“But the humans in this city are augmented to see nothing but…”
Krush casts his tired silver gaze over at me. “Can you stop arguing with me for two seconds?”
“Sure.”
I drink my wine and I listen to him, well, whine.
“You know, I envy Rath K’zar. The traitor soaked up all my father’s admiration when he was alive, and then betrayed me the moment he was dead. He is living some idyllic life in the wilds beyond the walls with his human fuck slave, and I must attempt to gather the pieces of what he shattered. I do not think it is possible to hate someone more than I hate him.”
Does it even occur to Krush that as one of the oppressed classes of people, I might not care for listening to him complain about a life which has been privileged from the beginning? No. No, it does not.
“You are quiet, human.”
“You asked me to be.”
“True. You can be maddening without trying to be.”
“I think you’re just mad, so everybody makes you mad.”
“Stop being wise, human.”
“Sorry.”
I am not sorry. I am tired of his shit, and I can see an opportunity for escape. Actually, I can see about a dozen avenues for escape. This place is riddled with scum holes. Some of them aren’t even well hidden. If Krush turns his back on me, I could be out of here in a matter of seconds.
We sit longer and Krush drinks more. I let my legs dangle, my biological one, and the one I made with the materials Krush provided. This leg is the one kindness he has shown me that did not have some ulterior motive. Krush is not a completely bad guy, but he is not a good guy. And he is definitely not a good king.
Three, four, five, six drinks later… it takes a lot to make a korabi properly drunk, but Krush is working on it. The more he drinks, the more maudlin he becomes. It would be adorable if he weren’t the king of this entire city. Every oppressed, augmented, dead-behind-the-eyes human here is enslaved by him.
Once I thought I was falling for him. Now I think I might hate him. It’s easy to forget what he is responsible for when I am wrapped in his arms, orgasming without end. Here, in the middle of Megaris, I can’t forget a thing.
“I need to unload this liquid so I can reload this other liquid,” he drawls, pushing off the barstool. He leaves me where I am, apparently unconcerned with the possibility of my escape.
I make a run for the nearest scum hole, feeling an uncomfortable and illogical gnawing of guilt in my gut. There's nothing wrong with fleeing a tyrannical king. It’s what I should do. It might even be what I am programmed to do, if you consider repetitive pain and fear at the hands of korabi a kind of programming.
There is something wrong with leaving a drunk mate behind, though.
Krush somehow manages to occupy both categories at the same time. He has messed with my head. I don't know if he meant to. I think it’s just how and who he is. A massive, masculine, entirely spoiled royal who is yet to fully understand how to rule.
Nine
Krush
She’s gone.
I knew she would be. I admit I feel a slight pang when I see that her stool is actually empty. There was a small part of me that thought she might stay, even with the escape all but painted with arrows pointing to it. If this had been a test, she would have failed. But it wasn’t a test, not as much as it was an eventuality.
We korabi have a saying. If you love something, let it go. If it doesn’t come back, chase it down and chain it.
That is precisely what I intend to do.
The slurring and the acting were difficult. Jax is not stupid. Yes, I know her name. Of course I know her name. It plays through my mind multiple times a day. It has not been pleasant letting her think that I do not care about her, but there is more at play here. I am a king with a court of spies, and until I can test the loyalty of every one of them, she and I are in danger.
“Do we have her on surveillance, Wreck?”
“Not yet, sire. We had her as she was leaving the bar, then we lost her two minutes later. Seems like she knows Megaris better than we do. Rats always know the sewers better than the architect,” Wreck says. “We may have lost her.”
“I don’t think so. I think she’ll resurface trying to escape. And don’t call her a rat.”
“Sorry, sire. Wait. Sire. I have her. The tracking chip in her limb has activated.”
“Good,” I say. “Keep a close eye on her. Don’t let anything happen to her. Deactivate drones if you have to, run patrols the other way. She’s suffered enough thanks to us.”