Between Frost and Fury

by Chani Lynn Feener

  “Fine. Whatever. But this whole thing is semantics,” she said. “Trystan is only using me to legally get the crown. Once he’s got it, there won’t be any need for me, and I certainly won’t have any real say in the goings-on here. I’m sorry, but if I was what you were relying on, you bet on the wrong horse.”

  Tilda frowned for a second, obviously trying to recall what a horse was before it hit her. “You weren’t here to see the lengths he’s gone to in order to make this happen.” She grabbed on to Delaney’s hand, shaking slightly. “Initially he planned on killing me as well, and Olena. With us out of the way, he could have taken Vakar.”

  “He’s avoiding resistance,” Delaney pointed out. “Say what you will about him, but he cares about his people, too. He thinks he can save lives this way.”

  “That’s—”

  The door opened and Tilda pulled back, quickly tucking herself into the other side of the couch.

  Trystan stopped, his hand still on the knob, glancing suspiciously between the two of them.

  “What?” Delaney flashed a fabricated grin, putting maximum effort into the illusion of not giving a shit. “Expected to see flames, didn’t you?”

  In retrospect, lighting a fire wouldn’t have been an entirely awful idea. It would have forced the guards at the door to come put it out, and the two of them might have been able to slip away. Of course, there would have then been the hundreds of other guards patrolling the castle to deal with.

  Half-baked schemes were nice for passing the time but awful for reality.

  Besides, it didn’t seem like Tilda would go for something like that anyway. She wasn’t exactly chained up in a dungeon right now. Seemed more like she was free to go about her business as usual, so long as she kept Kint guards around.

  Trystan’s expression tightened but he didn’t respond, turning to glare at the Basilissa instead. “I’m giving you five minutes.”

  Tilda stood, folding her hands in front of her, probably to hide the shaking that Delaney had caught. There was a single screen attached to the opposite wall, and she turned toward it, waiting.

  Trystan removed a square device from his back pocket and hit a few buttons.

  The screen flickered then filled with the image of a pale, exhausted-looking girl. Her inky black hair was limp around her face, and there were dirt smears under her eyes. The wall at her back was dark gray, and there was nothing to indicate where she was.

  “Olena.” Tilda inhaled sharply, scanning her daughter. The image only showed an inch or so past her shoulders, so there wasn’t much to see.

  Delaney was staring herself. She’d known Olena had been taken captive, but the girl before her looked nothing like the Lissa she recalled. It appeared as though she hadn’t slept in days.

  “This is how you take care of royal prisoners?” Tilda snapped, voicing Delaney’s thoughts. She glared at Trystan.

  “Mother.” Olena’s voice shook through the screen.

  “It’s going to be okay,” Tilda said, starting forward, only to stop abruptly when Trystan shook his head.

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he warned.

  “I have done everything you’ve asked.” She jabbed a finger at the screen. “And this is how you treat her?!”

  “As you can clearly see,” he said, “I’m standing right here, nowhere near where your daughter is currently being kept.”

  “You are not innocent in this, Zane Trystan,” she snarled.

  “I’m not claiming to be,” he stated. “Merely pointing out that once she was delivered to Carnage, she became my father’s concern. Not mine. Keep doing as you’re told, and I’ll try to petition for better treatment.”

  “Mother,” Olena repeated. She was scowling, and seemed impatient as ever. “Mother, I want to come home.”

  “You will,” Tilda assured her, clearly ignoring Trystan’s suggestion about promises. “Soon. Just do as they tell you, and we’ll put an end to this.”

  Olena glanced over the Basilissa’s shoulder, spotting Delaney for the first time. She frowned, then leaned closer to the camera as if to get a better view.

  “What is she doing there?” Her words were rushed, forced past her lips in a breathy burst. “Why is she there? This is her fault. It is. Trystan—” Frantically, she searched her side of the screen, but from where he stood she couldn’t see him. “She’s the one who tricked you! She made you look like a fool!”

  “Olena.” Tilda’s voice was pleading, but her daughter either didn’t pick up on it or didn’t care.

  “She should be in this hellhole, not me! This is what she deserves,” she insisted. “I did us both a favor, Trystan, but she … she deceived you. She’s the one who messed with your head!”

  Something caught Olena’s attention behind the camera where she was and she steeled herself indignantly. When she spoke next, it was obvious she was addressing whoever was there with her.

  “Put her here!” She pointed a finger at Delaney through the screen. “She’s the one who should be locked up! I can—”

  The screen went black, the only sound now the crackling of the fire at their backs and a slight hum coming from the device on the wall. Trystan hadn’t touched the smaller one in his hand, so he hadn’t been the one to end the connection.

  “What. The. Hell.” Delaney stared at Trystan, her shock no doubt painted across her face.

  Tilda dropped back down onto the couch.

  “Agreed,” Trystan said, catching her gaze and holding it. “I didn’t expect her to so quickly place all the blame on you. That was a miscalculation on my part.”

  “Seriously?” Delaney’s mouth dropped open. “She’s being tortured.”

  “Hardly,” he grunted. “She’s merely being kept in a room without a four-poster bed and silk sheets. I assure you, no one’s laid a hand on her. She’s being dramatic.”

  “You just got done telling Tilda you aren’t there,” she pointed out, “so how can you possibly know that for certain?”

  “Fine.” Trystan glowered. “As far as I know, orders were not to harm her. And besides, whatever is being done, did you miss the part where she offered you up in her stead? Trust me, she wouldn’t lose an ounce of sleep if you were the one being held in that room. That’s who you left me with.” He set a heated glare on the Basilissa. “That’s who my father and Magnus Ond attempted to tie me to.”

  “What did you do to the Basileus?” Delaney demanded.

  He tilted his head, eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly.

  “I assume you murdered him,” she continued, pressing her luck and not caring. He hadn’t wanted to tell her on the ship, but she wanted answers. “Did you try to blow him up, too?”

  If he was affected by her reference to his attempt on her own life, he didn’t show it.

  “What did you do? She’s giving up everything.” She glanced momentarily at Tilda, frowning. “So it had to be horrible. Whatever you did, it had to have been bad enough to get her to relent within a few weeks’ time.”

  “He was executed privately,” Trystan finally revealed, his words cutting across the room, “and quickly, under my father’s orders. I happened to be present, but no, I didn’t do the actual slaying.”

  Delaney opened her mouth but was swiftly cut off.

  “They’re ready for us in the ceremony room,” he said, giving Tilda his attention. “I trust what you just saw hasn’t dismayed you from continuing as planned?”

  Silently, Tilda stood and regally glided toward the door.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Where are we going?” Delaney asked a few minutes later.

  Five Tellers had fallen into step at their backs, herding in the Basilissa so that she was trapped between them. Not that she looked like she was even considering running.

  Reaching a point where the hallway branched off in two directions, Trystan stopped and faced Tilda, blatantly ignoring Delaney’s question.

  “The Tellers will take you to the main room while I prepare Dela
ney for the ceremony. Once this is finished, you’ll get to see your daughter again. I might not be there to watch you myself”—he took a threatening step closer, his Tellers doing the same to cage Tilda in even more—“but remember the agreement.”

  “I’ve given my word,” she stated tersely. Trystan flicked his fingers to the left, indicating the corridor, and five Tellers began moving in that direction, forcing Tilda into motion. She glared over her shoulder at Trystan for a moment before gliding smoothly forward.

  Without waiting for them to reach the end of the hall, Trystan turned and led Delaney down the original path.

  Questions burned the back of her throat, but she was afraid to ask them. The answers would no doubt be even more terrifying than the unknown, and she wasn’t sure she was prepared to hear them just yet. She was putting on a brave front because she had to—it was the only way she knew to get through this—but on the inside she was shaking.

  Trystan pulled a clear square device from his back pocket and hit a button. A door at the end of the hall emitted a sharp click before it opened on its own.

  The room beyond was large, and decorated in various shades of green and gold. There was a main sitting area, with three other rooms branching off. A wall of windows to her left showcased a darkening turquoise sky, and there was a small circular table next to it.

  “This isn’t Olena’s room.” That was where Delaney had spent most of her time before, and she’d sort of assumed that was where she’d be sleeping now.

  “No, because you aren’t Olena. I had this room converted.”

  “I don’t see anything special here,” she said.

  “The changes aren’t visible. I recalled the way you were constantly slipping out of your room the last time you were here. That’s how we met in the library, wasn’t it? I doubt you were meant to be there.”

  No, she definitely hadn’t been. Ruckus had left Pettus on the door, and she’d given the poor guy the slip.

  Trystan motioned toward the electrical panel to the right of the door. “This emits a force field, preventing anyone with human DNA from exiting the room without first typing a passcode. It also prevents anyone without specific DNA from entering. You’ll be much safer here. No one can get in aside from Sanzie and me.”

  She crossed her arms, glaring. “What if there’s a fire? Or the building starts to collapse?”

  “Trust that I’ll come retrieve you,” he said absently, moving toward the bedroom. The motion-censored lights flicked on to bathe him in a warm glow, and standing there beneath it, he could easily be mistaken for Adonis.

  Or Lucifer.

  She heard the slide of the zipper on his shirt before she registered what he was doing, and her cheeks stained red.

  “I had your clothes brought here,” he told her, removing his shirt completely and tossing it carelessly onto the olive-green bedspread.

  “Olena’s clothes,” she said, regretting that her tone lacked the firmness it should have had. His half-naked state was putting her on edge, and when he reached for the top of his pants, she took a step in retreat.

  “Your clothes. I had new ones made for you.”

  Trystan had gotten her a new wardrobe? That was … unsettling.

  He turned around, his bare chest suddenly in view. He was just as fit as Ruckus, with well-defined muscles he clearly used. His torso was a little longer, tapering down to narrow hips. There was only one thing wrong with the perfect image: a small scar the size of a nickel right beneath his right pectoral.

  “That’s where I took the zee,” Trystan said, realizing what she was staring at. “For you.”

  He’d saved her life that day. She wasn’t complaining about that, but she didn’t want to feel like she owed him something. He’d just uprooted her from her home, on purpose. Surely he couldn’t imagine that was a fair trade for what he’d done during the Uprising.

  “I thought with your advancements in medicine you could avoid scars?”

  “It took too long to get me to the medical wing,” he said with a shrug, continuing to unfasten his pants.

  Delaney spun around. She moved closer to the window, pretending to take interest in the darkening sky.

  All it did, however, was let a sadness sweep over her, a feeling she’d been fighting against since waking up on the ship. Thoughts of Ruckus assaulted her, and she caught her breath and counted to ten in a poor attempt to regain control. If she let him in now, she’d never recover, and she needed to stay on her toes with Trystan so near.

  “Okay.” Delaney took a deep breath, noticing from the corner of her eye that Trystan was busy putting on a different pair of pants. “So, how’d you get the Vakar to get along with the Kints in this place?”

  “I asked them nicely,” he said sarcastically. Then: “The same way I get your government to consistently do what I say. Threats. Kint tech is better than Vakar, as it is Earth’s. Our advanced technology is the only thing keeping your increased numbers from standing a chance against us. If we chose to invade, you’d hold your ground for a while, but ultimately our weapons would cut down legions of your Tellers, whereas you’d only manage to take out a few of ours.”

  “Soldiers,” she corrected, still not risking a full glance in his direction. “We call them soldiers.”

  “Same thing.”

  She jumped when the sound of his voice came from directly behind her, and she spun around to face him. It was at least a relief to find he was fully clothed again.

  “People will be watching, Delaney,” he reminded. “You can’t tremble in fear every time I’m near. This ceremony is important.”

  “It’s not fear, asshole.” She stepped around him so she had more space. “I’m pissed off.”

  “Understood.” He canted his head. “But that changes nothing. This ceremony—”

  “All your stupid alien ceremonies are important,” she snapped.

  “This would be so much easier if you just listened and did what you were told.” His mouth thinned. “There’s no speech, but you must clearly agree to everything the Illust asks. Simple, even more so than the last ceremony you took part in.”

  “Oh?” She crossed her arms and glared pointedly at the spot where his scar was hidden by his shirt. “You mean the one where you got shot?”

  “You don’t need to make excuses to look at my chest.” He gave her that half smirk, the one that reminded her of a snake trying to beguile a mouse.

  “Nice try,” she drawled, feeling her cheeks heat despite her flippant tone.

  Trystan sighed, losing some of that hard edge. “I’ve already taken a zee for you once. I protected you then; I’ll do so again.”

  “Or maybe you’ve realized the error of your ways.” Even as she said it, she knew she didn’t believe it. Her eyes trailed back down to the scar. They hadn’t gotten him medical help soon enough to prevent it from forming, and that was also because he’d been trying to keep her safe. Even after he’d been shot, he’d refused to move until Ruckus had confirmed the threat was over. He’d settled himself over Delaney like a shield, already prepared to take more bullets for her.

  “I wouldn’t need protecting if you hadn’t brought me here,” she pointed out before he could say anything. “You do know that, right?”

  “Of course,” he replied softly.

  “If anything happens to me during this ceremony, Trystan—”

  “Nothing will.”

  She blew out a breath, crossing her arms protectively. “This doesn’t mean I’m conceding.”

  No, all it meant was that she knew how to pick her battles. Ruckus needed more time to get here, and even though taking part in the last ceremony had clearly been a massive mistake, she couldn’t see a way out of this one.

  The blue of Trystan’s eyes darkened, but he merely motioned at her. “You need to change. You can’t very well attend this wearing that.”

  “You are such a snob.”

  “I’ve laid out what you’re to wear.” He motioned toward the bedroom, ig
noring her comment. “I trust you can manage yourself?”

  “How do you think these clothes got on?” It was the wrong thing to say, made even more obvious by the way his body tightened. She moved past him and made her way toward the bedroom, silently cursing herself.

  “Delaney,” he said, stopping her right before she made it to the open door.

  She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, so she kept staring straight ahead. Unfortunately that was where the king-sized bed was.

  “If you don’t come out within ten minutes, I’m coming in.”

  “I hate you.” She slammed the bedroom door behind her. It didn’t take long to figure out there was no lock, and she cursed, giving him the finger through the wood. Sure, he couldn’t see the small act of defiance, but it made her feel better.

  Until she spotted the dress he’d hung over the floor-length mirror. She was tempted to tear the thing to shreds, but then what?

  She pulled the flimsy material off the mirror. After dropping it onto the bed, she made quick work of her shirt and shorts. Stepping into the dress, she turned to check out her reflection.

  When Trystan had said he’d gotten her new clothes, she’d hoped they’d be a bit less revealing than Olena’s or Tilda’s. Of course that’d been wishful thinking on her part. The dress was gold and made of thousands of tiny beads. The neckline was low, a sharp V that dipped so far down, it exposed the space between her breasts. The straps were about an inch thick. The front only went halfway down her thighs, while the material in the back touched behind her knees. It was surprisingly heavy, and when she reached for the zipper in the back, she cursed again.

  She could only get it an inch of the way up on her own, which meant—

  As if reading her mind, Trystan chose that moment to knock. He entered without waiting, easing the door open in a purposefully taunting manner. When he spotted her, something unnerving flashed in his blue-and-crimson eyes, and her gaze immediately shifted to the only exit.

  He shut the door and came forward, covering the hand she had on the zipper with his own. She let go and he slowly slid the zipper up, catching her gaze in the mirror, holding it unblinkingly. He stepped back and went to the nightstand once it was done, and she let out a shaky breath.