Fear showed in Nefron’s eyes for a split second, then it was washed away by anger and hatred. She began to struggle, to pry at the fingers entangled in her glossy black locks.
Krysty’s backhand took Nefron high on a contoured cheekbone, just under her mascaraed right eye. She released her grip on her hair at the same time, and the girl staggered backward, tripped over the fallen table and went down with her long legs sprawled awkwardly.
Krysty watched her dazedly grope around on the floor, blood streaking her chin in a thin red line. Her eyes were unfocused, but when they fixed on Krysty, the hot sheen of fury and arrogance blazed in them.
“The only reason I don’t break your neck,” Krysty said unemotionally, “is that you can be of use to me.”
Nefron hiked herself up to a sitting position and spit blood on the polished floor.
“But if you refuse to be of use to me,” the Titian-haired woman continued, “then I’ll chill you here and now. On the spot. Gladly.”
Nefron bared red-filmed teeth in a ferocious grin. “Mildred got an ankh to you after all.”
Krysty tapped the collar at her throat with a finger. “And here it will stay. I know what you and your father have been doing to me for the last few days. I don’t think I need to let you know how little I care for it.”
“May I get up?”
“No.”
“Are you not interested in why we did this to you?”
Krysty’s eyes glowed brilliantly with an almost insane fury. But when she spoke, her voice was pitched low and steady. “I know why. Hatred. I picked up that much and sensed the rot in your souls. You use love as a control mechanism, to further the hatred that motivates you.”
“Pharaoh truly loves you, Krysty,” Nefron said quietly.
A flicker of uncertainty dimmed the blaze of rage in her eyes for a microsecond, but it passed. “He loved the idea of me, the concept of me. His lover, his mother, his whimpering, willing sex slave all in one package. Both you and Akhnaton have set yourselves above humanity and you toy with our most primal impulses to keep us under your control. You stimulate certain parts of the brain in certain ways and flood the nervous system with endorphins. The critical, reasoning parts of the brain move slowly. Erotic thoughts and a fixation on physical pleasures dominate.”
Nefron said nothing, voiced no denials or questions.
“Your father learned how to do this during his upbringing,” Krysty continued. “It was easier than outright mind-control because he can arrange for the endorphins to be subject to a feedback loop. If anybody gets out of line and starts entertaining independent thought, he forces the release of more endorphins.”
Krysty’s lips curved in a sneering half smile. “He was bred to be a superhuman, to summon the future, and he wasted all his powers on seeking the worship of puppets. He can’t love his puppets—he can only love pulling their strings.”
Nefron chuckled humorlessly. Krysty noted that blood had ceased flowing from her lip and the laceration had closed up. “I won’t presume to debate you, since your guesses are more on target than off. However, if you value the lives of your friends, you’ll at least pretend the strings are still attached to you and go through with the marriage ceremony.”
Krysty regarded her silently for a moment. “Tell me why I should.”
“Will you let me get up?”
Krysty inclined her head in a short nod. “You make a move I don’t care for or even say something that rubs me the wrong way, and you’ll die.”
Carefully, with deliberate, slow caution, Nefron climbed to her feet, smoothing her tunic. Clearly, coldly, she declared, “Mildred is imprisoned. Only I know where she is, only I can save her life. And to employ your quaint puppet analogy, Jak dances to every one of my string tugs. As for the others, I can arrange to have their lives snuffed out in the blink of an eye. Even if you kill me, they will still die. All of them.”
“And if I play along with this sick marriage farce, then what?”