Between Frost and Fury

by Chani Lynn Feener

  He grinned and then reached across the small table, lifting the lid off the plate nearest her. A far too confident look crossed his face.

  There was a cheeseburger and fries on her plate, and a glance over when he took the lid off his own lunch showed he had the same. She inspected the dark liquid in the two glasses, a wave of déjà vu hitting her.

  “Clever.” It was out before she could stop it.

  “You remember.”

  “It was probably the most nerve-racking meal of my entire life,” she said. “I’ll never forget it. Don’t take that as a compliment. It wasn’t one. I was terrified and confused and not entirely convinced you weren’t going to stab me sometime during the meal.”

  “The thought only crossed my mind for a second or two,” he told her, chuckling darkly when she blanched a little. “That was then, Delaney. Calm down—you’ve got nothing to fear now.”

  “That’s a lie,” she said. “You promised you wouldn’t do that.”

  “Is it?”

  She grunted.

  “You are impossible to please, Delaney Grace.”

  “Nope.” She snatched her own glass from the table, needing something to distract herself with. “Pretty easy to, actually. Just send me home, never bother me again, and I’ll be pleased as punch. Pinky promise.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Setting aside the fact that I only partially understood the meaning of all that—what do punches and fingers have to do with anything?—I thought I made myself clear. You aren’t going back to Earth, period, so put those hopes aside.”

  Showed what he knew. Ruckus was coming and he was going to get her out of this mess.

  Trystan curled his fingers at the glass she was holding, and without a word she handed it over. His thumb brushed against her knuckles in the process, and she ended up pulling back too quickly. The glimmer in his eyes proved he’d noticed her reaction, but he sipped her drink without saying anything and then held it back out to her.

  Delaney hesitated, and then felt stupid for doing so. It wasn’t like they’d never touched before. Steeling herself against it, she carefully took the glass back, trying to avoid skin-to-skin contact without making it obvious she was doing so.

  She failed, but at least she’d tried.

  “Bergozy.” She’d expected as much, yet she still enjoyed the burst of grapefruit and lemon flavors when she finally drank.

  “Just like before,” he said with a smirk, then leaned closer across the table. “And, if you’re good, I’ve even got dessert.”

  “That’s just evil.” If that was also the same, which she was sure it was, that meant he’d gotten her pumpkin pie, her favorite. For some reason, it was even better on this planet than it was back home, so there was no way she was giving up a chance to eat some.

  “You’re lucky I really like that pie,” she told him, shifting in her seat.

  Fortunately, he got the hint, and talking ceased. Without having to lift so much as a finger, the stage began to buzz, a series of dim lights flicking across the floor. They formed patterns, and then suddenly the walls boxing in the stage changed, taking on the appearance of mountains. It was like actually being there.

  Before she could ask Trystan any questions about how they did it, the scene zoomed in on a cabin tucked against the side of one of the mountains. Two men stepped out and began talking.

  For the next two hours she was completely engrossed in the movie, so much so, she hardly noticed Trystan’s constant stares.

  It was toward the end, when one of the hover cars—aliens had perfected the flying car—flipped and headed straight at them that she remembered he was sitting next to her. Mostly because her hand shot out and gripped his wrist tightly before she realized what she was doing.

  Of course, the car stopped a good ten feet from them, still on the stage. There’d been no actual danger, despite how real it all appeared. Her heart rate accelerated, and she felt her cheeks flush as she quickly pulled her hand back, tucking it beneath her thigh.

  He was probably silently laughing at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him to find out. Instead she kept her focus straight ahead, pretending like nothing had happened. It’d been a mistake.

  Guilt stabbed at her and she winced. Because she’d been enjoying this, and this was something she was supposed to do with—

  “Delaney?”

  She froze at the familiar voice in her head, scared that she was hearing things.

  “Delaney?” It started out as a question, seemingly getting closer and closer so that the volume of his voice went up. “Delaney, are you here? Delaney?”

  “Ruckus?” She sent her thought outward and held her breath, waiting.

  Having him in her head had become as common as breathing since she’d gotten her fitting months ago in Gibus’s lab. Ruckus was the only one who could telepathically communicate with her, and back on Earth few people even knew the tech existed.

  “Thank the stars,” he said.

  “You found me.” She closed her eyes and exhaled, then quickly composed herself. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Trystan shift closer, but his gaze was locked on the stage. As long as she didn’t give them away, he shouldn’t have any idea she was conversing with Ruckus.

  “Of course I did,” Ruckus said. “It took me a while to find a way onto the planet. The Rex has the airspace on lockdown; Fawna had to sneak us in through a couple of back channels even I wasn’t aware of.”

  The more friends she had on this planet, the better. She had a feeling that even with Ruckus here, things weren’t going to get much easier. At least, not right away.

  “You’re not inside, are you?” she guessed, deflating some. No, of course he wasn’t. He would have shown himself.

  Trystan had a mixture of both Kint and Vakar soldiers surrounding the place. And he was smart. He wouldn’t leave any of the latter unattended by the first.

  “I’m working on it. Trust me?”

  “Always.” She smiled to herself at the familiar words.

  Whenever she wanted him to try something new, something distinctly Earth, she’d pose that very question. His response never changed, just the one word, always, and he’d be ready to do whatever crazy thing she’d suggested. Like trying tofu for the first time, or petting a stingray at the aquarium.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “He won’t hurt me.”

  There was a slight pause before his response came. “If he does, I’ll kill him.”

  Sometime during their conversation, Trystan had shifted even closer so that his arm was propped on the table between them. It brought his shoulder almost right up against hers, and she tried not to think of the fact that he was three times her size and would be seriously pissed if he knew what was currently going on in her head.

  “Trystan is looking for Pettus.”

  “I know.” Ruckus sighed. “Don’t worry—he’s with me.”

  “Is there a plan?”

  “Yes. Come and get you.”

  “Doesn’t sound like much of a plan,” she said.

  “I’m coming, I promise. I just need a little more time.” He grew silent for a moment, and just when she was about to panic, he said hurriedly, “My position’s been compromised. I have to go before I’m spotted. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m close. Be ready.”

  She felt the connection sever before she could say anything else, and disappointment settled over her shoulders like a heavy blanket. Ruckus was finally here, but she was back at square one. Waiting.

  CHAPTER 7

  Trystan had walked her back to her rooms after the movie last night, but she only partially recalled what they’d talked about. She’d tried holding up her end of the conversation, yet she was positive she’d failed. He must have realized how distracted she was, though he didn’t call her out on it.

  She’d spent the night hoping to hear from Ruckus again. But there’d been no word from him, and with every passing minute, she drew close
r to panic. Which was stupid, because if anyone could take care of themselves, he could.

  Delaney had already been up and pacing for an hour when the main door finally opened. She watched a woman push a metal clothes rack into the room, a variety of colors stuffed from one end of the rack to the other. Too many for any one garment to be discernible from another.

  Without a word, the woman parked the cart next to the table and spun on her heel back toward the door. She passed Trystan on his way in, and angled her head in a low bow.

  Ignoring Delaney, he moved to the rack and thumbed through a few different items, swishing hangers across the center rod. Every so often, he made a subtle negative or positive facial expression.

  Delaney crossed her arms and cocked a hip, waiting. It was childish, but she knew he wanted her to be the first to speak, and she was loath to give him what he wanted. Could be he was annoyed with her for not showing enough interest after the movie. A concept that frustrated her more, because why should she reward him for doing one nice thing among a slew of awful?

  A minute later he finally looked over, eyes scanning her from head to toe. He removed a dress from the rack and held it out, lining it up with her body. Clearly not satisfied with the look, he set it back and selected another, repeating the process.

  “Oh, for the love of…” Delaney took a deep breath. “Fine. I’ll bite. What are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to dress you in something that will impress the coordinator.” He glanced at her. “Obviously.”

  “Like I know what a coordinator is,” she countered. When all he did was return to the clothing, she sighed. “What is a coordinator, Trystan?”

  “I’m glad you asked.” He turned back toward her, this time with a dress far too see-through to ever be considered appropriate for anyone.

  “Absolutely not.”

  He pretended to think it over and then pursed his lips in agreement. “Though the better question is, who is the coordinator. The answer being, of course, the woman you need to convince.”

  “I can’t convince this coordinator of anything if you don’t explain to me exactly what it is you want me to sell,” she pointed out, hating the way the corner of his mouth turned up in self-satisfaction.

  “The coordinator’s job is to ensure that the bonding ceremony isn’t done in haste. She’ll meet with us and determine based off our chemistry whether our claim to each other is legitimate.”

  Delaney waited a moment for him to continue, but when he kept his attention on the dresses, she let out a humorless chuckle. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  He paused with a hanger halfway off the rack and glared at her. “Let’s just assume from now on that I am never joking with you, shall we?” He set the dress back and selected another. “I’m perfectly aware how difficult this is going to be—for the both of us. Believe it or not, our sessions with the coordinator were not my idea. I’d prefer to avoid them just as much as you would.”

  “I somehow doubt that.”

  “You have a tendency to say foolish things,” he told her, “and then I predictably react to them. We can’t do that in front of the coordinator. Everything we say and do has to be flawless. She must be convinced that we’re sufficiently satisfied with this bonding.”

  “You sound like a sleazy business tycoon.” At his questioning look, she shook her head. “It’s not a good thing.”

  “And that right there is what I’m talking about.” He grabbed two dresses and took a step closer. “None of that when we meet with her. You will act the way a proper Lissa should.”

  “You mean meek and a kiss-ass.”

  “You’ll manage.”

  “Will I now?” she said dryly.

  “Yes.” He held up both dresses, and then brought up the one in his right hand a second time. He glanced between it and her another three times before adding in a satisfied tone, “And you’ll do so in this.”

  After draping the garment over his arm, he replaced the rejected dress and walked toward her.

  “Here.”

  Knowing that he wouldn’t give her space until she took it, she obliged, making sure to add more force in the grab than was necessary. When he didn’t immediately step back, she clutched the dress closer to her chest and stared at him.

  “I’m not changing in front of you.”

  He smirked and motioned toward the door to his right. “You can change in the bathroom.”

  Delaney pushed her way into the bathroom, not wanting to give him the opportunity to disagree.

  “This is just like last time,” she mumbled as she quickly slipped into the dress. “Same game, different set of rules, that’s all. Instead of pretending to be Olena, you’re going to pretend to like Trystan.” If only it was as simple as it sounded.

  On autopilot, Delaney pressed a finger against the curved bottom of the countertop. When the hidden drawer popped open, she absently selected a few different beauty products while her mind twisted around what he wanted her to do and why it was important.

  He’d said that it wasn’t his idea, and there was only one person on the entire planet with the power to force the Zane to do something. But why was the Rex insisting they go through with this? Surely he knew how Delaney felt about his son, that she was merely being used to avoid his binding to Olena. Unless he didn’t?

  She paused while adding eye shadow, thinking on it. She certainly wouldn’t put it past Trystan to keep something like that from his father.

  Still, wouldn’t it be in the Rex’s best interest to speed this process up? If their roles had been reversed, and Delaney were the domineering Rex, she’d want to force Trystan to marry as fast as possible. Before he was able to find yet another loophole and avoid the whole thing entirely.

  She slicked on a final layer of lipstick and then stepped back to inspect herself in the mirror. She hadn’t paid much attention to the dress, aside from the coloring, to match her eye shadow, but now she was forced to admit that it was gorgeous.

  Damn, Trystan had good taste in clothing.

  It was a deep navy blue, which she would have thought too Kint for a Vakar princess, if not for the fact it’d been paired with vibrant gold lace. The gold embroidery formed vines and flowers that draped over both shoulders, the ends sewn into the high waist of the skirt. There were a few inches of blue material left between her breasts, so that it was clear the design was cohesive.

  Gold was one of Vakar’s colors, while the blue was distinctly Kint. The pairing of the two was an interesting way of declaring her supposed mutual loyalties.

  Delaney headed back to the main room, not wanting to give Trystan any reason to seek her out. He was standing by the table, pouring a dark liquid from a silver carafe, and she paused, watching as he gently set the cup aside and began filling a second.

  “See something you like?” His voice snapped her out of it and she glanced up to find him watching her. “You were staring.”

  “I didn’t think you did anything gently,” she said before she realized how stupid it sounded. To buy herself some time, she closed the bathroom door, keeping her back to him as long as possible.

  “This is for you,” he said, placing one of the cups at the end nearest her.

  Just as she was about to reach for it, he held up a hand. With a frown, she watched as he lifted the cup to his lips and sipped.

  “In case you thought it might be poisoned,” he explained, setting the cup back down.

  “You going to do that every time now?” Was he … teasing her?

  His response was a single shrug.

  The beverage was similar to coffee, and one that she’d grown quite fond of her first visit here. She greedily sucked down the cup’s contents and was reaching across the table for the carafe when he brought out the shoes.

  “These were delivered while you were changing,” he said, putting the sparkly gold heels down on the empty seat between them.

  They fit perfectly, like the ceremony ones had the other night. Of course he knew
her shoe size. “I don’t usually care about clothing—”

  “A fact made apparent by your Earth-wear,” he mumbled, the corner of his mouth curling up when he received an annoyed glare.

  She pretended he hadn’t spoken. “But I have to admit this is a very nice dress.”

  He lowered the cup and angled his head, taking her in. Just as it was starting to make her uncomfortable, he said, “You wear it well.”

  Delaney didn’t know what to say to that, so she changed the subject. “We going to do this thing or what?”

  * * *

  “RELAX,” TRYSTAN ORDERED. He was leading them through the palace, her hand tucked neatly at the crook of his left arm. It was a compromise against her having to hold his hand.

  “Yeah, right,” she said under her breath, trying to count how many Tellers they passed. She finally gave up at fifty-something. “There are a lot of Vakar guards.”

  He lifted a brow. “We’re in Vakar, Delaney. This is where they tend to coagulate.”

  “You aren’t worried they’ll turn on you?”

  “I trust they’re all intelligent enough to avoid making that kind of mistake.” Trystan shrugged. “Besides, I have you with me, and as their future Basilissa, they’re sworn to ensure your safety. I am your betrothed, therefore that is also my duty. What cause could they have for attacking me when we now share the same task?”

  He sounded far too sure of himself for her liking.

  “And the Tars?” If they hadn’t liked the thought of Olena ruling, how did they feel about having a human rule? “There’s no way they’re as okay with this as everyone else seems to be. I doubt they’re as interested in tradition as the rest.”

  And all the Vakar they passed did seem to be taking it well enough. There was no obvious animosity toward her anyway.

  “Delaney.” He paused in front of a set of tall golden double doors, turning to face her. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  The words were so identical to the ones Ruckus had spoken to her months ago that she actually flinched. Her slip must have given Trystan the wrong idea, because his mouth thinned.