experiencing the moon cycles as a traveler on the moon and not the planet.
I’m thinking about this new life I have here, and how much of it’s very beautiful, when I see the ship cross the sky like a meteor. It’s moving fast, and crosses around for another orbit. It could be any ship, any satellite, and yet I know that it’s not.
My entire body fills with the ice-cold electricity of adrenaline, and even my hands shake.
This is it. They are home. And somehow I know that my entire future will be decided by whatever has happened while they were gone, and by whoever steps off that ship.
I want to stand up and return to the fortress. I don’t know how long they will be in arriving, or where they even arrive—here, or at some port far away. They could come in minutes, or hours, or even days. I’m cold, and I would rather be in my bed right now, or a hot bath, but there is nothing I can do to will myself from where I sit.
Because everything will change, and if it’s not the change I want, I don’t want to leave this moment, ever.
CHAPTER24
Rysethk
Zethki’s father, my uncle, and now again the Krezat of the Kirigok clan, awaits us at the landing site. Ukryzethk is an imposing and dangerous man even at his age, and he’s no fool. The most crucial moment of this saga is about to unfold: I must convince him that the version of events I’m going to tell him is true. And then I must hope for his rational decision, should he believe it.
I doubt that he will be racked with grief by Zethki’s death, or even surprised by it. Zethki has always been a Kerz who takes extraordinary risks and flirts with danger, though he did not have the commensuratekrythto back up his gambles. Zethki knew this, and Ukryzethk has always known this. But he entrusted me with the protection of his son, and I have failed him, if he believes the story we will tell him.
The truth is more complicated. The truth is that hisza’kryukmutinied, cleverly and carefully, but mutinied all the same. Zethki began a battle with the Mraka, and somewhere in that lethal battle, he was killed.
I did not do it. The weapon used was a Mrakan knife. But thekrythof Orkrak is stronger, so strong that he cannot hide it if his blood is up at all. While perhaps if he had slaughtered every Mrakan present himself, he would have this drastic increase in power—he did not. I know this because I killed Mrakans myself, because thekrythof almost all theza’kryukthat went with us is a little stronger as well.
All theza’kryukknow that it was Orkrak who killed Zethki. Kerz don’t speak of such things: Kerz are creatures of action and not words. I know that they feel the killing was justified, because they say nothing.
I know, also, that they don’t wish to take over the Krezat themselves, because they didn’t killmeduring the journey home.
Or try. I stayed awake with a knife in my fist anyway. Nothing is truly decided until the true Krezat decides it, and so here we are.
I disembark last, and the Krezat’s eyes are on me immediately; he has been staring at the hatchway without looking at the rest of theza’kryuk, because I’m the only one he cares about.
“Uncle, Krezat,” I say, placing my fist against my chest. “You have received our message.”
His eyes travel over mykryth. The evidence is enough to ensure that he knows I did not kill Zethki myself; if I had absorbed Zethki’s considerable power, I would be a very different man.
His eyes meet mine.
“How did this happen?” he demands dryly.
“My Krezat, I have failed you. I accept your punishment.”
This is the standard response to an event of this kind.
He snorts and turns, jerking his head to indicate that I should follow him. We walk away from the others, toward a dark pathway through the trees.
“You and I both know that my son was not long for this world, Rysethk. I’m no fool. But I’m old. I don’t wish to be Krezat.” He stops, and turns toward me. “You are a great warrior. I have loved you like my son since your father died. I did not make you Krezat, because you are aki-zayarat.”
